Hey guys- I'm new to faberry, so comments/suggestions are sososo welcome! [read:wanted! Give me some!] - side note! It's a little steamier than I ever write, because I was challenged to do so and me being the competitive monster that I am, well I couldn't not. So, I'll try to keep it.. tasteful. Class, I say.

To those who follow my SoN story-I swear an update to fighting for life is coming! I couldn't think around this one and just had to get it out. (you're right, it was the challenge. Immediately stole my focus.) Don't lose faith!

Without further adieu, I give you: Dirty Deeds

Have a wonderful day! -leanmean

"No. Absolutely no. No more Broadway shows, no more Broadway parties, no more Broadway friends. You stay out of the media and off of the stage. Do you understand?"

Rachel digs her fingers into her scalp, her lip trembling as she fights back from the verge of tears. She is Rachel Barbra Berry and she will not, will not, show them weakness. Her voice is hoarse but strong, reaching for the pen as he slaps the paper down in front of her.

"I understand."

"Good. You're lucky they're even letting you stay in New York. You sign that and get out of my sight. If I hear one peep of you, just one! You're done."

She eyes the man standing in the suit in front of her, his arms crossed with impatience, then reads over the contract, gasping as she gets to the final sentence.

I, Rachel Barbra Berry, will not perform for or in the public eye until this contract has been decidedly fulfilled by all parties, and further consent to my elimination, should I fail to meet the above noted demands at any time prior to the contractual fulfillment.

This time the tears do flow, warm and silent over her cheeks. Moisture darkens in delicate circles on the paper as she leans over it, scrawling her name, without the star, along the dotted line and sets down the pen. The man rips the contract away and strides across the dim room without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him, and Rachel's life comes crashing down.

A few months later…

"Go for Fabray."

"Q?"

"Yeah Boss."

"Why don't you answer your phone like a normal person?"

"…You know who you're talking to, right?"

"Good point. I saw you put in to cover that new club up town tonight. Is that still on? I want an entertainment insight column on that for the webpage. Place has rave reviews from every magazine but us, so cover it from a new angle. Maybe if it's good I'll let you cover it from every angle with that camera of yours. Dig?"

"On it."

"Fantastic. Thank your friend Brittany for getting us in. I'll be back in the office Monday with high expectations. Talk soon."

"Over and out."

Leaning forward, Quinn sets her phone back in its console, settling back into her brainstorm position. Hands clasped behind her head, she reclines in the high back leather chair, her feet resting precariously on the giant stack of papers on the desk, laptop nestled comfortably in her lap.

Perfect. Now if only she could find some inspiration.

Shamelessly famous… and friendless? The who's who of celebrity who have it all, well, almost.

Lame.

Fit to be tied [down], the perfect workout for your best bed body!

Hurl. Over done.

Fall's around the corner and the votes are in! We're pounding the pavement to get the scoop on the sleek chic seasonal wear that'll turn even the trendiest head. Whether you're hitting the gym or strutting the sidewalks, a little salmon goes a long way.

Sighing heavily, Quinn, pinches the bridge of her nose, opening another blank document.

The thought of writing another frivolous article about hair care or healthy skin snacks gives her a migraine. Five years writing for Lush and all Quinn really wants to do is rip her framed feature pieces off the walls of her spacious corner office and let them rain down like confetti on the people of New York below. Sure the view from up here is great; the networking connections, the extravagant parties, the socialite suitors spoiling her with unwanted gifts, but in the end it's just like the rustic walnut walls surrounding her. Totally fake.

Quinn drums absently on her keyboard, then reaches for the camera sitting on the desktop, tracing the lens affectionately with her finger. At first Quinn found comfort in the glossiness of the job. She spent so many years hiding behind this camera, capturing a world that was too real, too hard, and simply too much for her to handle head on. Now she'd give anything just to have time to even use it again, let alone to feel overwhelmed. She sighs setting the camera back in its usual place, and rubs the her temples.

