Author's Note: Number Seventeen in the Don't Blink series, set after Under Every Scar and before Every Hour Has Come To This.
As always, thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being an awesome beta. This one is for you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.
Just Give Me A Little Bit More
All the lovers that have gone before,
They don't compare to you.
Don't be frightened, just give me a little bit more.
They don't compare. All the lovers.
~All The Lovers, Kylie Minogue
It's a chilly Sunday morning, and Quinn is sprawled across her sofa with a manuscript in her hands. The weather is trapped in that awkward phase between perfect, temperate autumn days and the early bite of winter—days that see the crowds on the sidewalks decorated with a hodgepodge of apparel, from short sleeves and flip flops to knit hats and wool coats with scarves. She's currently warm and cozy in a much loved, faded Yale sweatshirt, while Rachel lounges on the opposite end of the sofa in a sinfully flimsy t-shirt. Their opposing body temperatures often clash the way their personalities once did on a daily basis and occasionally still do, but Quinn certainly isn't going to complain about seeing more of Rachel's delectable body on display.
Admittedly, Quinn has been distracted for most of the morning by the manuscript that she's currently copy editing. It's one of those rare books-to-be that makes her job feel like more than monotonous grunt work. In fact, it's taking her twice as long to work her way through it because she's finding that she has to read every chapter at least twice—once to enjoy the story and again to actually look for the spelling and punctuation errors that her boss tasks her with correcting. Rachel has been attempting to occupy herself with a magazine, but Quinn can tell that she's a little bit annoyed at being ignored in favor of work, especially when she has to be at the theater in a few hours for a three o'clock matinee. Just a few weeks ago, they would have spent a morning like this in bed making love until the very last possible moment before Rachel would need to run out the door—exhausted, disheveled, and still smelling of Quinn.
Which is why Quinn's stomach twists unpleasantly as she attempts to digest Rachel's seemingly innocent, completely out-of-the-blue, "What do you think about trying something different in the bedroom?"
Quinn's hands fist around the manuscript, unconsciously crinkling the edges of the paper as her eyes dart up to study Rachel, who seems perfectly comfortable and nonchalant with her legs crossed and a now closed magazine—it just has to be Cosmopolitan—resting in her lap. She takes a deliberate breath and attempts to play off the question with one of her own. "You mean like hanging new curtains or rearranging the furniture?"
Rachel's lips curve, and she rolls her eyes in amusement. "No, Quinn…I mean…well," she shrugs, biting her lip as she leans forward slightly and lowers her voice as if someone might overhear her say, "a sex toy."
"A toy," Quinn repeats flatly.
Rachel nods, absently tapping the magazine in her lap. "A lot of couples use them to spice up their sex lives."
Quinn sucks in a quick, little breath, clenching her jaw against the sting of an invisible slap. The last five months have been so amazing. They're happy—or so Quinn had thought. Maybe they aren't having sex on every surface every minute that they're alone anymore, but really, that level of dedication and physical exertion is hard to sustain with Rachel's show schedule and Quinn's fifty-hour workweeks. Their relationship is so much more than physical, although that part is certainly satisfying—at least for Quinn—but it's equally enjoyable just to have Rachel present in her apartment, sitting beside Quinn on the sofa and reading a magazine. Quinn loves that Rachel feels completely at home here, using the key that Quinn had given her to quietly slip in after a late show, crawl into Quinn's bed, and melt into her arms so that they can wake up curled around one another the way they had this morning. Quinn has even been thinking more and more about how wonderful it would be to make waking up together every morning a more permanent occurrence.
But apparently Rachel is on a completely different page.
"I wasn't aware that our sex life was lacking anything."
Brown eyes widen. "It isn't," Rachel defends, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table before she scrambles across the sofa to get closer to Quinn. "Our sex life is amazing. So amazing," she repeats with a soft smile as she curls her hand around Quinn's thigh. "I just thought that we could make it even better."
"Did Cosmo tell you that?" Quinn asks, shooting a derisive glance to the abandoned magazine.
Rachel's eyebrows furrow as she asks, "What?" Her eyes follow the direction of Quinn's gaze, and she blushes. "No," she denies, before running her tongue along her lower lip and sheepishly admitting, "Well, there was an article, but it really only reminded me of something that Santana said the other day."
Quinn's eyes dart back to Rachel, and she frowns. Santana is waist deep in her first major clinical year at Columbia, and her schedule is so hectic that Quinn had barely seen her in months. Meanwhile, Rachel's free mornings make her more available for Santana in those moments when she needs someone familiar to vent to so she doesn't have a complete meltdown. Quinn doesn't mind that her best friend and her girlfriend are getting along better, but she'd discovered fairly early that the two of them occasionally stumble over new ways to embarrass her thanks to the fact that Santana and Rachel both seem to suffer from the same lack of a filter.
"You were talking to Santana about our sex life?"
"No, of course not. I would never do that," Rachel insists, and Quinn quirks an eyebrow in challenge. Rachel huffs and crosses her arms. "Okay, I would never do that when I'm sober. Honestly, it happened one time."
"And yet somehow you apparently got into a conversation about sex toys," she hisses disdainfully.
Rachel frowns at her tone. "Believe me, Quinn, I didn't solicit the information. I merely asked her how her latest little fling is coming along, and the conversation somehow progressed to strap-ons."
"Strap-ons," Quinn echoes dully.
"I'm not entirely sure how the subject jumped to that either," Rachel muses with a vaguely sardonic grin, "and it isn't as though we discussed it in depth, but I can't deny that it piqued my curiosity. I think it could be fun for us to try one."
Quinn's stomach churns unpleasantly. "You want to try a strap-on," she repeats, watching the fascination sparkle in Rachel's eyes. Her fingers tighten a little more around the manuscript, and she wishes she could just go back to losing herself in the words on the pages and ignore the words coming out of Rachel's mouth.
