Author's Note: Seventh addition to the Don't Blink series - following Won't Spend Another Day Wondering. Rated M for sexy times. Yes, I've attempted the porn again, and it still came out slightly fluffed. Forgive me. Feedback is love.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.
The Taste I'm Touching
The taste I'm touching
I'm watching you, yeah
~Tell Me, Billie Myers
Girls want sex just as much as guys do. Rachel can still remember her fifteen year-old self recite those words, full of confidence and arrogance—and, frankly, ignorance. Her intent had been more provocation than the expression of any real personal desire for sex that she'd felt at the time. She'd wanted to capture Finn Hudson's attention, and yes—she can admit it now—she'd also wanted to rile up Quinn Fabray.
She still wants to rile up Quinn, but in a decidedly less antagonistic way. Rachel wants to fluster her, and tempt her, and arouse her to the point that she stops being so honorable—because twenty-two year-old Rachel really (really, really) wants sex more than she ever has in the past. No, that's not quite right—she wants to make love. There's a difference. She's always known that, but it's never been as clearly defined in her mind as it is right now.
It's been three weeks since she and Quinn had shared their first kiss. In that time, Rachel has experienced a myriad of new firsts in her life. Her first loss of a Tony Award (to freaking Kristin Chenoweth!) The first time (but certainly not the last) that she's had to explain to someone that, no, she isn't a lesbian now, but yes, she is in love with a woman. And the first time (and she certainly hopes it's the last) that one of her costars has told her intimate details about Santana Lopez's sexual prowess. What Rachel has yet to experience for the first time, much to her increasing frustration, is making love to her beautiful, extraordinary girlfriend.
Of course, they haven't just been sitting on their hands and casting shy, longing glances at one another across the table, either. In fact, if Rachel didn't know better, she'd think that Quinn is on a mission to prove the effectiveness of her old high school motto, because Rachel has been plenty teased in the last three weeks. She only wishes that the pleasing portion would be a little more…naked.
To be fair, Rachel hadn't been ready to jump straight into bed with Quinn, no matter how quickly the woman can arouse her with a single kiss. She certainly isn't a virgin anymore, but in a strange way, it's almost like she is again. Rachel has learned how to touch a man, (and in her experience, they aren't very picky in that regard) but being with a woman is something completely new, and she's so nervous that she's going to disappoint Quinn.
Allowing their physical relationship to progress slowly had seemed to be a perfectly rational plan at first, but Rachel has always been an exceptionally fast learner. She's ready now, and she suspects that Quinn is more than ready, but Quinn wants their first time together to be perfect.
Rachel understands. Quinn has been waiting to be with her for a long time—longer than Rachel can fully allow herself to believe. She doesn't want some frantic, heated coupling in Rachel's dressing room, or a few hours squeezed into conflicting schedules when one of them would inevitably have to leave the other alone in bed instead of being able to wake up wrapped in each other's arms. She wants to savor—to rejoice—to map and memorize—to tattoo the experience across both of their bodies and their hearts. Rachel wants (needs) to make it perfect for Quinn.
So she fusses with the gardenias in the vase on her table, and she straightens the silverware and the plates, and hops into the kitchen to check that their late lunch is being kept adequately warm. She wishes that she could claim that she's cooked it herself, but it isn't a skill that she's particularly adept at, so she's sacrificed home-cooked for edible in order to create a memorable moment. In any case, it's Quinn's favorite entrée from one her favorite restaurants—the one that happens to have plenty of vegan options for Rachel to choose from, as well. It's nearly one o'clock (and it's Thursday, of course) and Quinn sounded so excited this morning on the phone, because she's managed to get a whole afternoon off from work.
Rachel suspects that Quinn is expecting a nice lunch before they head out to the Guggenheim to see the new modernist exhibit, and then maybe a quick stroll through the park before they retire back to Rachel's apartment for a little more teasing and almost pleasing. And if that's what Quinn really wants to do this afternoon, then Rachel will happily hold her hand and stand in front of every painting and watch her expression morph from interest to disdain to amusement and back again. She's just hoping to entice Quinn into an alternate activity.
She skips into her bedroom and looks herself over in the full-length mirror one more time, running her hands over the front of her blue, sleeveless dress. The waist is cinched in, and the skirt is short, falling above mid-thigh. She's noticed that Quinn has a thing for her legs, and Rachel has no qualms about taking advantage of that weakness whenever possible. She's even chosen a pair of heels to accentuate her calves, which are, quite frankly, ridiculous to wear in the middle of the afternoon when—if Rachel has any say in the matter—they won't even being stepping out of her apartment.
With a final quick fluff of her hair, she nods in satisfaction and turns to the bed, grinning as she smoothes an errant wrinkle from the top sheet. A quick glance around the rest of the room satisfies her that everything is immaculate and in its proper place. The only thing missing is a sexy blonde spread naked across her mattress—and sweet Barbra, now that the image is there, Rachel can hardly breathe for the want of it.
The sound of the buzzer pulls her from her lust-fueled thoughts, and she nearly trips over her own feet in her haste to get to the door. She doesn't bother with the intercom, knowing in her soul that it's Quinn, and presses the button to let her into the building. She lifts her iPod from the docking station, scrolling through her playlists until she finds the one that she's prepared as a romantic soundtrack to their relationship, and she starts the music, leaving the volume turned down low.