Sometimes she wishes she had never written that first article; that she had just done her time, rotting away in the back corner of the dark room like the others, pining for that top photography job. What's the challenge in life when you're sitting on top of it? She's so far past the mystique of her early twenties. Isn't there anything that's real anymore? Well now, that would be a good story, wouldn't it…

But it's not today's story. Quinn tucks her laptop into her shoulder bag and grabs her jacket, flipping her office light out as she leaves. Assistants and interns are hustling about the open conference space they share, busily preparing the final copy of Lush that will go to print tonight for tomorrow's news stand. Quinn smiles fondly at their hectic expressions, wishing some a good weekend as she passes, recalling when she was in their position just a few short years ago. She hits the elevator button, tapping her foot patiently as it rises from the bottom floor. My how things change… of course, some things never would. The stress of being the most read in the country still makes Fridays oh so sweet, and the promise of a much needed adventure tonight at New York's hottest new club with her two best friends has Quinn smiling as the elevator doors close her in.

"Do you want something else before the show starts?"

Santana spins the clear liquid in her glass and downs it, smacking her lips.

"Yep, and better make it a double. If Brit's wearing what she packed this morning I'm gonna need something to keep me on my ass and away from her."

Chuckling, Quinn turns towards the bar and squeezes herself between the packed tables, the piano on stage interluding into a rousing version of Roll Out the Barrel. Black Cat Burlesque was living up to the reviews so far, Quinn thinks, already formulating a new spin on a feature in her head...

There aren't many places in the great city of New York that have earned themselves a personality of their own. Yankee stadium? Sure. The Statue of Liberty? Of course. Broadway Lane? Well that's a given. But what about clubs? Yes, throw all of them in a single room and you'll have more pounding beats, gritty floors, and flashing lights then spring break in Cancun, but not one of them will stand out above the rest. Until now. In fact, I think we're looking at a whole new breed of distinction. This time, the city hasn't gone to the dogs, but to the cats...

Well there's room for work there, but oh the clichés! Quinn laughs to herself as she pushes through a pack of prima donnas, feeling wonderfully alive. The essence of this place combined with the outlandish amount of groping on her ass as she crossed the room and it seems her connection with Brittany got her an assignment she's actually looking forward to. Finally.

Plus the low lighting, smoky atmosphere, and gorgeous women in eye catching barely-theres, how could she resist?

"Can I help you Miss?"

"Yeah, double tequila on the rocks and a dirty martini please." Quinn sends the bartender a wink as he turns to make her drinks, hoping it'll get her a little more for her money. Tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, she slips a twenty across the bar and wraps her hands around the glasses, turning to battle back to Santana as the piano player takes a final bow.

From what she'd researched, Black Cat was newly renovated by a few old Broadway performers who decided they'd just leave the cast open, anyone who could make it for weekly practices were welcome to perform come Friday night. And the dancers and singers, oh, they loved it. Come, sing whatever you want, dance slutty, AND keep the tips? What a deal! It took Brit three weeks to get in because there were no openings. And judging by the look of Brittany, the girls she hangs out with on set, and the pack of people Quinn had to fight through just to get a drink, she'd say business has been booming for all the right reasons.

"Thanks Q." Santana says, grabbing both glasses as Quinn slips back into her chair. Thank God she picked an aisle seat. If Santana wasn't so pumped to see Brittany's nearly naked dance routine, she'd definitely be bitching about the table up her ass, the 300 pounds of muscle to her left, and me, sprawled comfortably with leg room to spare on her right.

"Now that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory here is finally wrapping up, I hope Britt's group is up first. Mmm my girl."

"Just try not to drool all over the table. My leather jacket still hasn't come back from when she danced back up for J Lo."

"That was one time!"

"A whole year of the same show does not count as one, Santana."

The house lights dim as the band in a stage left alcove zips through a quick intro, the stage burning an electric blue with thick steamy fog billowing across the floor. AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap blasts through the amps as four girls, all long hair and high heels, strut out of the shadows, facing backstage.

"This is it! That's Brit second on the left! Oooo she looks so hot in those fishnets! Write that in your article!" Santana squeals in Quinn's ear, her nails digging into her forearm.