"Well, yes," Rachel confirms with a hesitant smile, shifting on the sofa to face Quinn more comfortably before she launches into her sales pitch. "I've even done some preliminary research on the various types of harnesses available. Obviously, leather is out of the question, although it does seem to be the preferred material according to the reviews that I've read, but I'm sure we'll be able to agree on a suitable alternative."
Quinn interrupts with a quiet, "No."
Rachel hesitates over whatever she was about to say next before she settles on, "Oh, well, if you already have something particular in mind."
"No, Rachel," Quinn repeats more firmly. "I'm not interested in doing that."
Rachel stares at her blankly for a moment before she blinks and runs the tip of her tongue over her lips to moisten them. "Do you mean toys in general or the strap-on specifically?" she asks carefully. "Because if you'd prefer a vibrator instead," she reasons, letting her voice trail off expectantly.
"I prefer nothing," Quinn grits out, feeling that churning in her stomach increase. "I'm happy with everything we're already doing together in bed," she pauses to drag in a shaky breath and anxiously catches the corner of her lip with her teeth, "but apparently you're not."
"That's not true," Rachel immediately fires back. "I'm very happy. I just don't see the problem with a little healthy experimentation."
Quinn doesn't much like that word, especially in the context of her relationship with Rachel. It stirs up all those little insecurities that she'd been doing so well to tramp down. She carefully sets the manuscript aside—she doesn't want to wrinkle the pages anymore than she already has—and folds her hands together in her lap as she turns to face Rachel, attempting to keep her voice even. "Really? You don't understand why I'm not exactly thrilled that you want to turn our bedroom into some kind of…sex laboratory so you can figure out what little silicone toy can get you off better than I can?"
And okay, her voice might have taken on a slightly shrill tone at the end there, but Rachel is talking about experimentation and spicing up their sex life, which implies that she finds something about it—about Quinn—unsatisfactory.
Rachel's mouth falls open, but the only sound that comes out is an odd little grunt of disbelief that Quinn would probably find adorable under any other circumstance. Rachel puffs out a breath and crosses her arms again, frowning. "Okay, first, that's a completely ridiculous analogy," she points out, rolling her eyes again. "And second, why do you keep taking this as some kind of slight to your sexual prowess?"
"Because it is," Quinn hisses, crossing her own arms to mirror Rachel's position. She might not be some womanizing cad like half of Rachel's past boyfriends—or like Santana—but she takes pride in her ability to please a woman. She's certainly never had any complaints before.
"No, it isn't," Rachel argues. "It's merely a discussion of possibilities, similar to the one we had regarding the vegan chocolate syrup and how to best achieve the desired results without making a complete mess of your kitchen and sheets."
Quinn flushes at the memory—that had been an interesting (and delicious) afternoon. Trying to get one another completely clean had taken hours. "That was different," she counters petulantly.
"I don't really see how."
Quinn huffs, tapping the pads of her fingers against her biceps. "Chocolate isn't a sex toy, Rachel."
Brown eyes flutter closed and plump, pink lips curve into a fond smile as Rachel hums in remembered pleasure. "That's open for interpretation," she murmurs, focusing her gaze on Quinn once again as she deliberately licks her lower lip and reminds her that, "We certainly had fun playing with it." She uncrosses her arms and reaches over to trail two teasing fingers down over Quinn's cotton-covered arm. "I imagine a strap-on would be even more enjoyable."
And they were back to that again—narrowing the discussion of toys back down to that one, specific item. "Do you...do you miss having sex with men?" Quinn asks meekly, attempting to swallow around the sudden tightness in her throat. "Is that what this about?"
The smile instantly disappears from Rachel's face, and she barks out an incredulous, "What? Of course not, Quinn! Why would you even think that?"
Quinn drops her gaze and focuses on the curve of Rachel's shoulder instead of her eyes. She thinks the answer is fairly obvious, so she doesn't bother to voice it, and Rachel sighs. "I can't even begin to compare the men I've dated to you." The words strike the wrong note in Quinn's mind, and she opens her mouth to protest, but Rachel cuts her off with narrowed eyes and a hard glare. "And before you jump to the erroneous conclusion that said hypothetical comparison would be in any way unfavorable to you, I'd like to remind you that you are the only lover who has actually caused me to black out from intense pleasure."
Quinn's mouth snaps closed, and she feels the corner of her mouth quirk up against her will. She doubts that Rachel has ever fully blacked out after an orgasm, but she has temporarily lost her ability to form coherent sentences (which is close enough to a black out by Rachel Berry standards) a few times now. Quinn doesn't want to wonder if Rachel could have been faking that kind of blissed-out state, but her girlfriend is a pretty talented actress.
She feels gentle fingers trace along her lower lip, smoothing out the tiny frown that's forming again. Rachel shakes her head. "And I love you, even when you're being slightly irrational."
Quinn tenses. "I'm not," she begins to argue, but then thinks better of it, dropping her arms from their defensive position and choosing to channel a bit of her old, practiced detachment in order to make her case. "Look, Rach, contrary to popular belief...or whatever Santana might have said," she mutters in irritation, "not every lesbian likes using toys. In addition to the fact that I've never liked…penises," she lowers her voice slightly over the word, and then rolls her eyes at her own discomfort, clarifying with, "real or fake, I happen to think that artificial sex aids are kind of unnecessary and impersonal. I prefer to use my hands," she says matter-of-factly, and then tilts her head thoughtfully. "And fingers," she adds, moving her hand from her own lap and curling her fingers over Rachel's calf before dragging them up the inseam of her jeans. "And tongue."
The thought briefly flits through her mind that she's attempting to seduce Rachel into seeing things her way, but she doesn't seriously entertain it for more than a second. She's only presenting her very valid reasons for preferring the methods of lovemaking that God gave them over any dirty, little man-made devices.
Rachel's eyes fall to Quinn's mouth, and she releases a slow breath. "I really like those, too."
