Author's Note: I haven't done anything M rated lately and this popped into my head and so I wrote it and now here it is. Also, my first shot at second person narrative.
It's been fifteen years since you've seen any of them, except for Brittany and Santana of course. You got out of Lima as quickly as possible. You had nothing holding you back because you gave the baby up for adoption and you're glad for that. You saw her a few times when she was a toddler but she doesn't really feel like she fits in your life so when you left you left her, too. You're successful now with Santana as your business partner. You've got a high six (sometimes seven) figure salary, and a condo in Los Angeles with a walk-in closet that's bigger than the dorm room you had in college. The joys of being an attorney for the wealthy, they seek you out and you're always willing to take on a new client. You've kept actors and actresses out of jail for various crimes and kept CEOs from getting fired and thrown in jail. Last year was particularly good after the CEO of a major Fortune 500 company got caught in a blackmailing and murder-for-hire scandal and you got him out of it completely unscathed. He gave you a Porsche and your earnings from it got you a week in Hawaii in a beach front spa cabin with your own private stretch of sand.
Santana isn't as dedicated as you are because she has Brittany and two kids to take care of. You're happy with your life though. You've dated and were engaged for a few months before the asshole decided you were a workaholic, which you knew already and warned him of the first time you met. You're just waiting for someone that can handle your demanding schedule because you sure as hell aren't going to change for anything. You're well aware that your biological clock is ticking, your mother reminds you of it every time you talk. Your baby is your work right now and so you don't really listen.
You've often wondered what happened to all of them. Okay so you really haven't…except for one. But you know what happened to her because her face is absolutely everywhere. She's been in at least two movies a year for ten years, before that you followed her career on Broadway and even went to New York with your first big paycheck and you saw her perform one of her last shows. She didn't know you were there. You'd long since gone your separate ways and she was more than happy to let it be that way. You're thankful you've never gotten a call from her agent because it means she's living her life morally and has been uncorrupted by Hollywood.
Why you decided to go to the fifteen year reunion when you didn't go to the five or ten, you will never understand. But you're here now in your hometown, wandering the halls of the brand new high school that was built in replacement of the one you walked through that was leveled by a tornado six years ago. The arts wing has her name over the door. The band room, choir room, auditorium, dance room, art studio…she donated the money for that wing to be built to be the best in the state if not the entire country. For someone that wanted so desperately to get out of Lima and be a star she's sure done a lot to help it. You figure that it's what her publicist tells her to do to keep up her wholesome small-town-America image.
You make your way to the gymnasium, there aren't many people there yet except Brittany and Santana, the three of you came in from Los Angeles together. People file in slowly and you talk to all of the former glee clubbers to find out what they've been doing. You don't really listen, you just smile and nod and keep your eye on the door.
The gym is packed and everyone's laughing and talking and introducing spouses. It's hot and you're starting to sweat. You don't know if she's going to show up or not, Brittany and Santana said she was at the last two and Kurt says he's talked to her recently and she said she had every intention of coming because she had a break in filming her latest movie. You make your way to the cafeteria where there are snacks and punch and a few more people. You wander back to the arts wing and look up over the doors at her name. You flash back to that year and a half of your life where you were certain of everything and nothing all at once.
Her hands in your hair, your hands on her hips. Lips connecting, tongues colliding. Rolling around in her bed, pinning her hands above her head. Her cries of passion, your moans of pleasure. Vows to never, ever let go or forget. Promises to love and adore forever, no matter where paths led you. Sweating and whimpering and moaning and teeth and thrusts. Bites and bruises and heat and slickness and sweet tastes and quivering bodies.
Acceptance letters, realizations. UCLA, Julliard. Boxes and moving trucks. East coast and west. Agreements that if it's meant to be it will happen. E-mails and phone calls letters and care packages for a few months. E-mails and phone calls for a few months more. E-mails for a while and then the phone call that ends it all. Broken hearts and broken promises. Graduation and grad school. Job interviews and resumes. The perfect job, working your way up, earning a reputation, starting your own firm with Santana, dedicating your entire life to your work.
And now here you are. Standing in the doorway of the Rachel Berry Arts Department at McKinley High. You stand looking up at her name and your heart flutters just as it did the first time you realized that you had a crush on her. You hear an eruption of cheers come from the gym and you instinctively know why. You take a deep breath and make your way back and you see her standing there surrounded by people who once threw slushies at her and called her names. She is polite to all of them. You know it's because she doesn't want to damage her reputation. She's known for being nice to everyone. You wonder when she'll break. Then you see it. You see him. You see a man on her arm looking down at her with a smile.
You didn't really expect her to stay single. You sure as hell didn't. You get a little closer and hear her introduce him as "my friend Eric". It takes a good half hour for the crowd to migrate away from her and she sends her friend away to get punch and he obliges. She goes through her purse and pulls out a small mirror. She touches up her makeup and freezes, you notice that you're in the reflection. She slowly puts it back in the small clutch and you watch her square her shoulders. She turns and with a bright smile, she greets you.
