A/N: So first of all: I'd just like to say that this is my first ever Glee-fic, so please be kind. Also, I've never really watched the show in detail, safe for the Brittana/Faberry scenes. I did read a lot of fanfic/background though and feel like I'm kind of in tune with the characters. Also for the sake of the story: Finchel didn't walk to the hotel room together. I own nothing. I hope people still read Faberry, since I'm always late to the shipping party.
Quinn didn't know what she should've expected really, going back to the lame cow-town of Lima, but being drunk and getting dragged along to a hotel-room by a giggling and equally drunk off her ass-Santana definitely hadn't been on her to-do list. Well… in the first place that was.
The evening had started out innocently enough, with her best friend and her bitching to each other about why they hated Valentine's Day so much, but then again: it wasn't really out of the ordinary for them to whine about anything and everything, when they came together after some time apart. It was as the night progressed that shit really hit the fan. Firstly, miss Pilsbury decided that she needed to play the runaway-bride, leaving Quinn to ponder why exactly she'd bothered coming to her hometown in the first place, as it seemed Lima would forever just be equal to drama.
Then it only became worse, as she had to endure Rachel somehow being all over Finn again. After all of the jerk-moves that oaf had pulled on her kind-of-friend, she'd really hoped that they'd finally called it quits and the starlet had moved on to other and better, but no such luck apparently... She knew for a fact Rachel wasn't that naïve girl she'd known back in high school anymore. She'd gone to visit her in New York after all, finding it to be long overdue. She DID buy those metro North-passes for a reason and surely she'd had enough time to get over that infatuation she seemed to have going on for the longest time ever. Well, as it turned out, like with most things in her life, she'd been dead wrong about that…
As soon as she'd lain eyes on the diva that night in New York, she was somehow even more awe-struck by her beauty. In the sole year that they'd been apart, Rachel had really made the transition from cute to hot, even if she was still frustratingly endearing, when it came down to her mannerisms. Whenever she'd squealed or smiled that night, Quinn was immediately reminded of the adorable, kind girl in animal sweaters, who had captured her repressed heart back in freshman year. Quinn always hoped that she wasn't too obvious in her staring, because sometimes when there were silences between them, she really felt like a love-sick puppy.
The situation wasn't any different tonight, as her troubled gaze kept drifting to the verbose girl, clad in a simple pink dress, yet again transporting Quinn back in time to another almost wedding, that very memory painful for more reason than one, with part of the aftermath still all-too visible on her upper-body. The thought alone made her wince, as she hurriedly chugged down another shot of whatever it was that Santana was offering. Heck, not that she was complaining: alcohol was good on nights like these and her best friend always seemed to know exactly what she needed.
The girl in question, being well aware of her feelings for Rachel, didn't give her shit for it or played the agony aunt. Even when she'd first confessed it to her shortly after their New York-trip, they didn't dwell on it. The latina had just kind of shrugged, saying she'd always kind of guessed from the way Quinn treated Rachel. "Seems like you turned into a new statistic Q: textbook repressed Christian, but the midget, really?" she'd joked and Quinn had lightly slapped her, knowing it was all just said in good fun and meant to cheer her up. That's just the way they interacted. Besides: Santana didn't even have a right to judge her anyway, as she was still visibly pining over Brittany. She'd tried to hide it sure: behind confidence, crude jokes about Quinn's college professor (another desperate attempt to move on from Rachel.) and flirting with her best friend, but Quinn saw, saw the way she paused in her speech whenever Sam touched Brittany, saw the face she made when the two of them kissed. She should know: it was almost the exact same way she acted, whenever she cast a glance in Rachel's and Finn's direction.
She subtly balled her fists, the bile gradually rising in her throat, whenever she spotted her former boyfriend getting a little too handsy with the pint-sized diva. The nausea subsequently reaching its peak, when Rachel briefly looked at him in that way: the Rachel Berry goo-goo eyes-totally obsessed with Finn-freshman year-kind of way. It was a toned-down version of the look, sure: but she still recognized it, having memorized all things Rachel, back when it still seemed relevant. 'Well, maybe Rachel hasn't changed that much after all,' she found herself thinking bitterly, before promptly guiding her best friend closer to the bar, to score yet another round of shots.