Quinn nods in triumph, lifting her hand away from Rachel's thigh. "Then can we please stop talking about this?" she asks curtly. "I have work to do," she reminds Rachel as she turns to retrieve the manuscript and opens it back up to resume her reading. She's not on the same page that she left off, but that doesn't really matter right now—she just needs a solid distraction from her own thoughts for a while.
"Oh…okay," Rachel stutters in bewilderment. She slowly straightens her posture and slides over on the sofa to give Quinn some space. Quinn can feel those dark eyes on her for several minutes before Rachel finally says, "You know that I would never ask you to do anything that you're uncomfortable with?"
Quinn nods again, mumbling a quiet, "Good," because she's really not comfortable with the idea that the woman she loves wants her to wear a ridiculous cock strapped to her waist in order to please her sexually.
The room goes quiet for a time, and Quinn is grateful that the conversation is tabled even if her doubts about Rachel being satisfied in their relationship aren't. She's on her fourth attempt at reading the same paragraph when Rachel says, "I should probably go."
Only then does Quinn jerk her gaze back to her girlfriend. "Go?" She quickly glances at the clock. "It's only eleven."
Rachel smiles thinly and shrugs. "But you're busy," she reminds Quinn, standing and arching her back slightly to loosen the kinks. "And I have a few errands to run that I've been putting off."
Her coat, shoes, and purse are all scattered around the apartment on a path to the bedroom, and she gathers them up quickly while Quinn stares after her with a frown. The clothes that Rachel wore home from the theater last night are probably still piled on the floor next to the bed where she stripped out of them. Quinn will inevitably pick them up and wash them with her own laundry before folding them neatly and placing them in the dresser drawer that Rachel has somehow managed to commandeer in the last several months. The jeans and t-shirt that she's wearing right now came out of that drawer, and Quinn thinks that they may have been in there since August. It's comforting to have Rachel's things mixed up with her own, and she's suddenly a little worried about the possibility of that drawer being emptied out entirely someday in the near future.
Quinn chews on her lip as Rachel slips on her coat. "We're still having dinner tonight?" she checks uncertainly, only to be met with another strained smile.
"Yeah. I'll call you after my show," Rachel promises, heading for the door.
Quinn drops the manuscript onto the cushion and scrambles off the sofa, catching Rachel before she can turn the doorknob. "Rachel, are…are we okay?"
Rachel pauses and turns back to Quinn with sigh. "Of course we are." She hesitates noticeably before she lifts a gentle hand to Quinn's cheek and leans in to ghost a soft kiss across her lips. "I'll see you later."
Quinn forces a smile of her own and nods, echoing Rachel's, "Later," before she murmurs, "Break a leg," to Rachel's retreating back.
She shuffles back to the sofa and sits down heavily, picking up the manuscript and noting that her effort to save the pages from creases and crinkles has been in vain. She stares down at the typeface and tries to make sense of the words, but they blur together into an unintelligible mess, and she can't translate their meaning, so she tosses it aside again and sags back into the sofa, closing her eyes and wearily dragging her hands over her face.
A fucking strap-on.
Part of her wants to call up Santana and ask her what the hell motivated her to mention sex toys to Rachel in the first place. As close as they are, Quinn has never cared to hear all the dirty details of Santana's conquests, although that's never stopped Santana from over-sharing, and Quinn has kept her own sexual activities relatively private by comparison. Santana still calls her a prude on occasion, and Quinn can admit that she was something of a late bloomer when it came to enjoying sex. It had taken her until college and the little string of flings that she'd had after Kylie had dumped her and before she'd met Sarah to really feel confident in her own sexuality.
She's a woman who loves being a woman and loves being with other women—phallic objects don't interest her in the least.
But she knows that it's different for her girlfriend. Rachel has been with men and enjoyed it. She still owns a vibrator that's wrapped up in a green Wicked t-shirt (and the irony of that is not lost on Quinn) and shoved in the back of her sock drawer (and Quinn was absolutely not snooping when she'd stumbled over it). Logically, Quinn knows that there's absolutely nothing wrong with Rachel owning a vibrator, but emotionally, it bothers her to think that her girlfriend still needs one, and she can't help her own aversion to the toys. Penetration beyond a couple of fingers has never really done much for her.
She huffs out a breath as she stares up at the ceiling and thinks about Rachel's request again, and then she thinks about how quiet Rachel had gotten after Quinn had unceremoniously ended the conversation and how she'd left with sad eyes and a fake smile. Rachel obviously likes penetration. And Quinn loves Rachel. And she'll be damned if she lets their relationship suffer over a stupid sex toy.
Quinn never does manage to get more of that manuscript edited. Instead, she distracts herself by tidying up the apartment, cleaning their breakfast dishes, and picking up Rachel's clothes from the floor of the bedroom—exactly where she knew they would be. Then she decides to do the grocery shopping that she usually does on Wednesday evenings—one of Rachel's two-show days—since she isn't getting any work done. She remembers why she doesn't shop on Sundays the moment she steps into the overcrowded market, but she powers through. She even buys the ingredients for a vegan avocado pesto primavera that she knows Rachel loves, deciding to make dinner for her tonight—which is no way an attempt to romance her way back into Rachel's good graces.
Okay, so maybe it is.
Quinn doesn't wait for Rachel to call, but she texts her at five o'clock to ask her to come over despite the fact that she'll still be in the middle of Act II. She has the primavera prepared, the salad tossed, and the wine chilled by the time Rachel finally responds with a simple, See you soon. Quinn breathes a sigh of relief, finally admitting that she was a little worried that Rachel might stand her up. She's gotten spoiled by their Sunday routine of waking up together and parting only long enough for Rachel to honor her commitment to the Sunday matinee.