Quinn's knock sounds, offbeat of the soft percussion, and Rachel feels the fizz of anticipation in her belly as she opens the door. Her breath catches (every single time) at the sight of the gorgeous, smiling woman in front of her. Quinn must have come straight from her office, because she's wearing a gray skirt that falls just above her knees, topped with a matching, fitted short-sleeved jacket, and the messenger-style bag that she uses as a briefcase is still slung over her shoulder. Rachel always has found Quinn's professional look to be unexpectedly sexy, and she unconsciously moistens her lips. She honestly would be hard pressed to choose between Quinn in a business suit, and Quinn in a formfitting, little black dress, because both are lethal combinations to a person's peace of mind.
Rachel feels the caress of Quinn's appreciative gaze as it travels over her body, and she mentally congratulates herself on her appropriate wardrobe choices. "Hi," she whispers softly, reaching out to dance her fingers down over Quinn's bare arm until they curl inside a warm, open palm and find their home.
"Hi," Quinn breathes, allowing Rachel to pull her in closer, and taking the silent invitation to dip her head and meet Rachel's lips in a soft kiss. It only lasts a few seconds, but when they part, Quinn's eyes are significantly darker. "You look amazing," she murmurs sincerely.
Rachel grins and ushers her the rest of the way inside, gently closing the door behind them. "You don't look so bad yourself," she teases. "How was your morning?" she asks conversationally, slipping her fingers beneath the straps of Quinn's bag to slide it down her arm and deposit it on the nearby table.
"Extremely busy," Quinn answers as she pops open the buttons of her jacket to reveal a silky white camisole underneath. "I'm so glad to have a break this afternoon."
Rachel is momentarily struck by the sheer domesticity of their exchange, and it sends tingles through her bloodstream. She can so easily envision doing this—welcoming Quinn home with a kiss and asking her how her day was—for years to come. "How did you manage to sneak out so early?"
Quinn ducks her head a little, and grins sheepishly, "Technically, I'm supposed to be working from home."
"Oh, if you need to do that," Rachel begins with a frown, only to have Quinn's arms slip around her shoulders, and her body pulled up against the enticing heat that's radiating from Quinn.
"Don't worry about it, Rach," she's quick to assure. "I only have some copy-editing to finish up for my boss, and it won't take more than an hour or so. I can do it later tonight. I just want to enjoy the rest of the day with you."
Rachel melts into Quinn's body, flattening her hands over a muscled back. "I'd like that," she purrs, rocking up on her toes to chastely brush their lips together. Quinn hums contentedly and chases Rachel's mouth when she tries to pull away, capturing her lower lip and teasing her with a series of short, sensual kisses. It's sinful, really, how good Quinn is at this—the kissing and the teasing.
Rachel's hands dip down, gliding over the curve of Quinn's tempting backside and molding to the firm flesh beneath her palms. It's shameful how easily Quinn can reduce her to her most basic, wanton urges. She feels Quinn smile against her mouth in the moment before she ends her assault on Rachel's senses, lifting her head and gazing down at Rachel with a pleased, little grin. Thankfully, Rachel manages to bite back the embarrassing whimper that is tickling in her throat. She takes a modicum of comfort in the fact that Quinn's pupils are completely blown, and her breathing is noticeably uneven, but then Quinn does what she's still so frustratingly good at doing, and composes herself right before Rachel's eyes.
Her body relaxes, and her smile grows sweeter, and she drops her arms from Rachel's shoulders, running her hands down along Rachel's arms until she's gently removing the hands from her backside and placing a small physical distance between them. Rachel smothers the uncharitable notion that Quinn does this on purpose—taking a bit too much pleasure in working her up before she stops them—because she knows that the years of suppressing both her emotional and physical responses to Rachel have made it second nature. Quinn is trying to be honorable, but Rachel just wants to rip her clothes off and take her right here on the floor.
"Mmm…something smells amazing," Quinn casually comments as she shrugs off her jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. Rachel's eyes rake over her torso, lovingly encased in the sleeveless camisole that's now exposed, and she bites into her lip. Quinn's skin is flushed pink, and her bra is doing a very poor job of disguising the stiff buds of her nipples. She probably shouldn't feel quite so proud of herself at the sight, but it certainly doesn't hurt her ego to know that even Quinn can't totally conceal the way her body reacts to Rachel.
Quinn takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of lunch wafting through the apartment, and her eyes widen. "Is that what I think it is?" she asks delightedly.
Rachel lets her sexual frustration slip away, lost to Quinn's adorableness. "If you think it's the grilled Scottish salmon from Josie's, then yes."
"Oh, my gosh, you are the best girlfriend," Quinn gushes, dropping a quick peck to Rachel's lips, and practically drags her into the kitchen. "I'm starving," she admits, letting go of Rachel's hand, and after a quick survey of the area, grabs the potholder and opens the oven.
Rachel crosses her arms, leans her hip against the counter, and smiles as she watches Quinn putter around in her kitchen. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last. Rachel is an expert at keeping takeout warm and heating up frozen meals, but Quinn actually cooks, and she's commandeered the food preparation on multiple occasions during their friendship. She doesn't have much to do today, just remove the container from the oven, take off the lid, and transfer the food to the plate already on the table, but Rachel still finds it cute that Quinn feels the need take over.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" she asks, pushing away from the counter and moving to the refrigerator.
Quinn purses her lips and tilts her head in contemplation. "Vitamin water is fine," she ultimately decides. "It's still a little early in the day for me."