"Hello, Quinn," she says brightly.
"Good to see you, Rachel," you say with a weak smile. "I would ask what you've been up to but anyone that doesn't know is either an idiot or has been living under a rock."
"I could say the same about you," she says. "At least in the show business world." Her smile fades.
"I just hope I never have to represent you," you say with a smile. "But just in case…" you hand her a business card and she takes it with a roll of her eyes. She tucks it in her clutch.
"Sorry to disappoint you but I have no intention of getting caught up in a murder-for-hire scheme or drive home from a club all cracked out and spend a night in jail for DUI."
You can tell she thinks you're disgusting for what you do. Why does no one ever bring up that you donate to several charities every year? Sure, you're known for being a cutthroat bitch and you're certain that if it were still in existence that you'd be on The Celebrity Apprentice and win it. You have had offers to do a few reality shows, including one of your own that would revolved around finding you a new intern. You decline all of the offers because they would only distract from your work. But still, you give to charities that benefit people and that should be a factor. Judging by the look in her eyes, she doesn't care.
"I hope you don't need me," you say simply. "But everyone screws up sometimes."
"I haven't yet and I don't intend to."
Eric returns with two glasses of punch and Rachel introduces you. The minute he opens his mouth you make a mental note to introduce him to Kurt.
"The Quinn Fabray! You represented…" he starts listing off the names of celebrities you've stood next to in the court room. You smirk at a few of the names remembering what you had to do to get them out of their deep holes. When he's finished you just smile and nod.
Rachel beats you to your idea of introducing him to Kurt. "Eric, see that man in the red shirt?"
"Oh my gosh, he is yummy!"
"Go talk to him."
Eric obeys and bounces off over to Kurt. You laugh and see a small glimmer of the famous Rachel Berry smile.
"So you despise me," you say. "Fair enough."
"I just think you could've done better things with a law degree."
"I could have, yeah. But I like my work."
"I never thought you'd go back to your Cheerios days. Not after…" she trails off and immediately sips her punch. You know what she's talking about. You softened after you two started dating. You told her one night that you had the overwhelming urge to do something good in this world.
"Things change, Rachel. People change. Surely you know that."
"That they do," she says.
You see the sweat break out on her brow and it reminds you of when you were once the one to cause that sweat. You see the pulse in her neck is going crazy and you're sure yours matches it.
"Do you want to get out of here?" you suggest. You know she'll say no but you want nothing more than to leave the hot gymnasium and go somewhere cooler. You don't care where, just as long as it's not filled with people.
She looks over her shoulder and back to you. "Sure. Eric's occupied for the time being."
You're completely shocked but you shrug and lead the way out of the gymnasium. Your feet carry you to the art department and into the choir room. It looks about the same as the old one with the risers and the piano. There's a sound booth off to one side now, though, and microphones hanging from the ceiling.
"It would be more nostalgic if it were the old room," she says.
"That tornado was pretty horrible from what I heard," you say. You never actually saw the damage but you heard about it.
"It was. I came a few days after it hit and helped out whenever and wherever I could."
"Of course you did. Why else would your name be in gold letters above the door?"
"I wanted to make sure that any potential future stars had advantages over their competition," she states flatly.
"You've done well for yourself," you say. You let your guard down a little because you know she won't rip you apart. "I'm really proud of you, Rachel."
She shrugs. "It's nice," she says. "I get to do what I love. I wish I had someone to share it with sometimes though but I also know I'm a workaholic and rather demanding."
You gasp in fake shock. "You? Demanding? Never!"
She giggles and you sigh.
"Why'd we lose touch, Rach?"
"We were busy, Quinn. We were on separate coasts and you had things to do and so did I."
"You've been in LA for years now. Why didn't you look me up?"
"The door swings both ways. You could've looked me up when you found out I was there."
You nod because you know she's right. You change the subject. "How's your love life?" you ask with a smirk. You know it's something she keeps secret. The tabloids speculate and there are candid pictures of her with a few different men through the years but she never says anything when anyone asks.
"Uneventful," she says. "Most of the men I take to awards shows or that I'm pictures with are gay. I like to keep the tabloids guessing and on their toes. I know how to hide my real dates."
"So are you seeing anyone now?"
"How much is People Magazine paying you to keep the tape recorder in your shirt?" she winks and smirks.
"Couple million," you say. "I've got my eye on a townhouse in Manhattan, I need the money to furnish it."
She scoffs. "Please, as if you don't have enough to buy the state of Ohio already."
You grin. "Speak for yourself, Ms. 'Got ten million for her last film'."
"I'm not seeing anyone," she says. "You?"
"I was engaged a few years ago but apparently I'm a workaholic, too. Right now I'm just working on my career."
"Code for 'no one wants to date someone obsessed with their work'."
"Pretty much so."
"Was he good in bed at least? Relieve some tension?"
