A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Inspired by a post on tumblr: exchanging nudes with Satan.
Chewing her mouthful of vegan popcorn, Rachel's gaze moves over towards her silent phone. I wonder, she thinks, eyebrows slightly furrowing as she sits up enough to see the screen, if that number Puck gave me really is anything?
"Maybe you just need something different from what you are used to," the boy'd said, aggravatingly smug. "Maybe you need a kick in the pants."
Maybe.
Frowning, she groans and gives in, sitting up enough so she can reach for the device, already swiping her thumb upon the screen to unlock it. Opening her camera, she's taking a picture of her mouth and chin and shoulders before she realizes, the barest suggestion of a pause passing before she sends it off.
Five minutes elapse before she gets a response. I need to see more than that.
Rachel's heart thuds in her chest. That number actually sent somewhere? Squashing her immediate impulse to end the whole thing, she angles her phone down. Making sure to get the gaping open collar of her tank, along with the top of her cleavage and bottom of her neck, she clicks Send before she can stop herself.
This time, it's four minutes before she gets anything back. Better, but not enough.
What DO you want? Rachel sends, half honestly curious, half pretty much only humoring whoever was on the other end.
I'm Satan, shrugs the response, What do you THINK I want?
Biting her lip, Rachel sends a picture of her chest, tank lifted, breasts pressed forward in her bra.
When she gets a, Hmm... Better, but not good enough, she narrows her eyes and taps scathingly back, Are we exchanging or not? Send me what YOU want to see BACK.
Dark, smooth looking naked breasts and waist, hips, barest hint of what's under a belly button sears into Rachel's eyes three minutes later. "Oh," she swallows, mouth dry, You're female?
Disappointed?
No. And Rachel understands that's true. I just wasn't expecting that.
Whatever. You going to reciprocate?
Rachel stares down at her phone. Only an ex-boyfriend has seen her naked breasts, and that was only by pure chance, seeing as he had barreled through the door of her green room before she was ready. Still, she reminds herself, gently urging, it's not like the woman/girl'l have the chance to do anything with a picture, especially if she keeps her identity secret.
Time passes, and suddenly Puck's voice fills her ears: "Live a little."
Live a little. Rachel stops herself from snorting. Fine. Fine. Lifting her tank up, then unsnapping and pushing her bra down, letting it drop somewhere near her hips, she takes a deep breath, arches her back, and takes a quick picture. Only making sure it encompasses her breasts and stomach, not terribly awkward looking, she sends it off.
Nice, the responding text says, Going to go full monty?
Rachel narrows her eyes. You'd like that, wouldn't you?
Hey. YOU contacted ME.
True. Again. Groaning for the second time, rubbing her hand over her face, Rachel quickly removes her tank and shorts and already discarded bra, shoving them away before she loses nerve. Now clad only in her underwear and socks, she stops, swallows, and waits long enough for her phone to sound again.
Waiting...
Pulling her underwear down, letting the camera get a good view of her chest and hipbones and upper-just-above-her-most-private-of-private-parts-part, she takes a quick pic.
The response is less than a minute later. How'd you find this number?
Rachel stares down at her phone. What? What?
Her phone vibrates again. You're hot. How'd you find this number?
How about you send a picture back to convince me you're who you say you are? Rachel growls, pulling her tank up, against her chest. I feel like I'm the only one baring ANYTHING, here.
The response is full of amused good cheer - or at least as much as a picture can share. It's from nose to knees down, plump lips pursed even as a sinfully long tongue licks the woman/girl's lower lip, hips cocked and bare body arrogantly on display, practically wanton and almost obscene. It makes Rachel's mouth dry, her heart pound, and the center of her equilibrium admit she's not prepared to deal with the seductive power this "Satan" has.
Okay, she manages, thumbs skittering along her keyboard, But this means you're "Satan" how? She congratulates herself on adding the "s. Made it more dramatic.
Satan's text practically laughs. Do you really want me to prove that? Fire and brimstone's really not as sexy as Hollywood would want you to think. Add in a pointed tail, horns, and hooves, along with the strength of sexy, hot animal magnetism, and you tend to get a clusterfuck of sin more than consistent debauchery.
Rachel frowns. That's not exactly a satisfying answer, you know.
