Author's note: Many thanks to chelseablu44, who came up with the idea and collaborated on writing this with me. And no, we weren't high.
Also thanks to poetzproblem for being an awesome beta. :)
Of Centaurs and Cupids
You are formally invited to 'The Unveiling,' hosted by Rachel Barbra Berry.
The words are written in an elegant scrawl, and the invitation Quinn holds in her hand has been printed on a heavy card stock. She can't help but quirk her lips and eyebrow up in amusement at Rachel's grandiosity, although she is admittedly curious about what Rachel is up to now.
She settles down on her new couch and continues reading. She lets out a soft laugh. Rachel even included an RSVP date.
Her eyes light up as she realizes this is an opportunity she can capitalize on. Butterflies threaten to take off in her stomach as she picks up her phone and scrolls through her contacts, wondering if Rachel will ever stop making her feel like this.
Finally finding who she's looking for, Quinn wills the pesky fluttering in her belly down and hits the call button. The phone rings a few times before it's answered, and a melodious "hello" sounds at the other end.
"Hey, Rachel, it's Quinn," she offers, doing her best to sound collected.
"Hi, Quinn!" Rachel replies excitedly. "How are you?"
"I'm alright. You?"
"I'm good," she says, and Quinn can practically hear the smile in her voice. "It's so good to hear from you knowing that you're only a short subway ride away. How do you like your new apartment?"
Quinn chuckles lightly, but Rachel's enthusiasm and genuine happiness over their closeness sends a soothing warmth through her. "I like it. Even though it's small, it's nice. Much better than my flat in Edinburgh."
"Well, of course it is," she says resolutely. "After all, New York is the greatest city in the world."
"That may be true, but don't discount Edinburgh. I wouldn't have gotten my novel written if it weren't for my time there."
"I know, and I'm so proud of you, but…" she trails off, her voice growing softer. "I'm just really happy that you're back."
Quinn smiles—a pure, genuine sort of smile that hardly anyone gets to see—as the warmth Rachel elicits spreads further through her. "It's good to be back."
There's a lull in the conversation then, and, although not uncomfortable, Quinn is eager to fill the empty space. "So," she starts, fiddling with the card in her hand. "I got your invitation. What's this 'Unveiling' about?"
"Well, it's supposed to be a surprise, but I suppose I can give you a hint," Rachel says conspiratorially. "It has to do with my latest role," she continues a little excitedly.
Quinn remembers when Rachel first told her about said role over the phone, and the utter confusion she felt at the news. "But there are no words in Fantasia. How is this going to be on Broadway? Won't it just be a dance performance?"
"It's more of a reimagining of Fantasia than a strict adaptation of the film," Rachel had explained. "After all, it's all fantasy anyway, so the Broadway production has been recreated in that spirit. The music was completely redone by Thom Yorke and Lady Gaga, and they've truly outdone themselves. Some of these songs… Quinn, they're incredible. They perfectly capture the struggle that the creatures on Mount Olympus must overcome when faced with their tyrant of a god, Zeus. It will give me a chance to showcase my range as a performer like no other role I've had before."
Even now, despite the fact that Quinn has seen the Tony Award sitting on Rachel's mantle and heard the soundtrack, she has a hard time imagining what this play must have even looked like. But she realizes it hardly matters. To her delighted surprise, the critics agreed with Rachel's prediction. Fantasia emerged as a critical darling, and Rachel's performance as Bluebell was hailed as a revelation.
Unfortunately, the elaborate set design, costumes, and acrobatic demands required to fully capture Zeus's power and wrath, not to mention something which Rachel only referred to in hushed tones as the "lightning incident," meant that Fantasia's time on Broadway was all too brief.
"It's a shame you never got to see the show before it closed," Rachel says with an air of tragedy, and if Quinn was anyone else, she likely would have rolled her eyes.
"I wish I had," she replies, meaning every word.
"I guess it doesn't matter so much now. I'm just happy you're back."
Quinn is thrown a little by Rachel's admission, and she can't stop the smile that graces her lips. "Me too."
After falling out of touch for nearly ten years and Rachel's very messy and very public divorce from Jesse St. James, Quinn and Rachel finally managed to reconnect. But their reunion was short-lived, as Quinn was leaving the States to spend a year in Scotland on sabbatical. She then subsequently missed out on seeing Rachel's revelatory performance. But now Quinn is back, and she's not going to let Rachel's friendship slip through her fingers again.
"So does this call mean you're coming to 'The Unveiling?'" Rachel asks hopefully.
"I wouldn't miss it," Quinn promises.
Quinn doesn't know anyone else at this so-called Unveiling besides Santana and Kurt, so she decides that's who she's going to stay close to tonight, considering Rachel keeps getting tied up in conversations with her other guests, although she doesn't miss those warm, brown eyes repeatedly gazing her way.
Every time she notices it, she forces herself to tamp down on the small thrill it sends through her, reminding herself that it doesn't mean anything—at least, nothing like what Quinn wishes it meant.
