A/N: I had to write something a little fluffier this weekend, and this scene didn't really fit into anything else I'm currently working on…but here it is. A little fluff, some Yale, some NYADA…hope someone enjoys it. Happy Saturday!


Rachel Berry has never kissed a girl before.

In fact, Rachel Berry has never really had any inclination that she may very well be sapphically inclined until just a few months ago. Not that it matters really; she's very steadfast about her supposed sexuality. But now that she's staring at the blinking Skype call on her laptop, she knows that she's nervous. She's so nervous. She bites her lip, and twines her palms into her legs as she sits in the desk at the far corner of her itty-bitty single, because Rachel Berry does not share dorm space. It takes her far too long to really make up her mind, but before she can, her fingers betray her, clicking the mouse to a Skype call that she is ridiculously ill prepared for.

"Quinn!"

"Hey Superstar." Rachel smiles, staring at the resolution of porcelain and hazel, rosy lips and flushed cheeks mirroring her in the webcam. Quinn looks like she's in her own dorm room, posters of E.E. Cummings and Bob Dylan splatter the walls around her in hues of black and grey. Rachel thinks that she rather likes it; she thinks that she'd rather be in it at this very moment.

"How are classes going? I have to ask these things you know, it's customary." She finds herself smiling shyly when Quinn smiles, all teeth and red cheeks and mirth. And she lets out a sigh – the butterflies dissipating into nothingness.

"You know, they're great. My Victorian Lit class is to die for. But so is my…I'm taking a dance class." Rachel does a double take only to see the shy fall of Quinn's lashes, the glee bubbling beneath the immaculate surface.

"Quinn…that sounds fantastic. Are you enjoying yourself?" You see, Rachel knows that Quinn is insecure; she's always followed the salty tang of bitterness with rapt attention. She knows that Quinn's legs are nowhere near as strong as they used to be – dancer's legs – no, they're weak and unsteady at times, and they wobble in the cold. But she's walking, she's walking. And she doesn't need the chair anymore or the cane, she stands tall and moves one foot in front of the other, and they say that she's almost there. So Rachel beams and she smiles with a lightness in her chest when she hears the word dance. Because the world is a brighter place with angels like Quinn, dancing on the precipice.

"So much Rachel…it's hard, I get really sore and stiff, but it makes me happier. I'm happy." Her eyes are so soft, and for a moment the two of them just stare at one another through the tether of interconnecting satellite feeds. Hazel on swirling brown, and neither one of them has the will to break the steady silence. They fall into moments like these often, lingering on the line for God knows how long. What Rachel knows, and has come to understand in the months since they've migrated, is that she lives for these looks. This singular moment when all there is, is Quinn Fabray. And her heart hurts – because she knows it now, that feeling. And she knows that she'll never have her, not like that.

"What are you thinking?" Quinn's voice comes out in a whisper, rushed perhaps. And Rachel expels the hurt in her chest, shaking it off with a smile. As she watches concerned hazel and brown eyes follow her on camera she knows that she made the right choice. She knows that she and Finn were never meant to be, they were never going to be her happy ending. And when she had called it off, just before graduation, she cried herself to sleep for a month – but not for him. For the fact that she let him carry her into a life that she never wanted. She let him turn her into somebody that her old self would have despised. And he's a good man, Finn Hudson – but he could never be hers, not really. And so it was with a flourish and an ounce of drama and silently shed tears that she closed that book on her young life – beginning again with a familiar face in New Haven. Which, within itself is an interesting development, because Quinn never visited during the summer, there were a few texts here and there – successful rehabilitations and party invites. But it wasn't until her flight landed in La Guardia and she had a dorm room unpacked and no one to share it with, that she opened up her laptop to Skype – to see the familiar bold green bubble by her name. And it was done, like a moth to a flame her fingers clicked the mouse – and four months ago if you had told her that Quinn Fabray would become her best friend, she wouldn't have believed you. No, sir, not on Barbra Streisand's voice.

"Just thinking that I sort of miss you. I mean – granted we talk almost every day now Quinn. But…I haven't seen you since June or July even. And I – I just miss you." She blushes a deep red, not having meant to give so much of herself away like this, but Quinn's eyes are so soft, and so ridiculously deep.