Too bad, Satan's response continues laughing at her, followed quickly by another picture of raised breasts and inhaled, tensed abs, crossed legs and thighs flexing more than satisfactorily under a shadowed pelvis. Do you still find this hot?
Rachel does. But before she can even think about starting to figure out a response, her phone receives another message. So sorry, the text drawls, but I feel obligated to tell you, as apparently I've been too involved to let you know so far, that you have ten minutes to send something back before our current contract expires.
Contract? So full of yourself, aren't you? Contract, really.
I'll give you points for that, but I was thinking more along the lines of another pic, hmm?
Heat glows on Rachel's cheeks. There's a time limit to this?
That's not a pic.
Exhaling, laughing a little, Rachel looks away and chews on her lower lip. She'll probably never talk to this woman again.
Probably.
Emboldened for a moment, she pushes herself off the couch, quickly shimmying out of her underwear. Pausing with her ass up, panties clenched in her hands as she stares down at the floor, she sighs, manages a smile, and straightens. Placing them onto her already discarded clothes, she breathes in deeply, shifts the blanket on the back of the couch down to cover the cushions she'll be lying on, and settles in, legs stretching out in front of her, back resting against the arm. Lifting her phone up, angling it for the camera to catch her from her breasts down, creases of her crotch on full display as she also gets the top of her lithe, lean runner thighs, she barely allows herself the time to blush before sending the resulting picture.
Mmm, Satan purrs over text, the words practically burning into Rachel's eyes, Tell me. Do you want someone to touch you right now?
Rachel's stomach clenches, and she sucks in a breath. She should find that distasteful, but... That's not an option.
And that's not an answer. Do you, another picture, this time of the dark plump lips in a wide, open smirk, what almost looked like white fangs gleaming on either side of equally white, straight teeth, the tip of the sinfully long tongue pushed out between, Want someone to touch you? Right now.
Squirming, Rachel snatches her left hand away from her stomach, where it had slid down without any command from herself. She's not exactly comfortable with this train of thought. It feels... Dirty.
Hot, but dirty.
She's beginning to feel dirty.
Coughing, sitting up, Rachel hunches over her knees, drawing her legs in close. Her thumbs pause over the keyboard again. This has gone much further than she ever expected. Maybe she should stop this.
Her phone vibrates. Remember, you have ten minutes to respond. If you don't, this stops.
The 'forever' is left off, but still implied. It practically glares at Rachel. Would you really go away? she asks.
Satan's text shrugs. That's how it works. I'm Satan. I don't have time to waste.
This woman sure can stick with her routine, Rachel thinks. Talking to me isn't a waste? Then, a second later, she sends another message. You have nothing better to do?
Seducing virgins? There's nothing I like better than making virgins sin.
Rachel stares down at her phone. Her heart vibrates in her chest. How... How did you know I'm a virgin? she snaps, letting the sinning part pass by.
I'm Satan, Satan's text smirks, oozing smugness.
Glowering down at her phone, Rachel closes her eyes, shakes her head, and sets it aside, rising from the couch again. She's thirsty. Water won't hurt her. Maybe, even, it'll help clear her head. Pulling the blanket up to wrap around herself in case she runs into one of her fathers, she walks up the stairs, pads into the kitchen, and manages to pour herself a glass of water before Do you want someone to touch you? floats through her head.
Below her stomach twinges. Her breath catches in her chest, and she has to grip the glass tightly so it doesn't slip out of her hand.
Not a second later, pictures of dark skin and a firm body flash in front of her eyes. Right now?
Gasping, Rachel's teeth glance across the glass as half of the water she'd poured sloshes into her mouth and against her lips. How much time does she have left?
Scrambling out of the kitchen and down the basement steps, slamming the half-full glass of water down onto the coffee table next to her phone, she drops onto the couch. It's been less than five minutes. Good. Even if there's really nothing about ten minutes passing, Rachel finds she doesn't want to test it.
It's almost as if someone else has taken over her body; Rachel types out, I want someone to touch me.
Do you want me to touch you?
Satan asks permission? Rachel's stomach flips again, and she presses her legs close together. Seeing as you're the only one offering... she hedges.
No. I need a definite answer. Do you.
Rachel's phone vibrates again. Want me.
And again. To touch.
One more time. You?