Rachel arrives thirty minutes later, letting herself into the apartment and looking a bit tired but otherwise smiling a smile that actually reaches her eyes. "Hi, baby," she purrs, immediately sliding her arms around Quinn and giving her the kiss that she didn't get that morning. Quinn's eyes widen in surprise, but she only hesitates for a second before responding, letting her arms find their home around Rachel's waist.
This isn't what she was expecting. She'd braced herself for Rachel's brand of the cold shoulder, which is far more vocal and dramatic than the typical cold shoulder treatment—basically high school, solo hungry, glee club captain Rachel Berry in the midst of a diva storm-out magnified to the nth degree. This is the opposite of that, and Quinn certainly isn't complaining.
Their mouths move together in a well-practiced dance until Rachel closes her teeth around Quinn's lower lip and gives it a tiny tug, breaking the kiss. The grin on Rachel's face eases the minor sting, and Quinn unconsciously smiles back as all the lingering tension from earlier drains out of her. "Hi," she whispers, giving Rachel an affectionate squeeze. "How was your show?" she asks automatically, just as she does everyday.
"It was good," Rachel answers somewhat dismissively, and Quinn knows by her tone that she isn't completely happy with the performance. Her response varies from day to day, but occasionally she either gushes about how perfect it was or explodes with a never-ending list of everything that went wrong. When that happens, Quinn just sits back and lets her rant to her heart's content. Today, it's short and to the point, and Rachel slips out of Quinn's arms and drifts into the kitchen. Quinn follows, watching her girlfriend lift the lid on the pot and hum in appreciation as the aroma of the pesto sauce rises with the steam. She glances over at Quinn and flashes a delighted smile. "It smells wonderful. I'm starving."
Quinn chuckles indulgently as she moves to the refrigerator to take out the salad. "You always are after a show."
Rachel moves to her side and reaches out to snag a tomato, deftly avoiding Quinn's hand as it attempts to shoo her away. "Sometimes not for food," Rachel husks, placing a lingering kiss to Quinn's cheek before she bounces back with a teasing grin and pops the tomato into her mouth.
Quinn's breath hitches, and she flushes with pleasure. So much for that fucking strap-on.
They eat dinner and enjoy some small talk—a range of topics from the weather to the quickly approaching holiday season to the very (very) tentative plans for Quinn and Rachel go with Beth (and Shelby) to see Santa Claus this year. Quinn is understandably excited for the chance and the thin olive branch that Shelby is offering regarding her relationship with Rachel.
She waits for Rachel to bring up their minor argument, but aside from the flirtation in the kitchen, the conversation never even hints at sex or sex toys. Eventually, Quinn realizes that Rachel also never bothers to ask her if she made any progress editing the manuscript. It's like the morning never happened at all. Quinn wishes that she could feel better about it all—especially when they finish their dinner and the cleanup that comes after, and Rachel steps into Quinn's body and curls her hand around the nape of Quinn's neck, burrowing her fingers into silky, blonde hair and stroking circles against the base of her scalp as she languidly nips at Quinn's chin and along the line of her jaw.
Quinn moans, tipping her head back to let Rachel's mouth work its magic against the sensitive skin of her throat. "R-Rachel," she stutters. "D-Don't leave a mark," she begs breathlessly. She's already had to try to explain away two hickeys to her boss—the curling iron excuse will only work so many times, and Quinn absolutely hates wearing turtlenecks.
Rachel scrapes her teeth against a particularly sensitive spot, causing Quinn's hips to press forward and her fingers to twist into the fabric of Rachel's sweater, but Rachel concedes to Quinn's request and abandons her neck to focus on her lips instead. One hand finds its way under the bottom edge of Quinn's blouse, fingertips grazing her ribs as they steadily climb higher to trace the curve of her breast.
It's a familiar seduction, and Quinn knows exactly where they're headed. She doesn't resist—not even when Rachel deftly maneuvers her into the bedroom, strips her naked, and urges her onto her back, sweetly deterring her from ever taking control of their encounter. "I just want to make you happy," she murmurs between intimate kisses, making use of her hands and fingers and tongue in the best way possible. It's slow and sweet and everything that Quinn needs it to be to push her insecurities back into their shallow grave.
Much later, they lie silently together, listening to the soundtrack of each other's heartbeats. Quinn bites her lip as she lightly traces random shapes over the skin of Rachel's back and contemplates what just happened. I just want to make you happy. The truth is that Rachel makes Quinn happy every day, occasionally with grand sweeping gestures, but mostly with countless, thoughtless moments that most people would take for granted. Quinn never, ever does, because she knows what it's like to wish so desperately for that one person who can know what she's thinking with nothing more than a look and calm every storm inside of her with the tiniest touch. Rachel is that person for her, and she wants to be that person for Rachel. And for as much as Rachel makes her truly happy, Quinn wants to make Rachel even happier.
"Rachel?" she whispers, not quite certain if she's still awake.
"Hmmm," Rachel hums sleepily into her naked breast.
"I've been thinking," she ventures slowly, "about what you asked this morning."
Rachel's head lifts from its makeshift pillow, and she blinks up at Quinn. "Yeah?"
"The thing is...I don't," she huffs and rolls her head on the pillow, looking away from Rachel's curious eyes. "I don't like man parts."
"Man parts?" Rachel repeats with a tremor of amusement in her voice.
"Cocks, okay?" Quinn says with a roll of her eyes before she meets Rachel's surprisingly tender gaze. "I didn't like them when I was still dating guys, and I don't feel the need to have a fake one anywhere near me now."
"Okay," Rachel says with a nod. "I understand, Quinn. I do. And I accept your decision on the matter."
Quinn studies her for a few silent moments before she sighs. "But you don't feel the same way. I mean, I know you have a...a vibrator."
"Well, yeah. I've had one since...well, since high school," Rachel admits with a grin—a grin that quickly morphs into a worried pout. "Are you going to ask me to give it up? Because I love you, Quinn, and I love having sex with you, but you know, you're not always available, and sometimes a girl has urges."