"So how are things with the baby?" Quinn asks, willing herself to ignore Rachel's wandering gaze and focus on Kurt.
"Wonderful," Kurt replies with smiling eyes, "although, I'd be lying if I didn't say it was exhausting. Julie has a hell of a set of pipes on her. She certainly takes after her mother," he finishes, his gaze drifting fondly toward Rachel.
"Speaking of her mother," Santana cuts in, handing Quinn a glass of champagne that she'd briefly wandered off to get for her. "Berry actually knitted green booties to match the baby's eyes."
Quinn's eyes widen at that revelation as she takes a sip of champagne, trying not to choke on it.
"Also, you're drinking Magnum Boërl & Kroff. Each sip alone is worth twenty-five dollars. Whatever it is she's unveiling must be super important."
"She told me it has something to do with Fantasia."
"Figures. You know, I was at the show with the 'lightning incident,'" Santana continues, her lips curving up into a smirk. "You should have seen it. One of the Pegasus puppeteers was-"
A loud clinking of a champagne flute interrupts before Santana can fully launch into her story (and despite a slight morbid curiosity, Quinn's not sure she wants to know the gory details). All eyes in Rachel's apartment shift toward their host, who is now standing alongside a large easel covered in a blue sheet and a slightly older, attractive, black woman, as a hush falls over the room.
"Thank you all so much for coming," Rachel starts, her smile wide as her eyes scan her audience. "First, I'd like to introduce you to my dear friend and brilliant artist, Tavianna Monroe, who I commissioned to create the portrait I am about to unveil to you few and honored guests."
Tavianna offers the small group a soft smile, but it's obvious that she isn't interested in stealing the spotlight from their host, and quickly gestures to Rachel to proceed.
Rachel then removes the sheet covering the portrait with dramatic flourish, and Quinn's jaw drops once it comes into view. She momentarily wonders if someone slipped something into her drink, because what on earth? The painting is Rachel as… a centaur. Specifically, a topless centaur with three cupids flying around her, adorning Rachel's hair and tail with flowers.
"I commissioned this beautiful piece to commemorate my Tony-Award winning performance in the Broadway adaptation of Fantasia as the heroic centaurette, Bluebell. As you kno-"
"Holy sweet hell, Berry!" Santana interrupts.
Quinn, and everyone else for that matter, stare at her in confusion, but Santana continues to scrutinize the painting, looking both disturbed and smug as she steps closer to examine it.
Quinn follows Santana's line of sight, and—holy shit. The faces of the cupids look just like Quinn. A strange feeling comes over her as the recognition clicks. Her eyes dart between the painting and Rachel's confused face, and Quinn's stomach flips a little as she tries to wrap her head around this new development.
"Jesus, would you two just bone already?" Santana exclaims, rolling her eyes before looking pointedly at Rachel. "Berry, your obsession with Quinn's face has lasted longer than her old nose."
Rachel blushes profusely as she sputters, unable to find a suitable comeback, and Quinn can't stop the feeling of hopefulness that sparks in her chest, even as her embarrassment and annoyance toward Santana grows.
"And tubbers here can't stay in a relationship to save her life because she's still carrying a torch for you."
It's like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on her. Quinn tenses at the truth becoming known in such a public way. It's bad enough that it's been declared to a roomful of strangers, but worse is that now Rachel knows. So Quinn does the only thing she knows how to do in situations like this—run.
And as Rachel has done so many times before, she follows after her—right into the bathroom.
The lock clicks into place, and Quinn can't bring herself to look at Rachel, although she can feel those imploring eyes on her.
It's quiet for a moment, and against her better judgment, Quinn glances up.
Rachel seems to jump at the opening. "Quinn, I-"
"Why do the cupids look like me?" she rushes out before Rachel can ask anything too personal.
At this, Rachel actually has the good grace to blush. "That was a personal license I took," she explains, not quite meeting Quinn's eyes. "The cupids are followers of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, so I thought their appearance should be a reflection of that. And since you're the prettiest girl I've ever met…"
Quinn's blushing now, but the whole thing is still, frankly, insane. Still, she feels a little better knowing she isn't alone in what she's feeling, although she knows there's a huge difference between physical and romantic attraction.
"Is it true, what Santana said?" Rachel asks then, her voice taking on a softer tone.
She knows there's no point in lying anymore, but that doesn't make what she's about to say any easier. "Yes," she confesses. I've been in love with you since we were in high school, she thinks but doesn't dare say.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
Quinn lets out a disbelieving laugh. "When would I have had the chance? For so long, you only had eyes for Finn, and then…" she trails off, feeling a twinge of pain and regret at his untimely death, before letting out a long breath. "And then you were with Jesse."
"You know, sometimes I thought… but then I told myself I was imagining things—that it was wishful thinking," Rachel confesses with a doleful smile. "I never thought you would ever be interested in me like that."
"Wishful thinking?" she asks, not quite daring to believe Rachel means what Quinn hopes she means.