Rachel nods and reaches for two bottles of water. Quinn's been careful about alcohol since high school, partly because of her own experiences with it, but mostly because her mother still fights the battle to stay on the wagon daily, and Quinn doesn't want to be like her. She doesn't need to worry. Quinn is nothing like Judy Fabray.
They settle down at the table with their meals—Rachel's opted for the Asian-marinated organic tofu salad—and Quinn smiles softly as her eyes dance over the gardenias. It's kind of their thing now. When Quinn first found out about junior prom, she'd laughed sadly and said, 'it figures.' It's only been very recently that she'd admitted, 'I should have known it was you all along, and I'm so glad it was, because that was the best part of that whole night—and you made it happen for me. All the best things in my life always come back to you, Rachel.'
Rachel sighs happily, so grateful that they're finally on the same page—that she's finally reading the right book. A small part of her wishes that she would have realized back in high school just how important Quinn would eventually be to her, but the bigger part of her knows that she wouldn't have been ready for this relationship back then. They'd both needed to grow up and experience life before they could fully appreciate what they could have together. Still, some part of Rachel's soul must have recognized Quinn as its mate—maybe it's her sixth sense—because she's always wanted (needed) to fit Quinn into her life in one way or another.
"I've been craving this so much," Quinn comments, lifting her fork and taking the first bite of her food. She closes her eyes in pleasure as she savors the flavor, humming in approval, and Rachel watches her mouth, the way her throat moves as she swallows, and her tongue as it peeks out to lick her lips. Somehow, Quinn can even make the simple, necessary act of consuming food into a vision of sensuality. Rachel has never, ever, found any of her boyfriends' eating habits particularly attractive, and most certainly not arousing, but with Quinn, she's actually imagining what it might be like to sweep their dinnerware onto the floor, drag her across the table, and have her for lunch.
In fact, she's so fixated on the fantasy that it takes her a moment to register that Quinn has stopped eating and is staring at her quizzically. "Are you not hungry?"
Rachel briefly glances down at her plate where she's been mindlessly pushing her salad around. She feels her lips curl into suggestive smirk. "Not for food," she says, looking at Quinn from under her lashes.
Quinn's eyes flash, and she draws in a breath as she carefully places her fork on the table. Her darkening gaze moves down to her plate, then to the gardenias, and then to Rachel in her too-sexy-for-one-o'clock-in-the-afternoon dress. "Is this a seduction, Rachel?" she asks, voice husky…and possibly a little bit amused.
Rachel contemplates whether to be direct, or play coy. "It's…setting a mood," she confesses, deciding to split the difference. Quinn doesn't say anything, but continues to study her with serious hazel eyes, and Rachel reaches over to take her hand and draw soft circles against the skin with her thumb. "I really want to make love with you tonight," she finally admits, switching to the direct approach.
A slow smile blooms over Quinn's lips, encompassing her entire face and lighting her eyes from within. She lifts their joined hands and leans forward to press a quick kiss to Rachel's fingers before she lets go, and—picks her fork back up? "Eat your lunch, Rachel," Quinn instructs calmly before her grin widens, and she purrs, "You're going to need the extra calories."
Rachel's body reacts immediately to the promise, sending shivers of excitement racing over and through every inch of her. The steady hum of arousal that's been teasing her since Quinn arrived spikes into a crescendo, and she shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Quinn, seemingly unaffected, returns her attention to eating, taking extra care to slide her fork between her lips with measured deliberation. The glint in her eyes and her faint smirk is proof that she knows exactly what she's doing to Rachel.
The rest of the meal is more of the same, interspersed with Quinn randomly chatting about her morning, but Rachel does manage to eat most of her salad and by the time they finish, she's even willed her body into submission. At least until Quinn offers to help clear the table, purposely brushing against her at every opportunity. She follows Rachel into the kitchen, and stands behind her as she places her plate into the sink, reaching around and pressing the length of her body along Rachel's back. She ghosts a kiss across her cheek. "Lunch was delicious," she whispers, trailing her left hand across Rachel's hip and her right along Rachel's arm until long, elegant fingers are tucking strands of thick, dark hair behind her ear.
"W-well, I can't exactly, hmmm," she moans when Quinn's lips dance along the underside of her jaw, and she tips her head back, leaning into Quinn, "t-t-take c-credit."
Quinn's arms circle her waist, fitting her more snugly into the body behind her, and Rachel covers them instinctively with her own, holding on for dear life while a talented mouth plays over the sensitive skin of her throat. The effect it has on her is visceral, and she wants to reach back and tangle her fingers into silky hair to encourage Quinn to mark her, but she doesn't think that Laura (who does the makeup for her show) will appreciate having the extra work of covering it up tomorrow night. Quinn knows this, and she's careful not to bruise Rachel, never applying too much pressure or staying in one spot for too long. Instead, she alternates tiny nips with tickling laps of her tongue and puffs of hot breath against moistened skin. The combination is maddening.
Rachel squeezes her legs together, biting into her lower lip on a moan. She drops her left hand and reaches around to grip Quinn's thigh, and Quinn presses forward, letting out a little hiss that almost sounds like yes, but not quite as eloquent. The arms at her waist tighten, just for a second, and then Rachel feels that mouth curve against her skin. "We're not doing this here," Quinn murmurs shakily.
"As long as we're doing it somewhere," Rachel grumbles, curling her fingers into the firm flesh beneath them. Quinn's quiet laughter vibrates against Rachel's cheek, and then she is letting her arms slacken and gently removing Rachel's hand from its enviable position. "Quinn," she whines petulantly, annoyed that she's been expertly worked up, only to be denied. Again.