Quinn chuckles, shaking her head. "I know about urges, believe me. I just take care of them differently."
Rachel props her chin against her hand to get more comfortable as she gazes at Quinn in the lamplight. The fingers of her other hand trail back and forth along Quinn's collarbones. "Have you really never used any kind of toy?" she asks.
"I haven't," Quinn confirms, watching Rachel's eyes dart down and her eyebrows lift slightly in disbelief. Her own eyebrow arches in question. "Why are you so surprised?"
Rachel licks her lip and shrugs one shoulder. "You've just been with a lot of women."
Quinn doesn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. "Really?" she challenges incredulously. "Did you have sex with every guy you've dated?"
"You know I didn't," Rachel says with narrowed eyes.
"Well, I haven't either." The corner of Quinn's mouth quirks into a half-smirk as she remembers her sophomore year of college. "I mean, I certainly wasn't back in the celibacy club, but give me a little credit for being selective."
"I just imagined that," Rachel begins, shrugging again as she drops her hand and rolls onto her side, removing the pleasant weight of her naked body from Quinn. "Well, you were with Sarah for two years."
Quinn shifts on the mattress until she's facing Rachel. Relationships with their exes generally aren't a topic of conversation that either of them cares to spend much time discussing. They'd shared the important details with each other over the years under the guise of friendship, even if Quinn had always been just a little more invested than a normal best friend should be—it's kind of a relief now to know that maybe Rachel had been as well.
"Sarah and I had the same opinion on toys," she says carefully. Actually, Sarah had been fairly tame in the bedroom—passive and content to let Quinn take control every time. They'd rarely even experimented with different positions, much less any kind of sex toy. Quinn can't even remember if they'd ever had sex anywhere but a bed.
Conversely, with the exception of her first girlfriend, Kylie, the women Quinn had been with before and after Sarah had never even spent an entire night in her bed—or she in theirs—let alone been around long enough for the subject of toys to be broached.
Something occurs to her, and she bites her lip—she doesn't really want to know, but she can't seem to keep from asking, "Did you...did you and Peter...you know?"
"No," Rachel answers easily. "We did occasionally engage in some mild role-playing, mostly Broadway themed," she clarifies, smiling fondly. "He had a fairly authentic white, half-mask, and..."
"Rachel, please," Quinn cuts in, not wanting to know anymore than that. "A simple yes or no would have been more than enough."
"Well, you asked," Rachel reminds her with a huff. "But no, Quinn. To be perfectly honest, I've never felt as comfortable with anyone else as I do with you, which is somewhat ironic when you consider that the bulk of our teenage years were spent with you making me decidedly uncomfortable every time you so much as looked at me." Quinn grimaces slightly at the reminder, but Rachel smiles and inches closer to her, slipping an arm around her waist and stroking her fingertips along the small of Quinn's back. "I trust you completely, and that makes me want to explore all of the many and varied ways that we can make each other feel good."
Quinn shivers at the husky purr of Rachel's voice and the light scrape of blunt nails against her flesh. "So this really isn't about feeling like you're missing something?"
The hand on her back stills. "Is that really what you're worried about?" Rachel asks seriously. Quinn takes a deep breath and lets Rachel read the truth in her eyes. "I'm not missing anything, Quinn. I don't want you to wear a strap-on so I can pretend that you're a man," she scoffs. "As if that's even possible. It's not about the cock. It's about who it's attached to and all the delightful things you could do to me wearing one."
Her hand travels higher Quinn's back as she shuffles closer. "Like taking me up against a wall, with my legs wrapped around your waist," she murmurs, hooking one muscled thigh over Quinn's hip to illustrate, "while you pound into me." Quinn moans, and Rachel tightens her leg, aligning their bodies so perfectly. She reaches for Quinn's hand and pulls it to her breast, pressing her palm against the soft flesh. "And both of your hands free to do wicked things to me. Or," she purrs, drawing out the word before she brushes a teasing kiss across Quinn's lower lip, "you flat on your back with me riding you fast and hard until we're both spent."
Quinn groans at the image, roughly sliding her own thigh between Rachel's legs and pressing it up against her heat. Rachel's breath hitches, and her hips begin to roll in a tiny circle.
"Or if you're feeling particularly sweet," Rachel continues, "you could make love to me slow and deep." She pulls Quinn's hand away from her breast, and a little whimper of disappointment escapes Quinn's lips. Rachel links their fingers together as she pushes Quinn to her back and settles over her. "Our hands entwined over my head on the mattress," she continues, urging Quinn into position beneath her, "and our breasts pressed together as you kiss me until I come, shuddering beneath you."
"Oh, God," Quinn puffs breathlessly, closing her eyes and arching her back just enough to feel the full press of Rachel's body on top of her. "That's really not fair." She's turned on beyond belief by the images that Rachel has put in her head—with or without the piece of silicone strapped to her waist—not to mention the slow rock of Rachel's hips against her thigh.
"Am I tempting you?" Rachel husks.
"So, so much," Quinn concedes, lifting her mouth to seek out Rachel's lips.
She can feel Rachel's smile in the brief seconds that she's allowed to kiss her girlfriend. "So...maybe you'll...think about a compromise," Rachel pants between butterfly kisses to Quinn's mouth. "A toy for me, and my hands and fingers and tongue on any and every part of you."
Quinn is helpless to say anything but, "Okay."
Four days later, Quinn finds herself once again sitting next to Rachel on the sofa—only this time, a laptop is perched on Rachel's knees. "I've taken the liberty of bookmarking a few websites to speed our research," she explains, pulling up a page with colorful pink and blue font advertising new, fun and fresh mini-vibes. Quinn can already feel the tips of her ears heating. "I think it will make our actual shopping excursion much easier if we have some idea of what we want beforehand."
"Can't we just order online?" Quinn asks, not at all looking forward to finding some local sex shop to buy a strap-on that she's still not completely sold on.
