A/N: Oh my God, seriously, I think I've caught some kind of Faberry week fever. I had just two ideas planned out and instead I keep coming up with new ideas and writing something else. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, followed, favourited, and reviewed my contributions so far. I'm normally someone who thinks, plans and edits things, so to have such a response to things I've written that are very 'raw/unedited' is amazing to me.
This could have fitted into one of the other prompts but what sparked this idea and what kept running through my head as I wrote it was 'possessive'. Also, most of what I write is quite happy and fluffy, if you've read any of my continually growing multi-chapter fic you'll know even when things get a bit rocky it all comes good in the end, so as a heads up/warning I have ventured slightly into angst territory here. It's new and scary ground for me so just hold my hand and I'm sure we'll get through it together, who knows we might even enjoy it.
Disclaimer: Glee still isn't mine, but it is on my Christmas list and I've been very good this year, until then it's just my imagination and I'm not looking to offend anyone with it.
Coffee
The sound of the front door to your apartment opening and closing, wakes you, and you reach out to the side to confirm what you expected, that you've woken up to an empty bed again. You'd prefer if there was still a certain warm naked body beside you but the duvet has made its way back onto your bed and you are warmly cocooned inside against the cold New York morning. The overriding thought right now is the need for coffee, you're halfway through your second year at NYADA and the workload, the auditions, the rehearsals and practices, have worn down your morning enthusiasm to the point that at least two cups of the black stuff is needed before you can even consider functioning.
Your whole body aches in a wonderful way and you delight in the way well-used and sore muscles feel like every individual tendon and ligament has been stretched and pushed to its limits. You don't think there's any part of you that hasn't been touched by Quinn in some way. There must be at least a dozen points on your body that twinge with a dull throb and you know the sensation well. Hickeys, bites, marks, indicators that Quinn has been here, has marked and claimed her territory, and it is her territory. Like a ruling monarch she appears to survey her land, reacquainting herself with it before re-staking her authority and then returning to her palace, leaving you both to carry on as normal in the wake.
The first time was the night before your wedding. Quinn appeared at your bedroom window, crashing in breathless and dishevelled, before your lips are crushed together and you tangle and fall into your bed.
You felt ashamed the next day, but not because you were stood there about to marry Finn while under your wedding dress lay the marks of another person, but because you lied to him. You loved him but you didn't love love him. In comparison he was like a big teddy bear, a blanket, that kept you warm and safe and feeling secure. Quinn is love; passion, desire, uncertainty, tenderness, contentment, jealousy, understanding, possession, adoration, confessions, there is something ethereal that binds the two of you together.
The night before Quinn leaves for Yale there's a knock on your front door and there she is breathless and dishevelled again, like she's had to run to your house because giving herself any time to think will make her change her mind. You're thankful that your parents are away for the weekend because you only get as far as the living room couch before clothes are torn away. In the morning you're woken up by the feel of lips against your neck. At first you think its light kisses being placed but you catch the slightest sound of her voice and realise its whispered words. It's too faint to make any of them out but the thought of what those words might be scares you, so when Quinn does place a kiss to your neck, gets up from the couch and begins to dress, you pretend to still be asleep rather than reach out; because Quinn in going to Yale and you are going to New York and you've already made that mistake once of letting someone get in the way.
A few months into college and you're the first one to use the Metro passes, this time it's you who turns up at Quinn's door dishevelled and breathless. Quinn's response is to unceremoniously throw out her room-mate, throwing the poor girls sweater and bag into the hallway after her, and you spend the rest of the day and night lost in her; except this time you bite back and as you take one last look at Quinn sleeping form before you leave there's a moment of pride at the marks you can see that you have left on her pale skin.
It's on the way back to New York that something niggles at the back of your brain and you're almost at Grand Central when the light bulb goes off in your head and you realise, Quinn doesn't have a room-mate, she lives in a single dorm.
"Is Quinn gay?"
You're sat on the couch in your apartment with Santana watching trashy tv when the question just falls out of your mouth.
"What are you talking about Hobbit, Quinn isn't gay she's shacking up with her damn psych professor."
"Oh."
"What is this about?"
You managed to shake off the rest of the conversation, moving onto the topic of Santana's new girlfriend always works in distracting the Latina.
The Metro passes are well worn, but there's still too much to sort through, so much you're still working out, and any progress you make is at a snail's pace. Perhaps it's a punishment, although you doubt it can really be called a punishment when so much pleasure is involved, or perhaps it's more like the tale of Icarus, to be near the sun and bask in the warm and glow it emanates is divine, but to go any closer and everything crashes and burns.
The aroma of coffee reaches you and breaks through your musings. You raise your arms above your head and point your toes in a final stretch to ease out the aches before you have to leave the warm confines of the duvet. Picking up some sweats and a shirt from the floor you follow the fresh coffee smell, a yawn turns into a smile as you walk into the empty kitchen to find your favourite mug next to the coffee pot.