As the night went on, she just couldn't seem to catch a break: Rachel was currently singing a ballad with Finn, both of them being all couply: making more moon-eyes at one another. Quinn's heart constricted almost painfully, in the vague, nagging notion that they probably wouldn't end their merry little reunion there. Still, she tried to pretend it didn't affect her: rolled off her like water of a duck's back, really, as she continued to slow-dance with Santana. It was like a little contest the four of them had going on: each time Finn stepped closer to Rachel, she'd pull her best friend closer, burying her face in her hair, all the while trying in vain to imagine it belonging to another, more perky brunette. Santana wouldn't mind of course, with her eyes wandering over to Britt seemingly off their own accord, every five seconds or so.
Quinn was harshly pulled out of her pleasant day-dreams, when "Rachel" suddenly started speaking ghetto, in a way only Santana could: "Q, you needs to grab my butt."
"I beg your pardon?" the blonde girl chuckled, the pleasant effects of the tequila now slowly beginning to settle in her body.
"Ugh… grab the goodies! Come on: trouty-mouth has his sweaty paws all over Britt's sweet behind. We have got to make her jealous," the Latina replied heatedly.
"Fine, I don't know who the hell you're kidding though," Quinn sighed, shaking her head with a cynical smile, while she boldly groped the other girl's ass. There would've been a time when this would've embarrassed her to no end, but tonight she just didn't seem to give two shits. They'd been friends all their lives, Santana was attractive, reminded her vaguely of Rachel… her cloudy mind didn't really see the big deal… Rachel… The name simultaneously filling the gloomy blonde with joy and anguish. A tingle went straight to her gut, when her gaze travelled to the singing starlet yet again, the song-lyrics getting carried by her melodic, strong voice, which never failed to knock Quinn completely off her feet, leaving her completely in awe of the shorter girl. In a way this situation reminded her a lot of junior prom, the only difference being that she'd still kind of succeeded in keeping Finn away from the object of her affection there, well… for a short while at least.
"So how'… howz that anti-romantic Valentine's Day working out for ya, huh?" Santana slurred, shakily leaning on Quinn, clearly having consumed more than her fair share of liquor by now. All of the happy "Finchel" singing had blissfully ended, the party gradually winding down, as more and more people disappeared to their hotel rooms. It did make sense for the festivities to not last that long, especially considering the fact that the hosts went poof hours ago, with Emma eloping and Mr. Schue understandably not wanting to stay for much longer after that.
"Fine: who needs boyfriends anyway?" the latter girl muttered drowsily, feeling the warm vibe of the alcohol beating strongly through her very being, yet still managing to hold her own, against a practically smashed Santana. She wasn't really lying: she never needed boys or craved them: well, not for romance anyway. It was just so very easy to manipulate them for popularity. She'd enjoyed playing with people's emotions probably more than she should have, in the past and she wasn't proud of that fact, but guys like Finn and Puck had just made it way too easy.
At the beginning, when she still believed she could convince herself Finn HAD to be the one, she'd been more sincere, sweet and forgiving towards him. As things went on though, she'd been slowly losing herself in the wonderful personality that was Rachel Berry and just kind of stopped caring about all those guys altogether, especially when comparing Finn to Rachel. The rivalry between Finn and Puck had been the worst, for example, even if she had kind of provoked them both. Then again, she guessed that's how things generally went in guy-world: Whenever two of them set their sights on the same girl, they became like animals in a jungle: pouncing on one another, in order to impress the lady. It was all just a little too much: "Me Tarzan, you Jane" to her tastes. Men just seemed to have a penchant for disappointing her. No, she'd had quite enough. She decided then and there that tonight would be the time, to take the official plunge into truly uncovering her deep-rooted, denied sexuality.
When she'd been talking to Santana a few weeks back, she hadn't really labeled herself, leaving her friend to assume that she was bi. She wasn't: men were just more convenient to date, especially when it came to presenting herself to the outside world. In her heart Quinn had known she liked girls for quite some time (even if it took a while to admit it to herself), well one girl in particular and since she could never have her anyway, the next best thing just had to do. 'It wouldn't be too bad,' she told herself. She trusted Santana, heck she probably could learn a thing or two from her, besides her friend could use the distraction just as much it seemed, seeing as Sam and B had just stumbled away giggling right in front of her eyes, obviously in the mood to 'get freaky', as Puck would call it.
"Damn right! I drink to that: hey what'd you say we get the hell out of here?" the latina opposite of her giggled, seemingly having read Quinn's mind, as she reached for her hand, this action failing quite spectacularly, as her own hand missed direction and now flapped kind of aimlessly next to the other girl's arm.