"Rachel," she echoes in amusement, gently spinning her around until they're face to face. An adoring smile greets Rachel, and she's pulled back into a loose embrace. "I love you," Quinn says simply. The words come easily enough, but the full weight and meaning of them is screaming from green-tinted eyes.
Rachel melts. She just…melts…right into Quinn, looping her arms around her girlfriend's neck, and taking that smiling, pink mouth with her own. She doesn't even care that Quinn still tastes faintly of the salmon she'd eaten for lunch. Rachel is only thinking of how very lucky she is to have been given the precious gift of Quinn Fabray's heart, and how she will spend the rest of her life cherishing and protecting that gift.
Quinn eventually tears her mouth away on a stifled groan. "We're really not doing this here, Rachel," she repeats. "I have plans for you," she promises in that deep, sexy purr that never fails to resonate right through Rachel's core, "big plans, and none of them include a kitchen. At least, not tonight," she adds with a wicked grin.
Rachel mentally adds a kitchen fantasy to her list—alongside the table, and her dressing room, and on stage in a darkened theater, and Quinn's tiny office, and the shower, and…well…any bathroom, really, and Central Park. Okay, that last one will likely have to stay a fantasy, unless she can determine a plan of action to keep them from being arrested.
"Then by all means, do with me what you will," Rachel invites mischievously, lightly dragging her nails down Quinn's back. "I'm all yours," she promises in a far more serious tone.
Quinn's breath hitches. "Mine," she repeats, caressing Rachel's cheek with the tips of her fingers.
Rachel catches her hand and turns her face until she can place a soft kiss to the inside of Quinn's palm. Their gazes lock. "Always. I love you, Quinn."
Impossibly long lashes flutter over hazel eyes, and her smile is dazzling. The first time that Rachel had said those words—mere hours after their first kiss—Quinn had cried, held her close, and begged her to say it again. Rachel has told Quinn every day since—in person, on the phone, via text message, and scrawled on notes left scattered around her apartment. Quinn sighs happily, and dips her head to kiss Rachel. Then she's inching backwards, slipping out of Rachel's arms and catching her hands to lead her out of the kitchen with a spring in her step.
They cross into the living room, and Quinn grins when she hears the familiar melody of Take My Breath Away softly floating through the speakers. "Dance with me," she says, pulling Rachel into position and beginning to lead them in a slow, informal waltz.
"You're kind of a goofball," Rachel points out on a giggle. She'd never really noticed this side of Quinn in school. She'd only ever seen the sad, serious girl who'd been forced to grow up too fast. This Quinn hadn't fully appeared until their sophomore year of college, but thinking back, Rachel knows there were more than a few little moments when her quirkiness slipped out.
"Mmhm, but you love me," Quinn reminds her with a smile, dodging the sofa and the end table, and slowly spinning her closer to the bedroom.
"I do," Rachel agrees, never allowing an opportunity to say it slip away.
"I've always wanted to do this," Quinn admits.
"Waltz around my apartment?"
Quinn shakes her head, pulling Rachel closer until they're dancing the way couples do, with bodies brushing together without regard for their steps. "Dance with you. I really wanted to at senior prom, but," she trails off with a shrug.
Rachel's stomach clenches unpleasantly. Quinn had still been in the wheelchair at the time, just barely able to stand for short periods, let alone dance. And then there was Finn, and… "You spent most of prom night with Joe," Rachel remembers with a frown. She'd never really understood the appeal of that short flirtation.
Quinn chuckles, "Well, he was very pretty—for a guy." She sighs, rubbing a gentle circle over Rachel's lower back. "And I felt like…I don't know…like maybe God was punishing me for…for feeling the way I did about you," she admits, "and giving Joe a chance might…fix it."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say," Rachel chastises.
Quinn laughs again, "I know that now...but I was in a bad place at the time, and I hadn't fully come to terms with being attracted to women. Anyway, Joe Hart was just a silly distraction, and can we please stop talking about icky boys, now?" she jokes with an adorably scrunched up nose. "I want to…not talk with you." She kisses Rachel to punctuate her point, and all thoughts of boys completely evaporate.
The sway of their bodies gradually stills as their lips glide into a timeless dance. The tip of Quinn's tongue begs for a partner, and Rachel joyfully accepts. The kiss pirouettes into an intricate ballet of shy advances and deep, sweeping strokes, until the rhythm of their passion drives hands and hips to join.
Rachel's fingers curl into the fabric of Quinn's camisole, dragging at the hem until it bunches to expose a smooth patch of skin to her eager touch. She craves this—the feel of Quinn, solid and warm beneath her fingertips. Until now, she's only been allowed a meager taste—stolen glimpses and (too) brief explorations while they'd held each other, mapping curves beneath the cover of their clothes. She's wild from the knowledge that tonight will end differently, with every inch of Quinn's body molded and entwined with her own.
The hands on Rachel's back slide down and conform to the contours of her ass, flexing and releasing over the flesh. Quinn's hips shift forward as she drags Rachel up against her, groaning into the kiss. Rachel's hands slip higher, over a strong back, and a scarred left side. Quinn captures Rachel's lower lip, lightly nipping it with her teeth, before she finally breaks the contact. Her breathing is erratic, and her hands are still restless on Rachel's body. She licks her lips, gazing down with smoldering eyes. "You take my breath away," she murmurs, echoing the lyrics that are fading from the room.