"I know, Rach. I feel the same way most days. I – um…"

"Hmm?"

"I was kind of already planning to visit you at NYADA before the break. I- sort of jumped the gun, and I wanted to surprise you. And now I just feel stupid…"

"What happened? Is something wrong?" A mild panic settles in, and she can see Quinn's eyes widen through the camera, grounding her before the adrenaline can make appropriate headway.

"No-No, nothing like that Superstar. I just, I bought a ticket for this weekend. You mentioned that you had a light week and I did too, so I bought a train ticket. I'll be there on Friday at 8pm, I leave Sunday morning." Rachel sees white and pink, and tints of summer green and lavender as her eyes search the camera, she's ashamed that she can already feel the tears beckoning behind her lashes…. but she's so happy that she can't help it. Because Quinn is visiting, her best friend is visiting, and it's the best news in the world. A tear falls despite her efforts and she hurries to wipe it away with a growing smile.

"Rachel? I'm sorry, I don't want you to cry…"

"Quinn Fabray. When were you planning on telling me about this impromptu trip to New York City! I am appalled that you waited until WEDNESDAY to say anything! And you paid for it alone, I could have chipped in…that's ridiculous, and I am enraged that you thought so little of me!"

"Does that mean that you're excited to see me?" A slow smile spreads across that gorgeous face, and Rachel laughs. A deep, happy, soulful thing and she's giddy at the thought that she'll finally see that face again up close.

"You wouldn't imagine."

2

She sees her for the first time in a flurry of motion and bodies. They exit the Amtrak in droves and in stampedes of luggage – but in the midst of it all…there's Quinn. All pink lips and winter cardigans and blue jeans. And legs. Beautiful upright legs that hold her weight like they were always meant to, her steps are almost enough to send Rachel into overdrive; her first steps on New York soil…a college student. Quinn doesn't see her, not just yet – and Rachel takes this moment to watch her scan the crowd, hazel eyes buzzing with the reflections of the indoor lighting, and Rachel's heart beats faster within her chest, a slow smile tweaking the seams. She walks up to her searching body, her hand falling out to tap the back of a slim shoulder.

"Hey you." She watches as Quinn turns around in a flourish, eyes wide, and when they settle on ochre – the biggest smiles engulf them both in a rush of hot air and pretty blushes.

"Hi, Superstar." Before Rachel can say anything else, she's wrapped up in a tight embrace, her arms immediately falling to wrap around a slim waist – she can feel the cardigan riding up beneath her fingertips, and she brushes tan on pale – a dark heat warms her as her head falls to cradle itself between neck and shoulder. And all she sees, hears, smells…is Quinn Fabray, with a touch of Sandalwood and Vanilla.

"I missed you." Rachel whispers into warm fabric, and Quinn squeezes her for a second longer before letting go. She takes a deep breath between white teeth and mirthful eyes – and she nods her head – tucking an errant strand of dark hair beneath one of Rachel's ears. "I'm glad I'm here."

If anyone else were here to witness this meeting of sorts, it would be too much. Too much recognition, and hopefulness and emotion – it would feel like an intrusion. Because Rachel can feel it, that stirring in her abdomen, that buzzing in her ears whenever they touch eyes – she feels it like a halo, and she lets it linger in the soft touches she leaves on Quinn's hands when she reaches to grab her bag. She lets her eyes speak all the things for her that her body and her lips never could. And it is with an ounce of silence that they ride to NYADA in a standard yellow cab. Their lips pull into smiles as they sit in silence, the world around them falling away in hues of dark blue and purple, city lights. She escorts Quinn out of the cab, bag in hand – and straight into Rivell Hall where she stays. It's a joyous thing, watching those legs traipse stairs and things…it's gorgeous, so gorgeous.

"We're here."

There is the twist of a key and the door falls open, surrounding the two of them in a view of Rachel's room that is so much more palpable when not seen through the tether of a computer screen.

"I like it Rach, it suits you."