The blonde just smiled at her antics, threw one last look at Finn whispering something in Rachel's ear, prompting the girl to giggle, then murmured: "Sure, why not?", right before she allowed Santana to guide her into new undiscovered, yet exciting territory.
The actual sex wasn't as fun as Quinn had liked to picture beforehand. Her friend, being quite the seasoned lesbian knew what she was doing, sure, but she herself wasn't nearly as confident, feeling like it was her first time all over again: languidly feeling up the latina, much too slow and sappy to Santana's liking of course. As a result the other girl quickly became impatient, nearly tossing the blonde off of her with her antsy wiggling. It was only, when she hesitantly inserted two fingers (a thing she'd never quite succeeded in doing to herself, without getting overwhelmed by shame afterwards), that the brunette finally seemed to reach a state nearing satisfaction, even if the actual road to orgasm still proved to be long and bumpy.
"Ugh, harder, Q, I'm not a freaking porcelain doll," Santana complained, in between pants, with Quinn desperately trying to block out her voice, to enhance the illusion of Rachel gasping beneath her.
"It's Rachel, Rachel, it's Rachel," she whispered softly over and over, closing her eyes and finding a rhythm with the scissoring of her fingers, hoping that the other brunette wouldn't hear, so she didn't have any ammo to blackmail Quinn later on. Even if she did trust her friend for the most part, one never really knew for sure with Santana Lopez. If she herself thought she sounded kind of crazy, then what would Santana think?
"Da… damn, Q, what are you muttering about? I didn't know you were into that tantric shi… oooh, oh yeah: that's good right there."
The blonde smirked smugly, at her friend's encouragement. It seemed she had found the key to unlocking her sexual talents and her own hidden passions along with them: why thinking intensely of Rachel Berry of course. Sensing that the other girl was close, she stepped it up another notch. As she continued moving, unbidden images of the girl of her dreams writhing on a bed presented themselves in her mind, the fun subsequently almost getting ruined by the unwanted visual of a lumbering giant grunting and touching her with his grubby paws. It was fine though, seeing as it only fueled her jealous anger more, prompting her to go faster and faster, until…
"Ooh, oh shit, shit oh my god, oh yes, ooh… oh… fuck… Britt!"
At the mention of Brittany's name, Quinn in all her confident, top-dog-ism, only brought out more by the booze, channeled her old HBIC-persona, as she provided the latina with a pointed glare and a raised eyebrow.
"What, like you're not thinking of doing some serious nasty lebanese scissoring with Streiss… hmm," the foulmouthed ex-cheerleader was abruptly cut off by her friend planting a harsh, aggressive kiss on her lips. The latina just grinned into it and bit Quinn's lip, really only intending to rile her up a bit. For some reason, she always seemed way more hostile, when she'd been drinking, which made it even more fun to tease her.
"Don't talk about her," the girl in question warned, hissing at the brunette below her. She didn't want Santana ruining the fantasy of her being involved with the tiny diva right now. And she didn't care much for the way she talked about Rachel either. So far, having sex with her wasn't all that different from bumping heads with her, back in the halls of Mckinley and while it frustrated her to no end, it also appeared to provide her with more carnal energy.
"Why not? Heck, I bet it'd be very gratifying when she has her o-face on: she'd probably belt out one of her high note…"
"I told you to: SHUT… UP!" Quinn yelled, pushing roughly at the other girl's shoulders, hands slightly slipping due to a light sheen of sweat covering both of their bodies, hereby effectively punishing her for reminding her again of the one person she could never have. She then boldly lowered herself down between the brunette's legs and impatiently slapped her thigh, signaling for Satan to open them. If she was doing this, she might as well go all out, after all.
"You know what, Fabray? I'm not really in the mood for that right now. In fact: I'm still sensitive as shit and you're a rookie, so why don't you just lie back, cause me thinks it's about time I rocked your world," the cocky brunette interrupted the proceedings with a smug smirk, still secretly out to top her best friend, as she hurriedly pulled her up and flipped her onto her back, before the blonde could even get as much as half a word in.
Rachel was nervously pacing around the lobby of the hotel. Finn had already gone up to a room, while she'd still been in the restroom, leaving her to deal with tracking him down. It wasn't that he'd been completely inconsiderate, as the boy had previously whispered the number into her ear, his voice holding promises for what sure had to become an amazing night, but she felt that he should have at least had the courtesy of waiting for her until she had made proper use of the available facilities.