"The feeling is entirely mutual," Rachel murmurs, placing a tiny kiss to the skin just beneath Quinn's lower lip—above the faint cleft in her chin. "Now take me to bed, baby."
"Such a demanding little thing."
"But you love me," Rachel reminds her.
"I do. So much," she breathes against Rachel's mouth, stealing another taste of her before she pulls away with a seductive smile.
She catches Rachel's hands, once again leading her across the short distance until they're finally standing at the foot of the bed. The image of Quinn spread naked across her mattress is about to become reality, and Rachel's impatience gets the better of her, driving her forward with the intent to relieve Quinn of her clothes. She gets as far as slipping her hands under Quinn's top before she's being gently deterred by a firm grip on her wrists.
"Patience, sweetie," Quinn warns with a sexy smirk. "Getting there is half the fun," she promises, trailing her fingers up Rachel's arms and leaving tingles in her wake.
"I'm already halfway there," Rachel complains, taking advantage of her freed hands by attaching them to Quinn's ass. Her body is hot, and tense, and pulsing with need. The anticipation is nearly as effective an aphrodisiac as Quinn's touch.
"Oh, we're not even close," Quinn corrects her with laughter, dipping down to press an open-mouthed kiss to Rachel's neck.
"Speak for yourself," she groans, grinding herself against Quinn's thigh. This is familiar. They've done this before—this tantalizing dance where they push the boundaries of too much and too fast. Tonight is different, and Quinn's growl of pleasure vibrates against her throat. The hiss of a zipper accompanies their uneven breathing, and Rachel realizes that it's hers when the material of her dress loosens. She hums in approval, dropping her arms and allowing Quinn to slide the fabric over her shoulders and down her body.
Quinn follows it down, with her hands and her mouth, peppering little kisses to every new inch of skin as it's revealed to her. Rachel watches it happen, bracing her hands on Quinn's shoulders to keep her balance, because the sight of her basically unwrapping Rachel like a Christmas present makes her entire body tremble. When the dress pools at Rachel's feet, Quinn gracefully sinks to her knees, dragging her fingertips over Rachel's legs. She moans in appreciation and presses a single kiss to the top of Rachel's right thigh, dangerously close to the telling wet patch on her lacy, blue panties.
Rachel digs her short nails into Quinn's shoulders, feeling weak and shaky, and on the verge of tangling her fingers into blonde hair and pulling Quinn's face into her crotch—but she's not sure that would be considered good form, so she resists. Quinn sits back on her heels, visibly drawing in a calming breath as she looks up at Rachel. It makes her feel powerful, having Quinn Fabray kneeling at her feet. If someone had told her fifteen year-old self that this day would come, Rachel would have hyperventilated from laughter. She isn't laughing now, and neither is Quinn.
Quinn's eyes feast on every inch of her, and looking into them is like looking into a mirror and seeing the most beautiful version of herself. Quinn trails her left hand to the back of Rachel's calf, whispering, "hold on to me," and though she already is, Rachel nods and leans a bit more of her weight onto Quinn, who carefully lifts her leg just enough to slip off her shoe. She tosses it away and just as carefully places Rachel's foot back on the floor after shifting the puddle of her dress away.
Rachel chuckles, "You know, I can do that myself."
Quinn shakes her head, and repeats her actions with the other leg. When she finishes, she shifts up higher onto her knees and wraps her arms around Rachel's back, pressing a cheek to her trim, tan belly in an oddly reverent hug. Rachel's fingers do thread into her hair now, cradling Quinn against her. "I have wanted this for so long," she confesses quietly, turning her head and looking up with glistening eyes. "Let me make love to you," she pleads.
Rachel only nods, feeling her heart ache for Quinn's long hidden love and her own blindness. Quinn smiles, breathing against her skin before her tongue peeks out to play over her stomach, dipping into her belly-button, and a quiver rocks through Rachel. She fights the flutter of her eyes, and the urge to tip her head back and just surrender to the sensation of that talented mouth on her skin, because she can't bear to look away from what Quinn is doing to her. Those elegant fingers travel up, curling to match the curves of her breasts, and caressing them through her bra. Rachel really does get weak, and her knees buckle a little. Quinn is there to catch her, seamlessly supporting her weight as she stands. She's still wearing her own high heels, momentarily exaggerating their height difference, and Rachel wraps her arms around Quinn's neck, gazing up at her through hooded eyes.
Quinn kisses her again, nudging her back against the bed frame and gently lowering her onto the mattress. Rachel tries to pull her down and deepen the kiss, but Quinn resists, straightening to kick her own shoes away before she reaches for the zipper of her skirt. Rachel sits up in a flash and stops her hand. She's willing to let Quinn take the lead tonight, but there are some things she won't be deprived of, and undressing Quinn is one of them.
She pulls Quinn closer, until she's standing between her knees, and slowly drags the zipper down the side of the skirt. Quinn watches her with dark eyes, arms limp at her sides as she allows Rachel to tuck her fingers into the open waistband and guide the material over her hips until gravity takes it to the floor. Rachel sucks in a breath as she admires the muscular thighs and curvy hips encased in white, low-waist, boy-cut briefs. She can't stop herself from ghosting her fingers over the outside of Quinn's left thigh, past her knee, and down over her calf where the faded, white scars serve as a reminder of her broken leg and the surgeries that she'd endured to repair the damage. Quinn is still a little self-conscious about them, but not enough to hide them from the world anymore. The scars across her side and back are a different story, and it's taken Quinn years to stop hating the sight of them, so it's not really a surprise that she's slower to part with her camisole—even though Rachel has already seen most of her scars over the course of their friendship.