Rolling her eyes, Quinn takes a quick sip of her drink, trying to shake the low hum in the base of her throat as the hips on stage begin to pop and grind in beat with the drums. The girls turn towards the crowd one by one, freezing in sexy poses as the band builds towards the vocal intro. Brittany spies them, sending a sultry wink towards the table. Santana whistles between her fingers.

A fifth shadow emerges in a doorway behind the girls, a silk laden voice, snarling through the opening verse as she cat walks through the four dancers to the mike stand at the front of the stage. Quinn feels her heart beat in time with the heavy breathing the backups layer into the song. The lead singer flips her deep brown hair out of her face and stuffs the mike in its stand, all sass, thigh highs, and black booty shorts, and Quinn's feels her cheeks heat up.

She'd seen the movie Burlesque. Did not prepare her for this.

"No freaking way."

Quinn looks at Santana to see what she's fussing about, but she's changed focus, drooling as Brittany drops at the feet of the singer. Tracing her inner leg with her fingertips, she grinds back up her body, planting a firm kiss on her cheek before receiving a slap on the ass from the vocal vixen as the other girls back stage move to join them.

The girls come together in an overlap of smooth skin and gyrating hips directly in front of Quinn's table, grasping at each other and thrusting their chests dramatically to their own rhythm in the neon lights. Yeah Dirty Deeds seems like an appropriate song choice, Quinn thinks, entranced by the well placed winks and lingering lip licking before her. As they break into the chorus, the spotlight hits the singer as the other girls lay into her, sliding their hands into her hair and around her thighs, pulling at the skin tight bodice on her torso.

Quinn chokes.

She knows those brown eyes. Sputtering, the heat that's been rising to her face plummets into her pelvis.

Rachel Berry in the flesh.

Actually, a lot of Rachel Berry flesh. Quinn's eyes widen as Rachel drags her fingers across her collarbones, a drop of sweat slowly trailing down her neck and into her cleavage.

That should not be sexy, Quinn thinks, then Rachel turns, and their eyes meet, her's widening just slightly.

The tickle in her stomach does a full belly flop as Rachel struts down the stairs with an eyebrow raised, never one to pass up a challenge, singing with haughty sex appeal as she stares her down.

Quinn hears Santana mutter something about treasure trails, but the lacy purple corset heading her direction has her other senses shutting down. Rachel winks, working the room, spinning and flipping her hair to the music, running her hands down her body slowly. Quinn stops breathing entirely as Rachel spreads her feet next to her chair, popping her hip towards Quinn before plopping down in her lap. She crosses her legs with grace as she wraps an arm around Quinn, growling the chorus close to her ear.

..dirty deeds and they're done dirt cheap..

Quinn knows the whole room probably thinks this is part of the show, but when Rachel runs a manicured finger down Quinn's flushed neck and over the swell of her breast with a smirk, Quinn can't help the goofy smile that follows. Rachel grins and for a moment, all Quinn can see are the deep brown eyes looking into hers, and then the guitar solo starts and Rachel is peeling herself off her lap and strutting back towards the stage.

Quinn wheezes a little as she follows the sway of Rachel's leather clad hips, and Santana chuckles. Burlesque definitely did not prepare her for this.

The song wraps up and the dancers exit the stage to thunderous applause, Santana pushing her drink towards the blonde with a smirk.

"Jesus Quinn, lock it in."

Holy Lord, Rachel Berry was in her lap. Slamming back the drink, Quinn wipes her mouth as the piano player comes back out to play.

"I didn't know Berry did this."

Santana shrugs and sips her own drink, settling back in her chair for act two.

"Brittany's mentioned her a few times. I thought it was the Broadway show, not the Burlesque one that they had been working on together, but I guess Berry hasn't done Broadway for a long time. Actually, I don't think she's done anything for a long time." She adds, looking up thoughtfully.

Clearing her throat, Quinn crosses her legs. Fuck me, she thinks. Of all the places to run into that girl, did she have to be doing the sexiest thing ever?

"I wonder why she stopped."