"He was okay." What you really want to say is, "No one will ever compare to you, Rachel. God, you were so fucking amazing."
"Everyone is 'okay' compared to me," she says with a laugh. You stop your brain because now you're sure she can read it. Maybe she wasn't kidding about that sixth sense.
"I…well…you…" You're a lawyer. You're not supposed to stammer. But somehow Rachel Berry can still make you weak at the knees. The laugh drops from her voice and she stares up at your with her eyebrows raised.
"Oh God, I was just kidding…" she gasps. Then she smirks. "So you haven't had really good sex in fifteen years?"
You sigh.
"That explains a lot," she says.
You have no idea when she got so close that your bodies were almost touching. You know that her mouth is right up next to your ear and her arms are around your waist and yours are instinctively around her shoulders. Her teeth are grazing your earlobe and you moan.
"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers. You can only nod. "Every single person I've fucked in the last fifteen years, and trust me it hasn't been that small of a number…I've imagined it was you."
So much for the wholesome small town girl image. Her teeth crash against your neck and she bites you in that place that only she knows how to bite you and your fingernails grip into her back. One hand stays on your waist as she pushes you back against the piano and her other hand drops down under your lose black skirt.
"Did you miss my touch, baby?" she whispers in your ear. "Did you miss it?"
Her fingers push aside your underwear and she groans when she reaches her ultimate goal.
"I'll take that as a yes," she groans when she feels how wet you are.
"Kiss me, Rachel…" you beg. You need her lips against yours like you need air at that moment. She doesn't oblige. Instead she pushes two fingers inside of you and starts thrusting and continues moaning into your ear.
"You're so hot," she whispers. "I knew the moment I saw you that I was going to fuck you tonight. I knew it and I wanted so bad for it to be here. You remember the first time I fucked you in the choir room, Quinn?"
You nod. It was when everyone got back from nationals junior year.
"I fucked you up against the piano, just like this, remember?"
Her fingers are pushing deep inside you and you can barely stand but you have to. She thrusts hard, just like you liked it.
"What was it you screamed, baby? It was the first time you ever said it, remember? Tell me what it was."
"I…I…l-love…" you gasp when she curls her fingers just right and presses her thumb to your clit bringing you so close to the edge that you can't form a coherent thought. But you know if you don't answer the question that she'll pull away. It was her little game to get what she wanted out of you and you loved it.
"What was it, Quinn? Answer me," she growls.
"I love you!" you scream when she presses again. Her lips crash against yours and her tongue is in your mouth and you're moaning into the kiss as she thrusts again and again and keeps rubbing and you finally come undone all around her.
"I love you, too," she whispers against your lips when she pulls out of you. "I've always loved you."
You nod and swallow hard. She holds you up until you can stand on your own. She starts heading toward the door but you grab her wrist and pull her back.
"I don't think so," you say.
You've wanted so long to feel her again and you're not going to let her get away until you do. You grab her by the hips and lift her up onto the piano. She leans down and kisses you deep and you push up her skirt. She's not wearing underwear; you know she was expecting this. You push her legs apart and run your fingers through the wetness that has accumulated between her legs. She lies back across the wood and you watch her chest move rapidly as she moans. You hoist her legs over your shoulders and lean in and press a kiss to each of her inner thighs. You can smell the intoxicating scent and you reach out with your tongue and flick it over her clit. She squeaks and you push two fingers inside of her.
"Fuck," she lets out.
You take her clit between your teeth, you remember she liked the pain. Her fingers tangle in your hair as your tongue traces patterns over the bud and you thrust your fingers hard. Your other hand finds its way up her stomach and she grabs on to it with her free hand. You remember this position. You loved it. You pull your fingers out and replace them with your tongue, you need more of that taste. She gasps and you start running circles around the hard bud with your fingers and pushing your tongue in as deep as you can get it. You can tell she's getting close, she's moaning and whimpering your name. You keep going and her grip tightens and she calls out.
"Quinn! God! I love you! Fuck…fuck! Quinn!" she comes undone at the last word and her fingernails dig into your scalp. You lick up as much of the sticky liquid as you can. It's been fifteen years since you've had it and it tastes so damn good.
She's breathing hard and you pull her back down to the floor and hold on to her just as she held on to you. You lean down and kiss her deep, her tongue explores your mouth sampling the lingering taste of herself.
"Come back to my hotel with me," she whispers when you break the kiss. "I don't want you to be able to walk in the morning."
"I don't plan on walking anywhere tomorrow anyways," you say with a smirk. "Just screwing you senseless."
She smiles and grabs your hand and leads you out of the choir room. She tries to find Eric to tell him to find his own way back to the hotel but Santana says that he and Kurt disappeared. Rachel shrugs and says she'll text him later.
She keeps her promise. You can't walk in the morning but you don't really care because she's in your arms and you're again thinking about all the good things you want to do in the world and you know that now you can do them and she'll be by your side and that's all that matters.