Title: Cuddle Monster
Author: Hippo_Crat
Rating: PG-13, for mild language and non-explicit, non-serious contemplation of homicide.
Length: 3,858 words
Spoilers: Preggers
Summary: A/U Junior Year Nationals. The night before Nationals New Directions checks into their hotel when their reservations are hi-jacked by a cliché; now two gleeks will have to share a room, this is how their evening goes.
Pairing: No real pairing to speak of but definite Quinn/Rachel subtext
A/N: This has only been briefly edited, I should be studying for my test in ten hours (instead I will sleep for eight of them and spend one hour driving/parking) but I wanted to finish and post something since it's been a while.
Junior year New Directions was unfettered by the drama that had plagued its first year out. Without distractions the small club thoroughly trounced Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals, steamrolled the competition at States and secured a spot on the roster for Nationals. Nationals would be held in sunny Florida, which—to the gleeks—seemed like they were skipping out on school for an impromptu vacation.
It was a pretty sweet deal.
The entire club was so thrilled to be out of Lima they didn't even mind the 16 plus hours spent crammed into a charter bus that smelled like feet and goat cheese. They didn't mind Mercedes' and Finn's snoring, Brittany's disturbing tendency toward somnambulance, Kurt's repeated refusals to use gas station restrooms and the subsequent stops they had to make for him at malls and restaurants. Not even Rachel's overly enthusiastic monologues and pep talks could get the kids down.
As the bus rattled its way into Orlando the kids pressed against the windows, eyeing row after row of hotels and restaurants and tourist traps eager to see where they would be staying. It was a hot, sunny day and there were plenty of scantily clad women walking around. Noah Puckerman was in his element.
Despite sitting in the back of the bus Puck was the first one off of the vehicle when it stopped. He was wearing a tight tank top, designed to bring attention to his guns, swim trunks and flip flops. The Puckasaurus was ready to score with some chicks. His elation was somewhat hampered by the reality in front of them.
The Buena Vista Motel was not what they were expecting. Shadowed on either side by large, multiple story, fancy-looking hotels their motel was a short, squat, brick structure with a green algae filled pool in the front. Lima was starting to look pretty good in comparison.
Thirteen heads, including Miss Pillsbury's, swiveled in unison to stare at Will Schuester; their disbelief was more than evident. Will took in the unhappy looks on the kids' faces and the murderous look on Emma's and began to perform damage control. "Look guys, after costumes and bus rental there just wasn't enough money to stay anywhere else. Besides there are a ton of schools in town for the competition and this was the only place within twenty minutes of the convention center that wasn't full up. I know it's not ideal but things like this build character. And you know what they say; don't judge a book by its cover—who knows, maybe it's not as bad on the inside."
Mr. Schuester was right about one thing; it wasn't as bad on the inside.
It was worse.
Rachel eyed the motel with distaste. Despite Rachel's best efforts Mr. Schuester had denied her repeated requests to pay for her own private room. The choir director had spent a great deal of time espousing the benefits of room-sharing and the improved team camaraderie that would arise. However, given the coarse nature of their accommodations, Rachel was somewhat glad she wouldn't be in the room alone. At least now if an axe murderer burst through the door seeking to hack up unwitting teenagers she could use her roommate as a distraction while she made a daring escape (to seek help of course).
The assembled teenagers murmured mutinously as they stared at the shabby room that was intended to serve as the lobby. The room was centered on a dilapidated counter; the wood was pock-marked with scratches, gouges and graffiti. Behind the counter a middle-aged woman sat in a chair completely ignoring her customers in favor of watching what appeared to be a Night Court rerun. There were two stained, lumpy couches flanking an old school television, a yellowed coffee machine with stale looking donut holes sat off to the side on a rickety table beneath a sign that said 'Complimentary Continental Breakfast' and the air smelled ever so pleasantly of cat pee. Unsurprisingly Puck summed up the group's displeasure concisely. "No offense Mr. Schue, but this place fucking sucks."
Schuester didn't even bother chastising Puck for his language. No, he was far too busy assuring a near-faint Emma Pillsbury that the rooms would be better.
Twelve kids and two chaperones all added up to eight bedrooms; six of which would have double beds. Of course things never run smoothly for this glee club and due to a mix up—and a bizarre number of people willing to resort to such shitty accommodations—three of the rooms were single occupancy. This wasn't much of a problem for Will and Emma who weren't sharing their rooms with any other people but for Rachel Berry it was a very big problem.
For, as Mr. Schue explained to her, Rachel's role as New Directions Captain required her to sacrifice personal comfort and luxury by 'taking one for the team'. Under duress the tiny brunette was forced to acquiesce and agreed to sharing a bed with one of her teammates. Acceptance aside, she felt she would be remiss in her responsibilities by allowing such a heinous miscarriage of justice to go unchallenged and turned her mighty force back on to the grumpy looking desk clerk.
While she was performing her duties as captain and haranguing the motel's manager, trying to score some free meals, the girls of New Directions had a mad game of ultimate rock, paper, scissors to determine the loser who would have to room with the resident diva.