"Yeah I bet curiosity is what's got you all pink in the gills." Santana chuckles, chewing on some ice.

"What? I just thought Broadway was her thing."

"My ass, Q."

"Whatever S. I'm going to the bathroom."

"Mhm," she nods, pulling the chair out of Quinn's way. "While you're in there, try to borrow some dignity to bring back with you."

Backstage at the Black Cat is almost as packed as the house, only with feathers and sequins and lots of leggy blonde girls. Thanking God she wore leather pants, Quinn slips off her jacket, tousles her hair, and focuses on blending in with her lacy tank top. She ducks behind a wardrobe rack as Brittany skips by, chatting with another dancer about a banana that spoke to her in a dream. Laughing quietly, Quinn slips past the others and walks with purpose towards the room they had all exited, marked CAST with a giant gold star.

Some opportunities are not meant to be passed up.

…The music is live, the drinks are juicy, and this club has some pretty kitties of it's own to boot. Imagine a world where Broadway professionals get creative freedom to play. Now add glitter. This, my friends, is the stuff of dreams…

Sure, she hasn't talked to Rachel in seven years, but clearly, Rachel recognizes her. And maybe she kind of hoped she more than just remembers her.

The sheer fabric hanging from the ceiling and mediocre lighting gives the cast room a Middle Eastern feel. Gliding between the pink and gold silks, the room is quiet, but didn't quite feel uninhabited. She pats herself on the back for remembering that Rachel likes to be the last person to leave. Sure enough, as Quinn steps through a fiery red curtain she's met with a humming Rachel, bare legs folded under her as she removes her make up in a black button up shirt.

She's beautiful.

She jumps, dropping her cloth as her brown eyes meet hazel in the mirror.

"Quinn?"

Feeling suddenly out of place, Quinn knots her hands together, but finds that even more awkward, so she settles for crossing one over her stomach and wrapping her other in a strand of her hair.

Totally cool, Quinn.

"Hey."

Rachel turns on her chair to face the blonde, wrapping the open shirt around her, as Quinn's cheeks burn as red as the intimates Rachel's covering.

"I'm sorry for just stopping in, I.. Well. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed your show."

Rachel watches her for a second then chuckles knowingly, smirking as she stands. Her feet pad across the floor towards Quinn, the flaps of her shirt opening to fully display her assets in the dim room light. Quinn gulps visibly, and focuses entirely on maintaining eye contact, suddenly very aware of how alone they are.

This is not the Rachel she remembers.

…The hard hitters are here in folds. Once Broadway extraordinaire Rachel Berry has found her way back home to the stage again, charming the crowd to its feet with a sexy heart stopper of an opening number doused in smoky neon lights. Was this the calling she had been looking for all along? One would think, as the dark haired diva shows a side of her singing yet unknown to the entertainment world, and a whole lot of leg along with it…

"It would seem that a lot has changed since high school by what Brittany has told me." She says, reaching past Quinn to pick up a hanger for her stage clothes, the soft flesh of her arm barely brushing against Quinn's.

"For both of us." Quinn follows the brunette with her eyes as she moves across the room to hang the hanger on a rack, compelled by the calm confidence radiating off her olive skin. "What all did she say?"

"Oh." Rachel rolls up the sleeves on her shirt and turns back towards the blonde. "I'd say she's told me enough, Quinn."

Quinn gulps as Rachel steps slowly into her personal space. She's not touching her, but she wishes she was, her skin practically dancing with desire. Rachel tips her head up and studies Quinn's face for a moment, her eyes asking more questions than the one she speaks softly between them.

"What part of the show did you like best, exactly?"

Quinn swallows, ignoring the sweaty palms and weak knees left in the wake of Rachel's breath tickling across her open collar bone. It's now or never Fabray.

"Honestly." She says, slipping a hand into Rachel's shirt and resting it less than innocently around her hip. "My favorite part has always been you."

Rachel's eyes widen slightly. Quinn hears her breath catch and takes the moment to tug her closer, chest to chest, as she caresses the small of her back with whispering fingertips.

"You're so talented, Rachel."