"You're so beautiful," she breathes, meaning it with every fiber of her being, because every flaw, every scar embedded into the skin of this amazing woman's body is proof of her strength and resilience—and that only intensifies her beauty. Rachel has told her all of this before, (and long before she ever imagined that they would become lovers) so she keeps this moment simple and free of the darkness that lingers over Quinn's past. Today is a celebration of love, and there is no room for sadness or regret here.
Quinn understands, and she takes a breath before she guides Rachel's hands to the hem of her camisole, helping her to lift it up and over her head. It's been years since she's seen this much of Quinn's body all at once, and it's as glorious as she remembers—small, firm breasts cupped in a lacy bra, and a flat stomach framed with perfect abs, every muscle defined and...and mouth-watering. Rachel wants to touch—to taste—but Quinn doesn't give her the chance, because she's dropping back to her knees and reclaiming Rachel's lips. She slides her body into the space between Rachel's legs, and then can't seem to stop touching them, roaming over thighs and calves as her mouth embarks on a slow, wet journey along Rachel's jaw, down her throat, over her shoulders and across her chest. Rachel's hands seek out any part of Quinn that she can reach in a flurry of indecision. She wants to feel her everywhere.
Loving hands explore the muscles of Rachel's back, expertly twisting open the catch of her bra with the single flick of a wrist. It falls away easily, and Rachel moans in pleasure because Quinn's mouth feels even better on her breasts. She lavishes attention on the sensitive flesh, tracing a hot, pointed tongue around stiff nipples, before closing her lips and gently suckling. Rachel feels every tug, every stroke, as if it's directly linked to her core. She arches her back, trying to increase the contact, and wraps her legs around Quinn's torso, pulling her closer. She can feel the smile against her skin, but she doesn't care. She's never been kissed so thoroughly in all of her life, and Quinn is only getting started.
Strong arms curl around Rachel's legs, gripping her securely, and Quinn presses up and forward, effectively laying her back against the mattress and prowling over her body until Rachel is spread out beneath her. Their stomachs brush together, bare skin against bare skin, and Rachel shifts restlessly, hissing in delight at the exquisite weight on top of her. She's desperate to feel more, and she blindly gropes at Quinn's bra until it comes open under her fingers. Quinn lets her drag the material away and toss it across the room—unconcerned if she ever sees it again. Her focus in on the soft flesh and hard nipples that fit so perfectly in her hands. Hazel eyes fall closed in pleasure, and Quinn rocks her hips down, creating the most exquisite friction. Rachel moans, lost to her body's demands as she pushes back helplessly.
"Rach," Quinn gasps, reaching for a hand and entwining their fingers as she presses it to the mattress. "Too fast," she whispers, stilling her hips. Rachel groans in protest, but Quinn quiets her with a kiss, murmuring, "I wanna touch every part of you."
Rachel drags in a shaky breath as Quinn slides down over her, creating a blanket of sensation as naked breasts roll over her belly and hands brush over her curves and that mouth—sweet Barbra, that mouth—resumes its wicked feast on her body. She'd never realized how many erogenous zones she actually has until this very moment. No one else has ever taken the time to discover them, but Quinn is seemingly making it her mission, and every time she finds a spot that draws a particularly intense reaction, she lingers.
Rachel is embarrassingly close to her orgasm by the time Quinn even trails a fingernail lightly over the waist of her panties, and she can't bear it any longer. "God, Quinn, please...I need you." She's so wet, and she's aching, and she just needs Quinn to touch her—really touch her—right now before she loses her mind.
Quinn smiles (and it's a little smug, and maybe a little awed, and definitely a lot sexy) and dips her head, nipping at Rachel's hip and dragging her fingers along the inside of her thigh. Rachel growls, and then gasps when Quinn places a very deliberate kiss over her sex through the material of her underwear. Her fingers curl into the elastic, slowly tugging it down over Rachel's legs and tossing it over her shoulder as she sits up and admires Rachel in all of her naked glory.
"Breathtaking," she murmurs reverently, and Rachel can agree, because the way Quinn looks in this moment—topless and leaning over her with passion-glazed eyes and disheveled hair—fills her chest with love as surely as it fuels her body with desire.
She isn't certain if Quinn moves first, or if she does, but Rachel is suddenly tangled up in Quinn—their bodies flush together and mouths fused in a war of sensual dominance. She rolls her hips, searching for contact, and moans in gratitude when Quinn's hand slides between them, teasing the inside of her thigh for a heartbeat before her fingers dip into the dripping folds. She brushes over Rachel's clit, pressing firmly against the nub, and Rachel arches off the bed, crying out at how good it feels.
She wasn't wrong about how close she is—her stomach is already tense and quivering in anticipation of release. Quinn seems to know it, and she doesn't tease the way she so easily could. Her touch is sure and filled with intent. She slips deeper, begging entrance, and Rachel opens her legs wider, gasping and panting and searching for Quinn with needy hands. She can't look away from those swirling eyes as Quinn watches her, never breaking contact. Rachel feels the press of fingers inside of her, stroking and curling and drawing responses from her that take her by surprise.
