Right, it's you, someone I can trust with this
Quinn's not quite sure when she got here. Or why, for that matter.
She remembers playing Sudoku (game forty-four, thank you very much), legs crossed in the air behind her, music on shuffle, when she sensed something. Almost as if the air had been flowing, but then it paused, halted by a human act of hesitation. Quinn cocked her head to the side, ears perked, and paused. She was supposed to be alone, finally alone and safe in this house. She didn't want to ruin it, not yet.
But when Rachel Berry enters a room, she demands attention.
Which is why hazel met brown as Rachel's foot crossed the threshold, the forward transference of weight drilling everything toward Quinn, overpowering.
Were it anyone else, Quinn would've paused her playlist and dragged the down to the kitchen. There's something so intimate about listening to someone's music, all of the different genres and artists revealing the heart of someone, their dreams.
Their fantasies.
But Rachel's already skipping over to her bed, perching on it delicately before spreading her arms wide and falling backwards with a content grin. Quinn simply bites on the end of her pen, contemplating whether her logic is indeed flawless and a seven does belong in the box. They stay separate like that, existing, until they both feel it, that tug of a string, and gravitate in unison.
For all the bite and sting behind past transactions, that string has not even frayed and beckons just as urgently.
Now they move willingly, Rachel tumbling onto her stomach, hands folded under her head, Quinn coming to kneel next to the edge, elbow resting beside her. Quinn waits by tracing an outline around Rachel's fingers, knowing she'll share eventually. It's how Quinn can tell what kind of conversation this is going to be.
The hesitation present since Rachel's pause in the doorway is her way of imprinting the bliss, just in case.
There's no anxiety or push to talk at all, and that's how Rachel knows Quinn is happy with her, not needing to reach a point of action to achieve fulfillment.
"Will you stay in with me tonight?"
Quinn thought she felt safe with her parents gone, but this is something more for Rachel, beyond the safety in being out of reach or safety in numbers.
"You know I was asked to go out with a few Cheerios."
And Rachel does, that's why she's asking. The second hand knowledge, most of the time not even complete if Quinn just stops texting, has created a need in her to know where Quinn is so she can hold and be held when sometimes it's just too much.
"You don't need to. I can be here for you." Rachel doesn't know if she should be nonchalant or grab Quinn's face and make her drown in chocolate eyes until she sees.
"They already told the guys we'd be there." Quinn knows it's a reason, knows it's two. It's the reason she needs to go and why Rachel needs her to stay.
"You can't."
Quinn pretends to be amused, when really it's what she's wanted to hear, someone to say 'no, I want you here more than you need to be there.' But of course, the restriction and control kinda infuriates her.
"And why-"
"I can't."
There, they're actually going to talk about it. This isn't Quinn having fun and Rachel being innocently shocked, this is reality.
"Alright? I'm worried. You laughed but I was so, so worried."
"Nothing would've happened, Rachel. I wouldn't have let him progress. You know that."
"Did he know that?" Rachel wishes she could've screamed it, beat her fists against Quinn's shirt before yanking her closer to keep her safe.
Keep her here.
But it's almost bluntly stated, except nothing about how Rachel feels right now is curbed or filed away.
"You said, you said he just shoved his tongue down your throat and that all you wanted was for it to stop."
"There were other in the room. Other Cheerios, too."
"One of them was giving a hand job."
"It wasn't like it was a mass orgy or something. I was fine. Every time, I've always been fine."
"But God, Quinn! Every time you just let them! They invite you and every time it happens! What happens when it's more than a taste you can't get out of your mouth, when it's something you can't get rid of?"
"I got rid of Beth, didn't I?"
Rachel's eyes slam shut, because yes, Beth. Is that why? All these guys who have just broken her, and Quinn just needs to feel?
"Why am I not enough for you?"
"Because you're too much." It's true. Quinn lives when she's with Rachel. She stops being a narrator and even moves past being an actress to actually owning her life.
Rachel almost thinks that means Quinn needs to escape from her, too. But she knows better. What Quinn's doing, it's her way of confiding. She can't bear to complain or ask someone for a moment for fear of some kind of rejection.