"Thank you Quinn," She says, her fingers threading loosely through Quinn's hair as she stands, encircled in the blonde's arms. Quinn watches her brown eyes as they follow the trail of her fingers, caught for a moment in how dangerously deep they are, and the tiny flickers of emotion that flash across them.

Confidence.

Anxiety.

Regret.

Hope.

And settling, finally, on a shade Quinn would have recognized from across the room, let alone in the few inches between them.

Want.

Quinn's heart quickens as Rachel's hands slip through the tips of her hair and push firmly against her shoulders, guiding her onto a chair she hadn't noticed behind her.

Quinn tries to catch the groan before it slips past her lips, but it's too late. The surprise of Rachel's force arouses her, and she's pleasantly rewarded with a soft blush that chases down Rachel's cheeks at the realization, her hooded eyes watching Quinn as she stands over her.

"I have to say," she adds, pulling her brown hair loosely over her shoulder. Lowering a toned thigh on either side of Quinn's in the chair, she straddles her lap, her shirt sliding to the floor before her arms come to rest lazily around the blonde's neck. A small smile plays across her lips. Quinn can almost hear her heart beat in the stillness of the room. She's swallowed by the openness in Rachel's eyes, the glowing skin she's traveled so many times in her mind hovering just above legs.

"I was rather comfortable in your lap out there."

Her fingers are in Rachel's hair before the last word falls from her lips, crashing their mouths together. They groan into each other, melting into hot breath and firm strokes, a tracing tongue and nibbling teeth. Quinn's hands slide down Rachel's neck, her nails scraping down her naked spine and slipping under the delicate lace covering her butt. She squeezes tight, lifting her to press her firmly against her stomach as Rachel moans openly into her mouth, forcing her tongue past Quinn's teeth.

Quinn sighs into the kiss as Rachel's chest brushes gently against her own, her taut nipples like little pebbles stretching through the thin fabric of her bra. The warm weight of her full bottom fills Quinn's hands comfortably, almost too much with the added pleasure of the long dancer's legs wrapping around her waist. When she feels the heat pressing against her belly button, soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt, she's afraid her heart may beat right out of her chest. She notices her own excitement as Rachel wraps her fingers in her hair and yanks hard, tearing their lips apart. With a throaty growl, she nibbles a trail up Quinn's jaw before tracing the length of her throat with a soft tongue.

Sweet Rachel Berry.

"Rach." She whispers, thrusting automatically towards the arousal resting against her belly, so close to her own. A breath hisses between her teeth at the neediness of Rachel's lips against her pulse point, the low hum of pleasure she releases as Quinn slides her hands down the backs of her smooth thighs. Rachel bites into the curve of her shoulder, her nipples brushing delicately against the hard peaks in Quinn's tank top. She can only grasp one thought with Rachel's teeth tugging at her earlobe.

This is heaven. Too fast... but heaven.

"Rachel…"

And then, the heat is gone, and opening her eyes, Quinn barely catches a flick of brown stealing between the sheer curtains towards the door. Trembling slightly, she takes a deep breath.

"Jesus Christ."

Quinn flexes her hands looking into the mirror Rachel had been using, the clear proof that she hadn't imagined the encounter in the faint circular bruising already surfacing on the curve of her shoulder. Rachel Berry bit me! Smiling to herself, she leans closer to the mirror and inspects it, then pulls her hair hastily over the spot before turning to follow Rachel's lead.

She had no idea what just happened, or why, or where Rachel was now, or how she could just storm out on something she was pretty sure her shirt proved they both wanted, even if it was too fast. Did she even have clothes on when she left? She did always like to make dramatic exits. Quinn exhales shakily, stepping back out into the house audience. That was a little too much for even her.

As she settles back into her chair next to a curious looking Santana, she receives a big hello hug from Brittany and grins.

Finally, some inspiration.

…Whether you believe in the superstitions or not, this is one path that's meant to be crossed, again and again. Black Cat is officially out of the bag, and the best and brightest the city has to offer, hands down.

You review! Do it! Bye :)