Quinn straddles her thigh, and Rachel can feel her hips roll as she pushes deeper. Quinn's wet heat flows over her skin, even through the pair of panties that she's still wearing. Rachel wants to touch her—wants to lift her thigh more firmly into Quinn, or sneak her hand under the white cotton—but she's so lost to her own pleasure that she can only hold onto Quinn and ride it out, spiraling deeper into the waves rolling through her until she's tipping over, bowing off the mattress and screaming Quinn's name.
If she sees stars when she kisses Quinn, what she sees in that moment when her body flies to pieces can only be a glimpse of heaven—warm and green (like Quinn's eyes) and beautiful. She's free of her body, floating and flying, yet still connected to Quinn. She's inside of her, over her, under her skin, and in her blood—and Rachel will never be the same again. She knows this, even as she comes back to herself. There's a profound realization that she's never felt this way before—she's never been this connected to another person.
When the fuzz of ecstasy clears, Rachel takes stock of her body, trembling with aftershocks and pulsing around the fingers that are still curled inside of her. Quinn's face is pressed into her neck, her breath uneven against the damp skin there, and her hips are still moving in shallow circles against Rachel's thigh. Rachel shifts beneath her, holding her as closely as she can with shaky arms. Quinn whimpers a bit, moving her lips against Rachel's throat in a soft kiss before she lifts her head. Her eyes are wet with tears, and Rachel's heart twists, until a tremulous smile turns up the corners of Quinn's mouth, and she whispers, "I love you so much, Rach. So much," she repeats.
"Mmm...love you, too," Rachel murmurs, lifting a hand to brush away a tear, and captures her mouth in a sweet kiss. It starts soft and tender, but quickly deepens as Quinn's fingers continue to play between her legs, sparking the lingering tremors of her orgasm into renewed arousal. Her hips catch the rhythm, and Quinn shifts against her, hissing shakily.
"I need to taste you."
Rachel catches her breath at the fire in Quinn's eyes, but she shakes her head, protesting, "It's supposed to be my turn."
Quinn answers with a gentle bite to Rachel's shoulder, and at the same time, she presses her thumb against her clit. Rachel moans and digs her nails into Quinn's back. "Let me," she begs, "Please, sweetheart."
How can Rachel deny her? "You...you are going to...to let me...reciprocate," she gasps out, but Quinn is already slipping down towards her destination.
"Eventually," she mumbles into Rachel's hip, sliding her fingers free from Rachel's body and sucking them into her mouth with a moan of appreciation. Rachel bites into her lip to stifle the whimper at how unbelievably erotic the sight is, and her body clenches around emptiness.
Quinn opens her wide, hooking her legs over her shoulders and lapping at the moisture that's seeped over her inner thighs. Rachel fists her hands into the sheets, bracing herself as best she can, because Quinn's tongue, and teeth, and lips have reached their destination and that first hot, wet pull against her over-sensitized flesh is the most amazing thing that she's ever felt. Quinn moans again, and the vibrations travel directly into Rachel's clit. Quinn is relentless, driving her steadily toward another orgasm, and Rachel surrenders to it, letting it wash over her and lift her back into that blissful place that Quinn is so very good at sending her to.
She might have blacked out slightly. Rachel considers this when she finally catches her breath and realizes that she's wrapped up in Quinn's arms, cradled into her chest with a hand running circles over her back. "My God," she rasps, completely at a loss for words.
Quinn chuckles, "Goddess, actually...but you can just keep calling me Quinn. Or baby, because I like that a lot," she admits, brushing Rachel's hair away from her face with gentle fingers. Rachel glances up at her, and sees the utter contentment and adoration that's radiating from every pore of her glowing skin.
"Baby," she murmurs, placing a kiss to Quinn's chin, "I like you a lot," she purrs, "and I'd really like to touch you now."
She feels the hitch in Quinn's breathing, and she smiles. Rachel's body is pleasantly lethargic, but a second (third) wind is coming on rapidly at the thought of finally having Quinn moaning beneath her. She wants this—so much—to be able to give Quinn the same pleasure and feeling of ultimate completion that Quinn has given to her. Her fingers are actually tingling in anticipation, and she lets them travel over her skin and around a still puckered nipple.
Quinn moans, "You...you don't have to..."
"Don't you dare even finish that sentence, Quinn Fabray," she admonishes. Rachel shifts her weight, rolling on top of Quinn and reveling in the position. She knows Quinn likes to be in control, and she doesn't mind it so much, but she refuses to be denied her own delight in the exploration of Quinn's gorgeous body. "I want this. I want all of you."
Quinn's eyes fall closed in silent benediction, and Rachel kisses her again before she sits up on her knees, straddling a slender waist. Her lips quirk up into a crooked grin, because Quinn spread naked—well, mostly naked—over her mattress is every bit as wonderful as she'd imagined. Quinn is gazing up at her intensely, her hands resting by her head, palms up, and her breasts proudly on display.
Rachel glides her fingers over Quinn's collarbones, dancing them down over the dark peaks of her nipples. Quinn moans and rolls her shoulders back, offering up more of herself to Rachel's curious touch. The light from the bedroom window illuminates Quinn's pale skin, and Rachel's eyes are drawn first to the elegant black scripted Beth beneath her left breast, and then to the pale, puckered scar that runs beneath it, all the way across her back and up to her shoulder blade, where she'd been cut open to repair her punctured lung. The best and worst moments of Quinn's life permanently written side-by-side across her skin—reminders of her strength.