So she takes her problems and allows a horny muscle to push them deep inside for her to swallow her.
"What's it like?"
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. No elaboration means Rachel's embarrassed or nervous about what she's asking.
"Making out?" Quinn guesses.
Rachel nods. If she's going to prevent Quinn from leaving, she needs to know what Quinn's looking for so she can provide it instead.
Quinn runs a hand through her hair, thinking. She needs to inject her reasoning into it so Rachel can understand.
"Every guy just goes for it. It's always a, a 'get some' kiss. I don't need it to be all soft and loving, but somewhere in the middle, something with some passion for once."
"You're looking for passion in a hook-up?"
"I don't-"
"The term 'hook-up' is so popular because it is equally as vague. Its meaning can range from making out to a mass orgy, as you said. I'm not implying you sleep around." Rachel smiles and touches the back of her hand, placating her.
Quinn rolls her eyes with a grin. "Whatever. But yes, pathetic as it is. I feel like if I could just find it, I would find someone to go with it. I could prove that I'm not-"
She snaps her mouth shut. No, she wouldn't go there. That couldn't be a reason. It was…pathetic. Like everything else apparently.
Rachel didn't know what Quinn was going to say, but she needs to let her know what she meant to Rachel. That she means something, period.
"You're not worthless. Or vulnerable, or any self-deprecating yet grossly inaccurate word you could fathom using to describe yourself."
Quinn smiles softly and lays her head on Rachel's shoulder.
"But I do like girls."
"You say that like it could possibly make you less than you are, which is just as untrue as those aforementioned adjectives." Rachel gently places her head on top of Quinn's, grounding her.
"You're still Quinn."
Quinn closes her eyes and intertwines their fingers.
"Thank you."
Rachel began to fidget softly. One of Quinn's eyebrows raise in response.
"Something you need to share?"
"I haven't even had my first kiss," she admits.
Quinn laughs. "You're not missing much."
"Have you kissed a girl?"
Quinn sobers. Rachel worries she's pushed.
"No."
Rachel sits up and crosses her legs, keeping their fingers connected.
"Look, I've never been kissed and you've never with a girl so, and please say no if you don't, we could, you know, because, I'd much rather have my first with you than some guy to use as bragging material and I think a first kiss is much more important than your first time-"
"How so?" Quinn can't respond to the beginning part, not yet, and this intrigues her, so she goes with it.
"The saying is 'it's not about the destination, but the journey.' Everything is just a build up to, umm, 'it'. But once you get there, then what? Do people still revel and take pleasure from a kiss? Or do they make it less in order to get their release quicker? Kisses are iconic and beautiful. I don't want them to diminish because they are no longer needed, the build-up is over. People can have sex without kissing, but not a relationship."
"I never thought of it like that," Quinn murmurs. The way Rachel had said it, eyes gazing into hers, suddenly there was nothing but what a kiss could really be.
Passion.
"And you would give that to me?" This meant something to Rachel, up there with New York and a future. Quinn had never tried to take those away, but this she could.
And Rachel couldn't get it back, no matter how brightly she shined just like no matter how hard Quinn prayed.
"You matter, Quinn Fabray. To me. I want this. You need this." She traces the slight swell of her cheek, dances her fingers over a jaw line, left a fresco in her wake. "So much."
"Okay."
Quinn moves onto the bed, kneeling in front of Rachel, hands placed outside her knees, encompassing her.
The string begins to reel in.
Quinn's hands hover over her shoulders, her neck. She closes her eyes, breathes out through her nose.
Rachel.
Quinn gently moves her fingers across her hairline.
Rachel.
She tucks a soft wave of her hair safely behind her ear.
Rachel.
She moves slowly, knees touching first, giving her time, allowing her to imprint everything.
Rachel.
The tips of their noses follow, and foreheads join.
Rachel.
Rachel shifts her forehead, wants to finish, except they're not, really. They're beginning.
Rachel.
Quinn inhales this time, erases her vision and meets
Rachel.
The string goes slack, passionately, safely, rolled.
A/N: First story on FF haha. Anyways, reviews are appreciated, but I'm happy if you're reading this cuz you read the rest to get here :) Thanks!