"Technically, I suppose we could, but it's difficult to get a true sense of dimension when one only has photographs to rely upon," Rachel points out, clicking on a link and bringing up a page of said photographs. "In this situation, I think that the hands-on approach would be best."
Quinn snickers. "I guess the ability to comparison shop could be considered a perk with the fake ones."
Rachel playfully elbows her. "Regarding the actual harness, as you can see, there are a few styles from which to choose. Since we're both essentially novices, I think we should probably stick with something fairly basic."
"But no leather," Quinn recalls dryly. She's actually kind of grateful for Rachel's beliefs, because the combination of leather and sweat seems like it would make for an uncomfortable experience—she shudders to think of the chafing.
"Exactly," Rachel agrees, flashing Quinn a pleased grin before returning her attention to the page as she scrolls down.
Quinn frowns at the various dildos on the page—they're certainly colorful anyway. Her eyes catch on a curved purple contraption that looks like some kind of space age L-wrench. "Oh my God! What the hell is that?"
Rachel glances at her, correctly ascertaining what she's looking at, and blushes slightly. "That would be a strapless strap-on. You'd...well," Rachel stutters, scraping her teeth over her lip. "You'd insert it..."
"Yeah," Quinn interrupts. "I think I can figure that out."
Rachel nods. "We should probably avoid that particular style for now."
"For now?" Quinn echoes suspiciously.
"Yes, well, you never know. Eventually," she pauses at Quinn's arched eyebrow. "Or not," she amends, turning back to the screen and clicking on one of the images. "In any case, I think this would suit our needs." She points to the simple black harness on the page that looks like a jock strap. "As you can see, it's nylon and spandex, and it's machine washable."
Quinn studies the picture more closely, noting the tiny thumbnails displaying different angles. It still doesn't look very comfortable, despite the bold proclamation in the description that claims otherwise. "And one hundred twenty dollars," she observes incredulously.
"Quinn Fabray," Rachel scolds. "Are you seriously trying to bargain shop our strap-on?"
Quinn huffs and looks back at the screen, pointing to a different harness that does look a bit more comfortable. "This one is...cute."
Rachel wrinkles her nose in distaste. "It looks like mens' underwear."
"I think you'd look sexier in that one," Rachel argues, pointing back at the one called a Joque.
"You mean you think my ass would look sexier in that one," Quinn counters with a wry smile.
Rachel grins back. "Yes. Is that a problem?"
Quinn chuckles and shakes her head before meeting Rachel's eyes curiously. "Why are we doing this?"
The smile on her girlfriend's face noticeably dims. "Are you changing your mind?"
"No," Quinn assures her, "but you seem like you already know exactly what you want, Rach. I'm not sure why you're even asking for my opinion."
Rachel frowns. "Well, you are the one who'll be wearing it." Then she sighs and nods in understanding. "You're right. I'm being pushy. If you prefer the Tomboi, we'll go with that."
"You know what I would prefer," Quinn reminds her unnecessarily, "but this is actually for you, so we'll get the one you like." She supposes that it really doesn't matter what the harness looks like. Either way, Quinn won't be getting much from the experience except the pleasure of making Rachel happy. "Just...can we please stay away from the pink dildos?" Quinn begs.
Rachel tips her head to the side and gives Quinn's body a playful once over. "How about cheerio red?" she suggests with a wicked grin.
"How about no?"
"Rachel," Quinn laughingly warns, closing the lid of the laptop and tossing it—gently of course—to the coffee table.
"I suppose we'll be able to reach an agreeable compromise at the store," Rachel says, sliding her palm along Quinn's cheek to guide her closer. "I am rather fond of you in blue."
"We'll figure it out," Quinn murmurs against Rachel's lips.
What they figure out is that, as much as Quinn dislikes the wildly colored dildos that line the shelves of Babeland in SoHo, she dislikes the "realistic" ones even more—even if the saleswoman insists that there is one in stock that matches Quinn's skin tone perfectly. She crosses her arms and uncomfortably shifts her weight from foot to foot as Rachel methodically examines the size and girth of each dildo before she makes her final selection. Quinn dislikes the one that she eventually chooses less than the others, so she's happy to approve if it means getting the hell out of there and back uptown with the not-nearly-as-discreet-as-she-would-have-liked, pink bag containing their purchases.
Three days later, Quinn stands in her bathroom staring down at her naked body in resignation. "The things I do for that woman," she grumbles under her breath as she stares at the semi-realistic, royal blue dildo jutting out from the black nylon harness. She feels just as ridiculous as she imagined she would. She gives the Velcro another tug, tightening the harness around her waist, and readjusts the straps around her thighs. She grudgingly admits that it actually is fairly comfortable—but still ridiculous. The saleswoman had made it a point to mention that it was also compatible with double dildos (which made Rachel avert her eyes guiltily and Quinn bite her cheek to keep from reminding her girlfriend that they wouldn't be using that feature anytime soon, if ever).
"Quinn, baby?" Rachel calls from outside the door. "Are you sure you don't need my help?"
"No, Rachel," Quinn replies with a roll of her eyes. She'd already offered earlier in the midst of their foreplay—and if there's a way to smoothly transition from kissing and grinding and stripping each other into hey, baby, let's get the strap-on now, then Rachel hasn't yet discovered it. Quinn licks her lips nervously and glances down again, tentatively wrapping a hand around the cock and giving it a little tug—she wants to make sure that it's really secure—before giving into the silly urge to stroke down its blue, silicone length. She puffs out a surprised, little breath at the unexpected pressure against her clit. Maybe this won't be entirely one-sided after all. She lets go of the toy and takes a fortifying breath before she twists the doorknob and steps out of the bathroom.
Rachel—still clad in her bra and panties—backs away from the door with an encouraging smile. Quinn has to give her credit because she manages to keep her eyes on Quinn's face for a whole fifteen seconds before her gaze drifts down and she has to bite into her lip to stifle the moan that escapes.