"Thank you very much Quinn…did you want to put your bags down?" Quinn smiles and nods, setting her things on the floor by the small bed, she jumps up to sit atop the printed comforter and swings her calves one by one against air and wood. When Rachel moves to sit next to her, Quinn turns and smiles, something deep and sure.

"Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?" A heavy blush creeps up into Rachel's cheeks as she averts her gaze, a sigh escaping.

"I'm serious, Rach. You're here at NYADA, after all that crap senior year…you're in New York. For a second there I almost thought you wouldn't be here. I thought I wouldn't really have this second chance."

"What do you mean?"

"You were going to marry him, and I…it hurt. It was hard for me – imagining a world where I'm at New Haven despite everything I've been through, with no one in New York to share it with." The air has grown thick with the sudden depth of her words, and they hurt – because what she is saying is the truth. She did almost not make it to New York – she did almost sell her life away for the coattails of a boy who had no idea where he was going in life. She almost failed – but she's here. Quinn is here. And so she lets the depth of her words sting, but that's all they will ever do, because maybe this is it. Their moment to really, truly get it right…

"Well, I'm here aren't I? And so are you, despite everything. I'm proud of you too you know."

"I know."

"No, Quinn – I mean it, I'm so proud of you." And Quinn just stills her with a look, a deep look that quiets her lips. "Rachel, I know." And before Rachel can regain her bearings Quinn Fabray is leaning back on her small twin bed, and falling atop the comforter to rest her head between the pillows. Her eyes close, and she lets out a yawn as a soft smile plays on her lips.

"Are you tired? I-we can, I can turn off the light and let you get some rest."

"I just want a quick nap – and then you're showing me around Streisand."

Rachel narrows her eyebrows at the playful tone that she didn't hear enough of during their time at McKinley, she lets her feet carry her to the far wall where she hits the light, and now that she's met with a dark room and a beautiful blonde resting in her bed – she has no idea where she belongs. What's right, what's appropriate for a situation like this.

"I-um, I'll let you rest Quinn." Rachel moves to sit at her desk, and before she can, a tight warm hand encircles her elbow and drags her backwards, the sound of the voice from which it originates permeates the air sleepily. "Lay with me."

Rachel nods silently, and falls back onto the bed. Twin dorm beds are entirely too small for appropriate platonic sharing, but the way that Quinn pulls her into her body, all warm arms and soft breath, and sighs – there's enough room for them, intertwined sleepily against one another, cradled beneath a neck, and skin.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you asleep?"

"Close your eyes, Superstar."

3

She wakes on a sigh. Hot breath stifling her nostrils, and she has to lift her chin in order to breathe. When she does, she looks up to see an immaculate chin, and perfect lips, her eyes travel up and there they are…hazel orbs swimming silently – and Quinn is looking at her. She should be startled at the sudden intrusion, how long has she been watching her sleep? But instead of backing away, Rachel finds herself meeting that warm gaze, a thickness between dilating pupils in the darkness of her single bedroom.

"Hey, sleepyhead." Rachel smiles, something light and tired, her nose scrunches as her bangs fall haphazardly into her eyes. A pale finger reaches up and pulls them away to rest again behind her ear – and there they are again, swimming in a world of silent gazes and thick nothingness. And then there's Quinn snuggling closer in the darkness, eyes adjusting – and Rachel thinks she's imagining it, she really does – but then they're so close – the tether between them shortening on this small bed.

"Quinn?" It's a whispered muttering, floating above, through, and between them. Rachel's lips part on the singular syllable as their foreheads touch tentatively between the pillows.

"Can you promise me something?" An ounce of fear mars those shining eyes, and Rachel takes in a deep breath, nodding against the fabric of her pillow, sure that Quinn can feel it.

"Yes."

"Don't hate me after I do this?" And Rachel wants to laugh at the incredulity of the question, because how could she ever hate Quinn Fabray? She wants to open her mouth and bend her lips in a smile at Quinn's foolishness, but before she can the thought is swallowed away by lips other than her own. They take the words right off of her tongue and steal them away in the darkness. She feels it like cold water on a crisp spring day – like dandelions in the wind. And for a second she's so shocked that she doesn't move. But then Quinn just sighs – and this is exactly what she's always wanted, what she's always needed – and her lips…they move. It's like a dance the way the delicate skin touches and bends, and Quinn is a master of the form – dancer's lips – Rachel thinks and if she weren't preoccupied she would have giggled. But then Quinn bites her bottom lip in a short nip, tugging it between her nimble teeth, and Rachel is lost in it – a whimper escaping her throat, floating out and quivering above them like a faulty light. And then they're gone – that skin … And Rachel is left to pant out her confusion whilst a lonely, tan finger hurries up to touch at her cold, red lips in the darkness.