There's a smaller round scar over her ribs, where the chest tube had been inserted, and a series of smaller, pale lines that mark where the metal of her car door had cut into her side. Rachel traces the line of the thoracotomy scar, and Quinn shifts uncomfortably, bringing her hand down over Rachel's. For a moment, Rachel thinks that she's going to pull it away, stop her and recoil into herself, but Quinn takes an unsteady breath, nervously nibbling on her lip, and threads her fingers in between Rachel's, holding her hand there beneath her breast.
"You've always made me feel beautiful," she whispers, smiling shyly, and Rachel feels moisture gather in her eyes.
"Because you are," Rachel tells her, "inside and out." She leans down, brushing her lips against Quinn's. "Beautiful, and brave, and strong, and loved," she punctuates every word with a kiss—to lips, to cheek, to jaw, to throat.
Quinn sighs beneath her, her own eyes glistening, and Rachel continues her journey, showering Quinn's body with kisses. She lingers over her breasts, falling in love with the texture of the soft flesh and rigid buds under her tongue. Quinn moans, burying both of her hands into Rachel's hair and urging her closer. She's moving restlessly, rolling her hips up, and Rachel can feel her growing urgency. As much as she wants to stay at Quinn's breasts and lavish them with attention, there are other parts of her lover that are in need of her attention. Still, she can't ignore those magnificent abs or the urge to lick them, smiling into her skin when Quinn moans her name.
Rachel wants to hear that again—to make Quinn fall apart. She suddenly finds it unacceptable that Quinn is still wearing her panties, and she takes immediate action to rectify that unfortunate situation, pulling the (very damp, she recognizes with a grin) material down over Quinn's hips and legs. She catches the scent of Quinn's arousal, and hums in approval. She considers tasting Quinn, and she wants to—God, she does—but she's nervous and inexperienced, and she's desperate to see Quinn lost in pleasure, so she crawls back up her body, teasing her with fleeting kisses along the way.
Quinn's legs fall open, making room for Rachel between them, and she reaches for her, pulling her into a searing kiss. Their hips align, and without the barrier of material between them, their wetness mixes and their clits slide together. It feels so damn good, and Rachel wonders if they could climax this way, with Quinn rocking up against her in search of friction. They grind together for long, languid moments, drinking from each other's mouths, and Rachel feels her own pleasure building again.
She reaches between them, dipping her fingers into the searing heat of Quinn's body. She's so incredibly wet, and slippery, and feeling her this way is new and different, but oddly familiar. Rachel finds the swollen bundle of nerves without difficulty, and she strokes it with little circles, doing what she knows works for her and hoping that Quinn will like it.
A guttural groan fills the room, and Quinn rakes blunt nails down Rachel's back, digging into her hips. "Please...Rachel...I...I need you inside," she pants raggedly.
It's a simple request, and Rachel complies, twisting her wrist and pressing into Quinn with a testing finger. Quinn is hot and tight and soaked with her arousal, and Rachel groans low, pulling out and adding a second finger with her next stroke. Quinn hisses out a satisfied, "yes," and grips her ass as she rocks herself into Rachel's shallow thrusts.
Rachel pushes deeper, feeling the burn in her arm and wrist, but not caring in the least if it's a bit uncomfortable. Quinn is the only thing that matters. She curls her fingers and searches for the perfect spot, finding it after several attempts, and she feels a sense of pride when Quinn's moans become more vocal, turning into bitten off curses. Hearing the word fuck growled so helplessly turns Rachel on even more. She presses her thumb against Quinn's clit on every thrust, putting the weight of her own body behind them, and she knows that she'll be coming right along with Quinn.
She watches the pleasure play across Quinn's face. It's spellbinding—rapturous—and Rachel could watch her come apart this way for the rest of her life. She will—she knows she will. "You're so amazing," she murmurs in awe, "I can't believe you're mine."
Shimmering hazel eyes lock onto hers, and she cries out Rachel's name as her body convulses around Rachel's fingers. Quinn is gorgeous, and sexy, and everything Rachel has ever wanted or needed, and sharing this moment with her is enough to send her own body tumbling over another precipice.
She collapses over Quinn, carefully freeing her fingers from her new favorite place, though Quinn protests the loss with a soft whimper. Rachel moves to wipe them over the sheets, then thinks better of it, lifting them to her lips and taking a tentative taste. It's...interesting. Hardly sweet nectar, but she doesn't mind the flavor, especially when it's the very essence of Quinn.
Quinn—who is quietly crying and holding Rachel as close as she can.
Rachel props herself up onto her elbow, and tenderly strokes Quinn's cheek. Her eyes rove over the trembling smile on the lips that have taken her to the heights of ecstasy. "Please tell me these are tears of joy."
Quinn chuckles, and nods, "You have no idea," she breathes.
Rachel grins, "So, then, you wouldn't be opposed to...a repeat performance at some point in the very near future?"
"Sweetheart, I'm counting on it," she says with a laugh, "Daily performances...multiple daily performances," she amends, gathering Rachel closer until their legs are tangled and Rachel's head is tucked under her chin. "Just give me an hour," she mumbles tiredly, "maybe two."
Rachel snuggles into her body, her own exhaustion catching up to her. "We have all the time in the world," she promises, listening to soothing rhythm of Quinn's heart and her breathing as it evens out. Her eyes grow heavy, and she begins to drift into pleasant dreams of Quinn and their promising future. Her fifteen year-old self didn't have a clue what she was missing.