"Oh, wow," she breathes appreciatively. "You look so sexy."
Quinn barks out a laugh. "I look like I'm about to film some bad lesbian porn scene."
Rachel giggles, shaking her head as she steps closer to Quinn. "Oh no, baby, trust me, it's going to be so good," she purrs, reaching down to wrap her hand around the dildo between them. Quinn bites into her lip as she watches Rachel stroke the toy. She only feels something when Rachel completes the stroke that pushes the base of the dildo against her, but watching the action is surprisingly arousing.
"How do you want me?" Rachel asks, nuzzling Quinn's throat and letting her unoccupied hand brush over Quinn's thigh on the way to her bare ass.
Quinn feels her body respond to the combination of Rachel's touch, her sexy voice, and the images that she'd put into Quinn's head of all the possible ways that she can take her. She's so very tempted to spin her around and press her against the wall, but the fact that she doesn't really know what the hell she's supposed to do with the thing between her legs keeps her from getting too adventurous on their first attempt.
And holy hell, why am I already thinking of second and third attempts?
"Slow and deep," she ultimately decides, choosing the option that will give her the best chance to figure out how to work her hips without causing either one of them injury or frustration.
Rachel grins. "I knew you'd pick that first."
"Are you trying to say that I'm predictable?"
"In the best way possible," Rachel answers, kissing her slow and deep.
Quinn opens her mouth and meets Rachel's tongue, losing herself in the wave of desire that Rachel so easily stirs within her. She strokes her hands over Rachel's back, taking her time while she lets Rachel explore the toy that's attached to her before skillfully opening the clasp of her bra with one hand and tugging it off of her shoulders to expose perfect breasts and hard, dusky nipples just begging for Quinn's attention. The bed becomes immediately more appealing, and Quinn dips her head to nip at Rachel's jaw as she carefully guides her backward until her knees hit the edge of the mattress. With a gentle push, Rachel sinks down and scoots back, and Quinn tucks her fingers under the waistband of her panties, dragging them down Rachel's legs and tossing them over her shoulder.
Rachel watches her every movement through hooded eyes, running her tongue over her lips. "So sexy," she says again, spreading her legs and letting Quinn see exactly how wet she is.
"Fucking sexy," Quinn repeats, staring at those glistening folds.
"So come here and do something about it," Rachel teases.
Quinn doesn't have to be told twice. In fact, she's already crawling over Rachel before the last words are out of her mouth—and then that mouth is emitting a throaty moan when Quinn reacquaints herself with her favorite flavor. Rachel's fingers tangle in Quinn's hair, and her hips rock up a few times before she's attempting to tug Quinn's mouth away. "D-don't you dare make me come yet."
Quinn lifts her eyes and pouts up at Rachel. "I thought we were going to compromise."
"Later," Rachel promises. "Right now I want you inside of me."
Quinn almost argues that it won't exactly be her inside of Rachel, but she figures that would probably ruin the mood, and she's already a little distracted by trying to keep the strap-on from being squashed between her body and the mattress. Instead, she voices a silent protest by placing a tiny love bite on Rachel's inner thigh and feels those fingers tighten in her hair.
"Slow and deep, remember," she growls against the skin and purposely presses another intimate kiss to Rachel's sex, making it a point to circle the tip of her tongue around her clit.
Rachel hisses, reflexively jerking her hips again. "Q-quinn Fabray...you are s-so frustr...oh," she groans when Quinn closes her lips around Rachel's clit and gently sucks. "Oh...God...you...you know what that d-does to me."
Quinn smiles around Rachel's clit, giving it one last lick and feeling her girlfriend shudder beneath her. "Just reminding you how much you like my mouth," she says smugly, but she does slowly begin to slide up Rachel's body, leaving a trail of kisses over every dip and curve of her delicious skin.
"I love your mouth," Rachel mumbles, shifting impatiently beneath her. "Even when you're using it to t-tease me into a state of...ah...acute sexual frustration."
"Mmm...not yet, sweetheart, but you're getting closer," Quinn observes, pausing over her breasts to drag her mouth over one rigid nipple and tease it with her tongue.
The strap-on presses against Rachel's inner thigh, and she feels Rachel rolling her hips in shallow circles, seeking the friction that she so desperately craves. One leg hooks over Quinn's hip as she begs, "Please, baby. I want you to fuck me."
Quinn releases Rachel's nipple and gently blows on the moist flesh, making her girlfriend hiss. "We're not fucking," Quinn refutes, shifting up higher over Rachel's body and reaching down between them to feel exactly how ready Rachel is for her. Satisfied by what she finds, she positions the strap-on at her opening. "We're making love," she says, wanting to make the distinction very clear.
Rachel's fingers curl into her back and she tilts her hips up, taking the head of the dildo just barely inside of her. "Slow and deep," she echoes breathlessly, tossing her other leg over Quinn's thigh and taking the toy deeper with a guttural moan.
Quinn swallows heavily, pushing forward slightly as she watches Rachel's face. She can't feel anything—how deep she is or how tight Rachel is—and for the first time in a very long time, Quinn feels self-conscious and uncertain about sex. She doesn't like the feeling.
"Are you okay?" she asks worriedly.
"So okay," Rachel whispers, blindly searching for Quinn's hand. The moment Quinn feels fingertips brush her wrist, she turns her palm over and entwines their fingers, lifting their joined hands on the mattress. Rachel smiles up at her, curling her other hand around the back of Quinn's neck to urge her down for a kiss.
They're pressed together from hips to breasts, and Rachel's legs are wrapped around her waist, and they're kissing, and Quinn can't argue the appeal of this position or the fact that she still has a free hand that is currently stroking Rachel's hip but could be doing so many other things. She rolls her hips experimentally, pushing the toy just a little deeper and making Rachel moan against her mouth. Quinn breaks the kiss and looks down at her girlfriend, whose face is awash with pleasure. She pulls her hips back slowly, trying to gauge where to stop so it doesn't slip out, and she moves her free hand between their bodies to get a better idea of where the toy is positioned. It's so unsexy to ask, but, "Is...is this as far as I should pull it out?"
