"C'mere."

"You- you're a little drunk."

"Mmmhmm."

"And I'm already right here."

They're out on the back deck of the Berry home, stretched out in one of the lounge chairs together. Rachel's cuddled against Quinn, but apparently that's not close enough, as her girlfriend is requesting her to be even closer.

"But I can't kiss you. I need your lips."

"You always need my lips," Rachel says. Still, she obliges and raises her head, making her lips plenty available to Quinn. When they kiss, Rachel can taste tequila and lime. Okay, she can taste lime because her margaritas were strawberry, but picking out the tequila isn't as easy, because she's has some, herself.

Quinn kisses her like they're sixteen again, though they never once actually kissed when they were sixteen, because they were too busy fighting over boys to realize or admit or consider that either of them actually had feelings for the other. But now, at twenty-three, in the backyard of Rachel's childhood home on the Fourth of July, they're kissing like they mean it.

They're here because they want a change from the intensely busy holidays of the city, the packed streets and the altered transit statuses. Quinn wants a good seat for the fireworks without having to be on some roof top or having to camp out for hours in some park. Rachel wants to spend time with her dads and eat Leroy's famous roast corn on the cob. Everything is perfect and they're both buzzed on margaritas, kissing and nuzzling and gently groping. The Berrymen are out for a walk, but Rachel knows they won't be gone forever, so she needs to make a decision.

"Babe?"

"Shh, more kissing." Quinn's adorable, like this. And in the mornings, when she wakes up. And when she's working on the New York Times crossword, trying to solve it because, 'That's what Yale graduates do, Rachel.' And after she comes, in those hazy moments of afterglow.

Right, Rachel has a plan.

"Quinn." She pulls back enough to keep Quinn's lips off of hers.

"What?" There's a pout, and while it doesn't beat Rachel's own, it's certainly a worthy rival.

"We can either have a quick fuck out here under the stars or I can take you up to my room." She doesn't usually say words like that. But it just feels like the only one for the occasion. It might be the tequila talking.

Quinn catches the profanity and the corner of her lip upturns. "You said fuck."

"I did."

"We've never done it in your room, before."

"Then," Rachel closes the space between them to press their lips together. "Let's go."

"What if your dads hear us?"

"They're on a walk."

"But what about when they get back?" Quinn lets Rachel pull her up off the chair and they walk, arm in arm, into the house. "Because I plan to take my time getting you off."

"Still soundproofed. Remember?"

"Right. But have you ever actually... tested it?"

Rachel considers the question while she and Quinn navigate the stairs to the second floor. "I sang in it every night in high school. I think if it can silence my range from the outside world, it can keep everyone else from hearing you scream my name."

"You're the mouthy one." Quinn's hand is up the back of her shirt, palm and splayed fingers pressed against the small of her back.

"I'm the vocal one," Rachel corrects. "You use your mouth, plenty."

"Good point." They're in Rachel's bedroom and Quinn kicks the door shut with her foot.

Rachel turns around and pushes Quinn backward two steps until they're flush against each other after Quinn's back hits the door. "Well, here I am." She slips a hand down to twist the lock into place. She's not risking any interruptions from her fathers. "What were your other two wishes?"

The look in Quinn's eyes shifts from lust to laughter. "Did you... just hit on me?"

Rachel walks her fingers up Quinn's side. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that you're already all mine."

"Rach," Quinn smiles down at her. "I'm definitely all yours." Rachel feels the grip of Quinn's fingers on her hips. "And that's a nice shirt. Can I talk you out of it?"

Rachel busies herself with nuzzling Quinn's neck, but she still manages to say, "Couldn't resist your own come-on line, huh?"

"You want talk about coming or get to making it happen?"

That's enough to make Rachel laugh and turn toward the bed, pulling Quinn with her. As she crawls onto the bed, she goes ahead and removes her t-shirt, tossing it aside and turning around to watch Quinn crawl up after her. "So," she says, reaching for Quinn's own shirt and making quick work of taking it off. "You have any Jewish in you?" Before Quinn has a chance to sort out just what she's asking, Rachel finishes with, "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," Quinn says, giggling as she pushes Rachel onto her back. The shift in orientation is a little sudden, however, and Quinn ends up falling face first into a pillow before she pushes herself back up. "I'm okay."

"Good. I need that mouth to be functional." Although, right now, Rachel's reaching under Quinn's skirt and dragging nimble fingers upward.

"That's... distracting..."

"That's the p-" Rachel's momentarily derailed because, instead of coming into contact with what she assumed would be damp cotton panties, her fingertips are gliding over wetness that's purely Quinn and only Quinn. "Where-"

"Took 'em off."

"When?"

"Before now."

Arousal shoots through Rachel, though it's already terribly, incredibly present, so it's really just adding to what's already happening, which is that her panties are soaked and she wants more than anything to get her girlfriend off. It's a split second decision that has her scooting downward on the bed, urging Quinn up, but not away until Rachel is settled under Quinn's skirt. She drags her tongue over the warm wetness she'd been surprised with before, only know she knows exactly what she's working with, she knows just which direction to move, which angle will make Quinn release sharp sighs that ultimately become groans.

"Rach." There's a dip in the bed as Quinn leans back and braces herself on one arm, her other hand apparently pulling her skirt up higher, so it isn't hitting Rachel in the face. "We should..." Quinn's trying to say something and it's both cute and sexy and Rachel is doing her best to listen, but she's also very focused on her current task. "Rachel, baby..." Quinn sits back up, which is enough of a different in position to make her whine at the change in the pressure from Rachel's tongue.

"Hmm?" is about all she can offer, given that her mouth is already hard at work. In fact, her mouth is so busy, she feels like she should assist it with her fingers.

"Maybe we could try... fuck..." Quinn leans forward and grips the headboard with one hand as she rocks her hips in rhythm with Rachel's movements. "Okay, don't stop..."

Rachel's curious about what Quinn's been trying to suggest, but she's been instructed to carry on and, as much as she and Quinn might bicker about how to organize things around their apartment or what to order at Starbucks, she's always in full agreement with whatever it takes to give her girlfriend a sufficient orgasm.

Quinn comes with a whine and an arch of the back, hand still gripped tightly to the headboard until she finally releases it. She drops off to Rachel's right and as soon as she hits the bed, Rachel is right there, pulling Quinn into her arms. There it is, that adorably glazed look accompanied by a half smile, one that's actually a smile and not a smirk.

Rachel can't resist. "Did it hurt?" Quinn's brow furrows and she's about to say no, but Rachel interrupts, "When you fell from heaven?"

"Shhh," Quinn pats her cheek and buries her face against Rachel's neck.

There's at least a minute of comfortable silence before Rachel's curiosity gets the better of her. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Hmm?" Quinn lifts her head and blinks. "Oh. I was..." She settles back down against Rachel's shoulder. "... just thinking that I wanted to try a sixty-nine."

Quinn says it like she's just suggested they watch the evening news or have a cup of tea together. And, sure, they've been dating for a couple of years, but... Rachel's mind is suddenly devoid of anything but that particular imagery.

"Oh."

"But mostly," Quinn's voice is low but right in her ear, "I just want to find out just how soundproof this room really is."

Rachel's reply is a low moan. But she's confident that Quinn's going to make her elicit plenty of much louder sounds before the night is through.