Rachel's pulse flares in her head. But that's really not an option, is it? Her hand presses down above her mons, and she groans, gnawing harshly on her lower lip. Why is she even asking this? It's not like sexting, as she'd found out with a previous boyfriend, was ever really worth it.
Isn't it? The next text she receives is a pic of a sharp, long fingernail pulling down Satan's lower lip. The glint of what could possibly be a fang shines. Satan's smirking, her lips are quirked up, and Rachel swears it's like the woman/girl's looking directly at her, shushing her, even if her eyes aren't pictured at all.
Let me see your eyes, she finds herself sending off before she comprehends she is.
Brown, deep brown, almost black, bottomless and swirling, sucking, goat eyes, definitely encased by human-looking eyelids and thick lashes, twinkle, winking at her as soon as she opens Satan's responding text.
Rachel exhales. Unless that's perfect Photoshop...
You still haven't answered me.
Does she... No. There's no way "Satan", the woman she'd been talking to, could have a tail or horns or hooves. No way. Rachel reseats herself on the couch. The blanket bunches under her, but she barely notices. She licks suddenly dry lips. Do you... Do you really have horns? She sends the text, then quickly sends another, Hooves? And a tail?
Countless minutes pass as Rachel's heart trips in her chest, cool air swirling and playing across her naked skin, drawing goosebumps. Her water condenses on the coffee table, next to her abandoned popcorn. Glancing at it, she dares a quick dart to pick it up, taking a fast, shallow sip, eyes still fixed on her phone.
Is she blaspheming...? Just... Talking to this woman/girl? This... "Satan"?
Only, Answer me. Do you want me to touch you? Satan sends back, almost blithely, ignoring her last questions.
Rachel swallows. She can still see Satan's body and finger - fingers - in her mind. Her fingernails... Would those hurt against her? Along her skin? Would they... I'm not sure, she responds, I'm... A little scared.
Minutes pass. Rachel gulps down another couple of sips of her water until there's no more. She stares at the glass in disappointment, slowly setting it down.
We'd have a contract, Satan's voice almost, somehow, soothes, practically breathing directly into her ears, no longer just a text on her phone screen, I wouldn't hurt you. It's almost like she's in the room, breath hot and real along Rachel's jaw and ear, whispering huskily as Rachel groans within her throat, closing her eyes and raising her chin, the words of the text still scorching along the inside of her eyelids. Not unless you wanted me to.
"I don't want you to," Rachel murmurs, barely coming up with the energy to type it as well, "I just..."
Yes...? the seductive, husky voice blows into her ears again. You'd contract...?
What is it with the contract? Rachel wonders sourly before the frustration suddenly carts itself away, flowing out of her mind. She blinks, somehow managing to look down at her phone again, focusing. Her thumbs flex uselessly along the keyboard.
Her mouth is dry. The rest of her is wet with sweat and excitement and expectation.
Relaxing back, Rachel arches over the arm of the couch, her chest thrust forward, her legs splaying out. She stares at the first picture Satan sent her, that stuck in her mind even as her eyes slip shut again, her phone falling away, down past her thigh.
If I was there...?
"If you were here," Rachel swallows, whispering out loud, smirking a little with residual amusement, knowing how pointless it is to even think about the possibility, "I'd kiss you first." At least she can say that without lying.
I can do kissing. I can do more. Satan's response smiles, what feels like hot fingers drawing up Rachel's side, Just tell me you want me to touch you.
Rachel sighs, hands dropping bonelessly into her lap. Her eyes flutter, but don't open. "Tell you...?"
A hot, firm body settles down upon her, in between her legs, still crouching over her upper body. Tell me to touch you. Tell me... Blistering hot teeth nip at Rachel's jaw, making her moan and jerk up, into the heavy weight above her, eyes still clenched shut. A sparking, achingly painful burning tongue licks up her cheek. Tell me you want me to touch you. Tell me... Tell me...
Rachel gasps. Moans. Pulls the body on top of her closer. "I'm afraid," she murmurs.
Plush lips press into hers. Sharp, what almost feels like fangs nip at her lower lip as cutting, alien pressure slides down her calves. When they meet Rachel's feet, feeling unapologetically hoof-like before stretching past, strong and animal and strange, Rachel swallows back tears, digging her fingers into a hot, strong back even as she dares a look.
Maelstrom meets her, sulfur and dark and violent within deep, unsettling brown eyes. Tell me.
Rachel tells her.