"I'm so sorry." It's broken - those words - full of a sadness that Rachel doesn't expect but knows well, all the same.

"Quinn?" The blonde lowers her eyes, clenching them shut, a tremor passing between her brows. She murmurs something, and Rachel doesn't hear, so she asks her to repeat it again. When she does, Rachel just folds at the sadness she hears in that voice – and she bristles. "Do you hate me, now?"

"Oh, Quinn." And she just pulls her in, pulls her in limb by limb until they're connected everywhere, Quinn's forehead buried in the crook of Rachel's neck as she peppers her hair and ears and skin with soft touches of lips and whispers. Of assurance…and acceptance. "I could never hate you, never." And there's a sniffle, and a shaky release of breath on her clavicle, and she can tell that Quinn is thinking by the way her body moves. And like a seal, stamped in wax and sealed against the skin of her breastbone she feels the whispered words burn into her skin, scarring her. Whispered from unsure lips and sealed with the lightest feather touch of a kiss.

"I love you." A breath, a murmur not meant to be heard. But Rachel does hear it, in the darkness and in the closeness of their warm bodies, and it shatters her so beautifully…so effortlessly that she doesn't even realize what she's done until her hands are pulling Quinn up, and connecting their lips in a soft plea. And now, Quinn understands – she sees it in dark eyes, and shining lashes – and their secret isn't really a secret anymore, so she laughs. And Rachel realizes that she's really missed that sound, so she kisses her to catch it. To steal that bubble of laughter back from thieving lips.

She succeeds, a smile tweaking her face as a giggle falls, pouring into cream skin. They kiss slowly at first, languidly – relishing in the feel of it. But then a soft growl or a moan, Rachel isn't quite sure – escapes between them, and the fire burns deeply and fully in the night. The twin bed entraps them in a haze of limbs and darkened pupils. It's fast, the escalation – almost too fast by normal standards, but Rachel doesn't mind – she lets the current of electricity burn delightfully as adept hands run beneath her t-shirt, clutching at her ribs and her abdomen.

It's crazy how things have changed in only a few short days – and Rachel watches with wide lust filled eyes as cropped blonde hair descends to the button of her jeans, pulling at the hem with a slew of kisses to her abdomen – soft and alluring in their placement.

"Can I?" It's asked with an ounce of concern, and Rachel realizes that she loves the girl that much more for the trepidation, her thighs quiver with Quinn between them, and she nods at the sight – surer than she's ever been before in her life – the button pops and the zipper falls with a flick, and in a moment she's shimmying denim down her thighs – letting it be pulled off by immaculate hands and discarded into the haze of isolation around them. Those hands clutch at her legs now, smoothing over the skin – tasting the warmth on fingertips. Lips descend to kiss the insides of smooth thighs, almost so close to the epicenter of it all that Rachel can do nothing else but whine. And then she's looking down between her legs at the hazel eyes grounding her – it's a thick gaze, held challengingly before a hand comes to run across the cotton of her underwear, through the dampness – and she feels it everywhere like the burning fire of relief and want, and her hips rise on a hiss. Quinn bites her lip at the sound, and Rachel's head falls back to the pillows, disconnecting their eyes in a pant.

"Are you okay?" It's said so softly that Rachel just wants to cry, and fly off of a cliff into the biting waters of the Atlantic Ocean, from the revelation of the words alone. She nods hotly with a smile on her lips as those fingers run through the cotton of her underwear again.

"Y-Yes, keep going, Quinn. You can keep going." She falls back, her shoulder blades arching as hands pull at her underwear, sliding them down to her knees. They don't come all the way off before hands return to run through her center again, heat on heat this time – fingers on skin – and Rachel moans out at the touch, something high and deep and husky – all of the things that she can't bear to shake.