She sighed, as she couldn't for the life of her recall whether the number was 230 or 320, which of course made a considerable amount of difference, since those rooms would be on separate floors. She huffed, while continuing to stride around in circles in true diva fashion, effectively unnerving some of the guests, who were waiting for their key cards over at the desk.
This predicament right here was exactly why spontaneous courses of action didn't suit her persona. A few minutes ago, she had been elated at the prospect of spending the night with her former boyfriend, but by now the doubt had already began to cast its heinous seeds into her mind. Her OCD always did seem to be so much worse in Lima. She wasn't sure she could go through with this anymore. She was already involved with Brody, so wouldn't sleeping with Finn make her out to be some kind of woman with loose morals?
Then again: the latter guy had appealed to her inner romantic, with all those heartfelt claims of his. He'd been so sincere, as he looked into her eyes and since the arrangement between her and Brody was merely of a sexual nature and not really what she was truly after( Finn was right: she had been deceiving herself) and her former great love was waiting for her, she finally decided on giving things a go. Who knew what good could come of it? So she straightened herself up, took a deep breath, put on her mega-watt smile and decidedly marched over to the elevator, mouthing: "Spontaneous, be spontaneous and see what the night will bring.", hereby not doing anything to diminish the uneasiness in the other clients of the hotel.
"Spontaneous: I'm being spontaneous. If the number turns out to be incorrect, it will be of no matter. I am Rachel Barbra Berry and I am being spontaneous," the starlet kept muttering to herself proudly, while walking straight up to room 230 with a quick, self-assured strut.
"Mhh, fuck, baby… Rach," Quinn keened, unabashedly permitting herself the liberty of finally moaning her kind-of-friend's name. It proved to be way easier now, with her not having to see Santana's face, as she was currently quite busy pleasing her friend beneath the sheets. The former head cheerleader was already nearing the edge and lifting the comforter only to get an eyeful of brown hair, didn't help her cause any either. She was so caught up in reaching her peak, that she failed to notice the door opening, unknowingly setting her up for quite the disconcerting experience…
As Rachel threw open the door with a sigh, she'd prepared herself for many things: a naked Finn, maybe a canoodling couple, people saying they were sorry, but that she had the wrong room… The last thing she'd anticipated though, was her former high school frenemy thrashing around in what seemed to be full naked glory, while apparently moaning her name in between absolutely inexcusable expletives.
"Q… Quinn?" the diva gasped in a small voice, not quite believing her eyes.
Upon hearing her name, Quinn promptly sat up a little higher. That sounded like… but it couldn't be! Santana locked the door, didn't she? Deciding to make absolutely sure, she quickly opened up her tired eyes, getting overwhelmed when she saw just who it was standing in the doorway. No, oh no: she had to be hallucinating, for sure! All the sex and the thinking about Rachel had gotten to her head. Yes, that had to be it, cause if it wasn't...
This situation was just all kinds of confusing and disturbing: Rachel Berry was currently standing in the doorway, she herself was very close to orgasm and had been repeating said girl's name over and over again, Santana was between her legs and wouldn't let up, seemingly still too drunk to care if there was a third party or if there was anything going on at all besides sex, for that matter.
"Ra… Rachel?" the blonde croaked, in between pants, prompting the future Broadway star to look her right in the eye, with an even more baffled expression than she'd sported before.
Just then, Santana decided to do something absolutely mind-blowing with her tongue and Quinn couldn't help it, her emotions going completely haywire due to all the stimuli… she had to… she couldn't take it… Rachel's expressive eyes, brown hair tickling her thighs, the sound of the diva's voice, when she'd called her name…
"Oh my god, Rachel!"
As soon as the scream had torn from her throat, she already regretted it and hated herself with a passion for what she'd just done. She'd defiled her friend's trust beyond words and now things were never ever going to get even close to being okay between them again.
"Well, actually it's aunty Tan… oh crap," Santana muttered, having only just emerged from beneath her hiding place, causing Quinn to feel even more ashamed somehow.
"Rach… Rachel, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, I can explain... please," the blonde girl pleaded hoarsely, while quickly covering herself up, tears welling up in her eyes, even if she already knew it wasn't of much use anymore.
There was a hint of something unreadable in the eyes of the third girl, right before her face adapted a more stoic expression, as she cleared her throat and calmly stated:"I'm so sorry, but I appear to have the wrong room. Please excuse me, as I will now leave you to your proceedings."
She subsequently nodded curtly and flashed the duo on the bed a fake smile, before woodenly turning around and slowly closing the door behind her.