Routine is a part of daily life, motions that you go through without really even thinking about them. It was the only way, she believed, that anyone could possibly get through the morning—you just get up, hop in the shower, and make your way to the bottom of a bowl of Cheerios without ever really waking up.
But even after your first shot of caffeine catapulted you into the real world, you usually followed some sort of set pattern. You drove the same route to work, you ate lunch around the same time and with the same people; you curled up at the same spot on the couch to watch the same shows every week.
That being said, Quinn Fabray knew with every fiber of her being that she would never get used to this.
It had been a few weeks since she'd come over to Rachel's apartment. Quinn thought it was funny now that it had been such a drab, drizzly day, considering what had come out of it. She remembered literally bumping into Finn—upon striking her elbow against a glass storefront, Quinn had been violently reminded of all the Glee club rehearsals where his behemoth feet had sent him crashing into her and various other clubbers, including the pianist, Brad.
"Hey, wa—Finn?"
He blinked at her, reminding her strangely of a moose—tall and broadshouldered, with those wide, dark eyes of his and the way his shaggy hair still stood up around his face, drawing attention to his sleepy expression like a neon sign.
Finn smiled at her, a friendly, genuine grin. "Quinn! Sorry about that. How are you?"
"I'm good," she said, smiling back. "My sister and her husband just moved to Manhattan, so I'm visiting. What's up with you? How's—" Quinn's heart gave a stupid, uncomfortable little wriggle in her chest as she forced herself to speak the name calmly. "Rachel?"
He looked away, the smile falling from his face. "We, uh—we just broke up, actually. About five minutes ago."
Quinn tried to keep control of expression, but she couldn't help herself. She was glad for Finn's shifting gaze, which would not light on her, but instead followed a circuit from the lightpole, the awning over Quinn's head, to the sidwalk at his feet and back again.
"I'm sorry," she said, glad at least that her voice was neutral. "What happened?"
As Finn explained himself to her, Quinn felt a strange, virulent mixture of anger and hope that expanded in her chest, pressing against her lungs so that she could barely breathe. By the time she made her way to the address Finn gave her—what excuse has she used? she didn't even remember now—only one idea had managed to stay alive in her oxygen-deprieved brain.
I have to tell her the truth.
Now, she and Rachel were curled around each other in bed, entwined in so many different places that Quinn wasn't sure how they were ever going to become untangled.
Which was, she thought, a perfectly pleasant problem.
Rachel trailed her lips along the curve of Quinn's breasts. Her warm breath acted as a stimulant against the delicate, soft skin, as her fingers made small circles that descended downward from Quinn's ribs.
Quinn took a deep breath, tangling her fingers in Rachel's thick, gorgeous brown hair. "Kiss me," she begged, and the other girl lifted her face to hers, pressing her lips against Quinn's with the slighest, most delicious pressure.
The slow progression of Rachel's hands was almost unbearable. Quinn wanted her, so much that the pressure between her legs was close to pain. "Rachel," she managed, between rapidly deepening kisses. "Rachel…"
"Lie back," Rachel instructed, carefully pulling away from Quinn and kissing her again, pushing on her shoulders.
Quinn did as she was told, and Rachel, with a michevious grin, began placing kisses from Quinn's mouth to the original starting point of her breasts. Very, very carefully, she bit at the erect nipples, using her tongue to soften the sting of her teeth.
Helplessly, Quinn whimpered, her back arching. She felt Rachel smile.
Rachel brushed her lips over Quinn's ribcage, stopping to gently part Quinn's thighs with her hands. Quinn uttered a little cry of excitment, so eager for Rachel to continue that she began to beg, a rapid run of syllables that sounded like .
The feel of Rachel's lips, Rachel's tongue, between her legs brought her to this incredible point of pleasure, wiping all thought from her mind except Rachel's name, which she uttered every few seconds without really being aware of doing so.
Just as Quinn was certain she was going to orgasm, Rachel lifted her head, kissing her way back up Quinn's body to meet her lips again. Rachel put first one finger, and then two, inside Quinn, who wrapped her arms and legs around Rachel to bring her even closer.
"Ra—Ra—"
Quinn's hands were making their way around Rachel's body, traversing the beautiful muscles of her back, the lines of her thighs. She let her own fingers slip inside Rachel, her pleasure increasing as Rachel put her head back and gasped.
"Don't stop," Rachel begged. "Quinn—Quinn—don't stop, please—"
At that moment, intense pleasure ripped through Quinn, a supernova beginning between her legs and spreading through her, relaxing every muscle in her body and leaving her limp and breathless. Still, she focused on Rachel, who was making little mewling noises and squeezing her eyes shut tightly, trembling.
When Rachel gave a yell and slumped against Quinn, they wound their arms around each other, Rachel's head resting against Quinn's stomach.
"Ah," Quinn said, her voice hoarse and shaky. "That was—"
"Quinn?" Rachel interrupted, lifting her head to look Quinn in the eye. "You know, I'm the female lead in Spring Awakening and that play is entirely about, as the title may suggest, a personal awakening, of an emotional nature as well as a sexual one."
At this familiar little speech, Quinn smiled. "Yeah?"
"Well, you know how serious I am about characterization," Rachel continued.
"Of course."
Rachel smiled at her, a feral smile full of desire that made Quinn feel strange and shivery. "Our sexual encounter just now really helped with that, but, you know—"
Quinn grinned. "Practice makes perfect?"
"Exactly."