"You're so wet, Rachel." It's amazing, what those words do to Rachel Berry – falling softly from bitten red lips and flushed alabaster skin, and it's so dirty- the thought of Quinn Fabray speaking like this – but it's everything and anything as well – and Rachel wants to just collapse in her arms forever at the sound. And then those fingers are there, at the epicenter of thick heat, rubbing in smooth concentric circles – thumb and forefinger, pinching gently. She can hear Quinn panting from above her as she kisses her beneath her bellybutton as her fingers dig and explore.

"Can I?" Rachel isn't sure what those words mean, her brain is addled and confused, but when she sees Quinn remove her hand to show her fingers – the pointer and the middle – Rachel suddenly understands, and she nods with relief – needing the pressure. Needing her. And like a tidal wave, she feels it – the one finger, entering into the fray of heat and desire that is Rachel Berry. And Rachel just keens…almost a foot off of the bed at the touch, because it's so perfect. It's all so perfect. Blonde hair falls to tickle her abdomen as a second finger enters, quickening the pace. Rachel looks down to see Quinn's head bent between her legs, forehead resting at her bellybutton, watching her fingers traverse in and out. Rachel's thigh's quiver and shake from the force of her arousal, and she clenches them around Quinn's head, watching blonde tresses flail and tickle around her skin as fingers find a fast movement. It should hurt, at how quickly Quinn is thrusting – but it just feels too good, and then those fingers curl upwards…and Rachel knows that this will be her end…her great, erotic demise. Her words fall on half syllables and broken murmurs as Quinn's pants grow more frequent –an errant moan escaping into the silence.

"You're so beautiful Rachel." She whispers, with a kiss to her inner thigh, and Rachel whines at the sound of her voice, deep and husky – almost primal. Her hips cant to pick up the pace, and Quinn meets her thrust for thrust, it's like a battle of the wills as the exalted flame rises – the fire lapping at the walls of her resolve.

"I, keep…just, you feel so good - y-you f-feel…Quinn." And then there she is, meeting her with another finger and a tickle to her sticky heat…and she just falls – like Alice down the Rabbit Hole, or simply through the looking glass. And she feels it everywhere …the power of her great demise. It stifles her speech as her teeth clamp down on her bottom lip – she's sure she almost draws blood. Her hips buck erratically, riding out as much as possible with those deliciously foreign fingers still there, moving slowly…settling her down. Her head lolls back, and in her haze she wants Quinn up next to her – she needs to see her face.

Before she can pull her up, she feels a body ascending the bed, resting on smooth palms above her. All pants, and beautiful flushes and wild hair, and Rachel smiles lazily… Quinn smiles back, lowering herself to connect their lips in a slow dance of understanding, and warmth. Their bodies hot and sticky, the room stifling from the heat, and Rachel couldn't be happier.

"Hey, Superstar." Quinn falls in a beautiful mess above her, to rest her head between neck and shoulder, a sigh falling onto sticky skin. She's sure that Quinn must be as worked up as she was, but for now – she brushes blonde hair away from creamy skin, looking down into a face reflected by New York City moonlight.

"Hi Quinn." She smiles, a slow, sleepy thing, and Rachel is immediately enthralled – she wonders why they waited this long – they were always meant to dance. She searches for hazel eyes, and finds them – half lidded and warm, and she watches them with all of the affection in the world.

"I love you too, you know…" And Quinn closes hazel to the moonlight, smiling against sweaty skin. "I know, Superstar...I know."

And with those words – she knows that she's done something right. She cuddles into Quinn, helping her shimmy out of her jeans and shirt, their bodies connected half naked and hot in that small twin NYADA bed – intertwined like destined pieces of a once incomplete jigsaw puzzle. And as Rachel's eyes finally fall to a close, her breath evening out…. she realizes…that as of this moment. She's kissed a girl – and perhaps just maybe, she's more than a little bit in love.

And who knows, perhaps this is all ridiculously premature…but what she does know…is that it feels totally, and irrevocably all right…

"Night, Quinn."

"Goodnight, Superstar."