Rachel giggles, eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and adoration. "Wow, you're really kind of like an awkward virgin right now."
"Shut up," Quinn whines, losing the battle with her own embarrassed smile. "I'm trying to make this good for you. The least you can do is help me out here since you're the experienced one when it comes to cocks."
Rachel laughs again, reaching her own hand down between them and pushing Quinn's hips back another half an inch or so. "There," she says breathlessly, titling her own hips experimentally and humming in approval. "Right there to hit my G-spot on the backstroke."
Now it's Quinn's turn to giggle. "The backstroke?"
Rachel sticks her tongue out at Quinn. "The upstroke, pulling out, the withdrawal...I don't care what you call it, Quinn."
"What do guys actually call it?" she wonders out loud, suddenly oddly curious if men even have to think about the positions of their cocks during sex.
Rachel gives her hip a little slap. "Focus."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Okay, okay. So, you want me to just kind of," she pushes forward as far as she can, feeling that wonderful pressure on her own clit from the base of the toy before she pulls back to the spot that Rachel showed her, and then forward again, "roll my hips like this."
Rachel hisses in pleasure, tightening her thighs around Quinn. "God, yes...just like that."
Encouraged, Quinn keeps her hips moving—it's almost like dancing—and takes advantage of that free hand again by sliding it up Rachel's side to cup her breast and tweak her nipple. She dips her head to feast on Rachel's panting mouth, and God—okay, she can't deny that this is nice. Really fucking nice. The friction of the toy against her is doing a damn fine job of working her up, and while she can't feel Rachel around her 'cock,' she can feel the heat of her body through the material of the harness, the increasing resistance of her inner walls every time she rolls forward, and the rock of her hips as she meets Quinn's every thrust. There's a little thrill of power that comes from knowing that she's—and okay, it's still not really her, but she's in control of the motion—inside of Rachel, making her writhe and moan and clutch desperately at her lower back.
Her left hand is still entwined with Rachel's right on the mattress, and neither of them seem particularly inclined to change that. Rachel arches her back, pulling her mouth away from Quinn's kiss to gulp in much needed air, and the rocking of her hips grows a little more frantic. "I'm so close," she whimpers. "I...I knew you'd be so...so amazing at this," she pants.
Quinn has the notion that if that cock was actually attached to her, she'd be going off like a rocket right about now. As it is, she feels the familiar tightening in her belly that tells her she's close to her own orgasm. She gently bites the curve of Rachel's shoulder. "No I-told-you-sos," she warns, angling her hips in an attempt to hit Rachel's G-spot a little better.
Rachel grunts out an inelegant, "Oh, fuck...oh, fuck," and Quinn slips her hand back between their bodies, sloppily pressing her fingertips against Rachel's clit, but it's enough to push Rachel that final distance. Her back bows off the mattress and her legs squeeze the breath of out Quinn as she comes, quaking beneath her. Quinn pushes the toy in as far as she can against the clench of Rachel's inner muscles, grinding against the base of the strap-on as best she can, and releases a moan of pleasure when it proves to be enough to trigger her own climax. It's certainly not the best orgasm that she's ever had, but the fact that it happening almost concurrently with Rachel's does a lot to make up for the lack of intensity.
Rachel is still shuddering beneath her when Quinn collapses onto her body, turning her face to press a kiss to Rachel's cheek while she waits for her girlfriend to come all the way down. Rachel's legs go slack, and she drags in huge lungfuls of air, weakly hugging Quinn to her.
Quinn lifts her head and studies Rachel's flushed, sweaty face. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are parted as she attempts to regulate her breathing. "So...was it good for you?" Quinn can't resist asking.
Rachel smiles, eyes still closed, and runs her hand down over Quinn's slick back. "So good," she mumbles, finally opening her eyes to gaze up at Quinn. "How was it for you?"
She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head in contemplation. "I suppose it wasn't terrible," she admits, noticing Rachel's tiny frown. "I still prefer the hands on approach, but I might be willing to conduct a little more research before I make a final decision on the subject of toys."
Rachel's lips curve. "You're so stubborn...just admit that you liked it."
Quinn grins down at her. "I didn't hate it."
"Quinn," Rachel whines.
"Rachel," she mimics, laughing at Rachel's petulant pout. She sighs and ghosts a sweet kiss over her lips, finally admitting, "I liked it." Before Rachel can crow in triumph, Quinn kisses her again before clarifying, "I like making you happy, sweetie."
"And you do it so well," Rachel murmurs contentedly. "So...does this mean that the strap-on is officially on the table for future bedroom activities?"
"It's on the table," Quinn confirms. "And maybe on the sofa, and definitely against the wall," she muses, half-joking.
Rachel laughs. "I think I've created a monster."
Quinn wouldn't go that far—she's not completely converted to the joy of sex toys just yet—but she's certainly open to the possibility of doing a little more experimentation with the woman she loves. "I think," Quinn drawls seductively, gently pulling the toy out of Rachel and rolling onto her back, "you should do something about this monster," she gestures down to the glistening toy—and damn, seeing the evidence of Rachel's orgasm all over it is more arousing that Quinn thought it would be. "I seem to recall something about you riding me."
She watches Rachel's eyes darken, and her lips part on a silent oh before curving again. Rachel pushes up off the mattress and throws a leg over Quinn, straddling her and sinking back down onto the toy in one smooth motion. Her back arches, putting her breasts on perfect display, and Quinn has never seen anything more gorgeous.
"You're in for one hell of a ride," Rachel promises wickedly, and Quinn welcomes it with open arms—as long as Rachel is right there with her.