"Yeah," Rachel confirms with an adorable, almost shy smile. "I've always thought you were amazing and beautiful, and I've always had more than friendly feelings for you. I just thought… well, I guess it doesn't matter anymore, because, thankfully, I was wrong."
"Is there still time for us to get it right?"
Rachel nods, shifting closer into Quinn's space and staring up at her with hopeful eyes. "I'm going to kiss you now, if that's okay."
"It's more than okay," Quinn confirms, unconsciously leaning in and meeting Rachel halfway, and when their lips touch for the first time, Quinn's world bursts into Technicolor.
Quinn has never been happier, and she's still almost in a state of disbelief that Rachel returns her feelings.
They've been out on a few dates that have always ended with Quinn walking Rachel home and then ending up inside her apartment for a drink. Which inevitably leads to a heated makeout session on Rachel's couch.
But tonight is different. Their kisses are a little more heated and their touches a little bolder, and as strong hands slide beneath Quinn's dress, Rachel sighs against her neck, "Stay the night."
She's powerless to resist.
They eventually stumble into Rachel's bedroom, and they both have a hard time keeping their hands from roaming, eager to explore each other's bodies. Rachel's mouth latches on to Quinn's neck, and she feels her knees go weak—she doesn't think she can stand on her own much longer.
Deciding she needs to get them into Rachel's bed, Quinn's eyes flutter open. And then she freezes when she sees what's on the wall.
Hanging above Rachel's king size bed is her commissioned painting, and despite how oddly enticing Rachel's topless body looks in said portrait, the rest of it has the effect of a cold shower.
"What's wrong?" Rachel asks, realizing that Quinn has stopped responding to her kisses and is currently preoccupied.
"What's wrong?" Quinn echoes, turning her attention back on to her girlfriend. "What's wrong is that painting on your wall!" she exclaims.
Rachel pouts, and Quinn hates that she thinks it's adorable. "I fail to see what the problem is. I thought you of all people would enjoy seeing me like that."
"Rachel, I can't have sex with you while looking at my face on a baby's body," she says, somewhat exasperated as she runs a hand through her hair.
"Fine," Rachel replies petulantly. "I'll hang it in the bathroom. Actually, that would be more fitting, don't you think? Bathrooms are kind of our thing."
"You're right," Quinn agrees, even though she still thinks it's totally bizarre. "But I don't know if I can go to the bathroom while looking at my face on a baby's body either."
"Part of being in a relationship is learning how to compromise," Rachel counters before pressing a kiss to Quinn's collarbone and slowly trailing her mouth down Quinn's chest.
"I suppose you're right," Quinn grumbles, although she can't say she doesn't enjoy Rachel's current method of persuasion, "but that thing still being in here is kind of putting a damper on things."
Rachel huffs and rolls her eyes before grabbing a hold of Quinn and pushing her down on the bed, taking her a little by surprise. Rachel quickly straddles her and soon her determined-looking girlfriend is all Quinn can see. "There, now you can't see it," Rachel says with a coy smile. "And I promise to make you forget all about it, Quinn."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Quinn replies, hoping that Rachel can rise to the challenge, because she really wants to forget about her face on a cupid's body.
And Rachel does an exquisite job of making Quinn forget—her talented hands and mouth worshiping Quinn's body and making her lose all sense of coherent thought.
Quinn dreams of centaurs and cupids and Pegasus and Zeus. She dreams of wine and sex and Rachel's breasts, and when she wakes up, she realizes they're all the tied up in the same fucked up dream. Granted, it's a very pleasant dream, but still nonetheless fucked up.
Mentally shaking her head, Quinn opens her eyes and grabs her glasses from her night table, putting them on and getting acclimated to the world. She blinks a few times before taking a moment to gaze down at her still sleeping wife. She almost can't believe that she's more of a morning person than Rachel, but she definitely enjoys the perk of getting to gaze unabashedly at her wife's naked body.
She reluctantly tears her eyes away from Rachel's still-sleeping form and pushes herself out of bed. It's a difficult task, but the fact that it's Rachel's birthday serves as a great motivator since Quinn has lots of big plans for today.
She pads into their large, master bathroom and situates herself in front of the sink that Rachel has deemed Quinn's. Quinn takes off her glasses and goes through her usual morning routine of washing her face and putting in her contacts. She then reaches for her toothbrush and toothpaste, running the latter over the former, and, through the mirror, her gaze lands on the portrait hanging over their tub.
She's still incredibly weirded out by the fact that her face is on those cupids, but Quinn can't help but admire Rachel's body—knowing from personal and hands-on experience that her wife's breasts were depicted perfectly in Tavianna's painting.
Quinn shakes her head slightly and rolls her eyes, but she can't stop her lips from curving up into a smile as a rush of warmth courses through her. Despite it all, she knows that she has that ridiculous portrait and Rachel's narcissism (and Santana's utter lack of tact) to thank for where she currently is now—married to the love of her life and making a future together.
Those cupids really did fulfill their purpose after all.