Quinn lost.
"I demand a recount!" The blonde girl hissed angrily at her smirking friend. She couldn't believe she had lost to every single female member of glee, aside from Rachel Berry, in under a minute.
"No recounts, no do-overs, no take-backs. Them's the breaks, Quinnie the Pooh. You're gonna be rooming with Piglet so suck it up." Santana was having a field-day messing with her friend. If she was a better person or in a better mood, Santana could totally have volunteered to share with Brittany—they were going to end up in the same bed anyway. But then she never would have discovered Quinn's face could turn that particular shade of cerise previously found only in Crayola's 150 count pack of crayons.
"Santana," Quinn growled through clenched teeth, she kept her voice low to avoid attracting the adults' attention. "just trade rooms with me. You and B can have a full size bed and I'll still have to share a room with Berry—just not the same bed."
The Hispanic cheerleader made a show of thinking the proposition over. Her dark eyes traveled over the amused expressions on her teammates' faces. She smiled brightly. "Nope."
It was only the return of Rachel, Will and Emma that prevented Quinn from throttling her best friend.
"Thanks to the mix-up two of you are going to have to share a bed." The kids tried to put on their best 'surprised' faces at the news. They needn't have bothered as their choir director barreled on. "In the spirit of team camaraderie do I have any volunteers?" Mr. Schuester looked around waiting for the two kids who would volunteer. All he got were increasingly hostile glares. "I've got to say I'm disappointed with you all. Fine, if that's the way you want to play I'll just have to volunteer someone."
Sensing imminent doom Tina spoke up. "Quinn said she would be happy to share with Rachel." The gothic teen was absolutely not going to share a bed with any of the glee girls and if she had to throw someone under the bus to avoid the possibility then so be it. Comically, at Tina's proclamation Quinn and Rachel threw each other identical looks of dismay and disgust. The blonde was quick to change her expression and look the other way when she realized she was in agreement with Rachel on something.
The curly haired adult clapped his hands in a display of over enthusiasm. "That's the spirit! Quinn, Rachel, thank you both for being such team players. Everyone, here are your room keys; don't lose those—I don't think this place has any extras." Will cleared his throat and looked at the assembled group. "Well, it's late in the day and it's been a long trip so why don't we all just get our bags and go to bed. After all, we've got a big day ahead of us."
Schuester ignored his kids' numerous and vociferous complaints in favor of directing everyone to get the bags Hank, their bus driver, was piling up in the parking lot. The balding elderly gentleman shook the Spanish teacher's hand before climbing back into the bus.
"Wait, where are you going?" The curly-headed man asked in alarm when he realized the only person whom had shown no desire to bleed him dry in some dark alleyway was leaving.
"You're kidding me, right?" Hank scoffed in disbelief. "I'm not staying here. This place is a shithole. I've got reservations at the Hilton up the street. I'll be here at eight to pick you and your kids up."
As the old bus puttered and clanked away Will was forced to face the wrath of twelve teenagers and one mysophobe all alone.
Quinn was seething with a quiet rage by the time she and Rachel entered their motel room. The irritating brunette had had the brass to make a face of utter displeasure when told of the rooming arrangements. Like it was going to be some sort of fucking hardship to share a room with Quinn Fabray.
People would kill for the opportunity.
Who knows, maybe people have killed for the opportunity.
Rachel cleared her throat with, in Quinn's estimation, entirely too much flair. "Which side of the bed would you prefer, Quinn?" She was trying to be hospitable in hopes that Quinn would return the favor.
"I don't care, Berry. Whichever side you're not on is fine with me." The blonde's hazel eyes rolled skywards as if she were entreating an unseen deity for patience. Or maybe she—like Rachel—thought the large water stain on the ceiling bore a striking resemblance to Bernadette Peters and was marveling at the sight.
It was difficult to tell with Quinn.
"Okay then. I typically prefer to sleep on the left side of the bed as, at my house, it is closer to the window." Rachel moved to set her bag beside her claimed side. Quinn's voice stopped her.
"Wait. I want the left side." She said as she pushed passed the shorter girl and threw her bag on the bed.
"I thought you said you didn't care." Rachel's words were dripping with exasperation.
"Well now I do. Deal." Quinn's smug grin dared the tiny girl to contradict her. Sensing the futility in continuing the battle Rachel dropped her bag on the right side of the bed before striding off into the bathroom.
"The left side is all yours, Quinn. You can unpack while you wait for your turn in the bathroom." With that the flimsy particle board door shut sharply leaving the blonde girl fuming with her mouth agape.
After that there was relative peace for a while as the two girls settled into their nightly routines while giving the other girl a wide berth.
Rachel pulled back the sheets and slipped between the covers, her movements were overly cautious as she was trying not to disturb Quinn who had already gotten comfortable in the bed. The petite girl bit back a groan of frustration; the mattress was as lumpy and uncomfortable as it looked. She could only be thankful that the sheets appeared to be clean and fairly new. Her musings were interrupted by a snarl from her roommate.
"No funny business, Berry. You stay on your side of the bed and no one will get hurt. If you try to cop a feel I will end you."
The brunette's eyes rolled upwards before she heaved a great sigh. "I can only hope to control myself and keep from molesting your obviously irresistible prone form with my creepy, lesbian, mannish hands. Truly it will be difficult." Her deadpan delivery was lost on the blonde.
Quinn shot out of bed. "You see that shit right there is why you don't have friends! How the fuck am I supposed to sleep with you tossing around words like 'molesting'?"
"It's 10:48 pm, I was supposed to be asleep three minutes ago. Do what you like but we both need to be properly rested in the morning." With that the brunette turned off her bedside lamp and rolled away from Quinn, obviously intent on going to sleep.
Quinn stared in disbelief at the little lump. She had been expecting much more of a fight and was a bit putout with the ease that Rachel was ignoring her. Realizing that their conversation was at an end, and feeling somewhat foolish, the cheerleader turned off the only remaining light source and got back into bed. As she lay perched precariously on the leftmost side of the bed Quinn knew it was going to be a long night.
Rachel drew in a startled breath as she awoke suddenly. The petite brunette grunted in displeasure as she tried to work out what it was that had spooked her. Great lengths of time spent in a large, empty house had attuned her senses and left Rachel a very light sleeper—such things were necessary when one's fathers traveled extensively and one had a creepy stalker.
Brown eyes scanned the darkened motel room and determined two things. One: according to the display on her cell phone it was 11:57 pm and two: Quinn Fabray had changed sleeping positions and was now sleeping on her back. Rachel could only hope Quinn had settled into her favored sleeping position and that the blonde would not be moving around further.
Satisfied her person was in no danger Rachel quickly surrendered once more into Morpheus' embrace and drifted off into the world of dreams.
It seemed like Rachel had just closed her eyes when movement from the other side of the bed once again roused her from slumber. Quinn had evidently decided to change positions again and was lying on her side, much like she had been when they went to sleep—except now she was facing Rachel's back and about six inches from spooning the brunette.
Rachel sighed. She was beginning to realize that she was sharing the bed with someone who liked to move in their sleep. Fortunately the future singing sensation was of slight frame; Rachel moved closer to the right side of the bed in an effort to increase the space between them.
It was 12:32 am, if Quinn would settle in to a position for the night Rachel would—at best—be able to get a little under five and a half hours of sleep before she had to wake up.
For the next 45 minutes Rachel was unable to fully get back to sleep as Quinn steadily inched toward her like a slow-motion, heat-seeking missile. Each time the blonde moved the bed would move. Every muscle twitch caused tremors to spread through the mattress like an earthquake, aftershocks kept returning Rachel to full awareness of her surroundings. It was like some sort of warped dance.
Quinn would inch closer.
Rachel would inch away.
Things continued like this until both girls were occupying only a quarter of the available bed space—all centered on the right side.
**THUD**
At precisely 1:13 am Rachel Barbra Berry found herself face down in a nasty shag carpet after a particularly ungraceful tumble from the bed. For one long moment all she could do was plan the murder of Quinn Fabray over and over again in her mind.
The method. Her shock at discovering her roommate dead in their bed. The touching eulogy she would deliver. All raced through her head in the time it took the diva to pick herself up off the floor.
Murder gleamed in her eye as she took in the sleeping blonde in the dim lighting that peeked through the openings in the paisley-printed curtains.
Quinn would never know how close she came to non-existence that night. Really the only thing that saved her was the fact that since Rachel was up her body decided it would be the perfect time to use the restroom.
After a brief bathroom break followed by a considerably longer time spent meditating away the stress of the evening Rachel was ready to try and get back to sleep. It was after two o'clock in the morning and unless Rachel was grievously mistaken the sky was already looking lighter than it was merely three hours ago.
The brunette left the sanctuary of the bathroom and returned to the darkened bedroom. She waited several minutes as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and was faced with a dilemma.
Quinn Fabray was sleeping sprawled on the right side of the bed cuddling the lumpy pillow Rachel had been using earlier.
Rachel could either sleep on the vacated left side of the bed, a side she preferred anyway, or she could raise a fuss and wake Quinn up—an option that had a high probability of resulting in significant bodily harm to either one or both of their persons.
For once Rachel made a decision that was in favor of the less dramatic option.
That said Rachel made no effort to quiet her gait as she stomped to the empty side of the bed and threw herself onto the mattress. Quinn's sleep continued unimpeded.
Almost immediately the blonde girl did an about face and changed her position so she was once again facing Rachel. The sleep deprived brunette braced herself for the heat-seeking cuddle missile she knew would be headed her way.
It was only a matter of minutes before Quinn was practically curled on top of her. The blonde rested her head against Rachel's shoulder; she stretched her arms across the brunette's abdomen and had tossed her left leg over to intertwine with the shorter girl's legs. Much to Rachel's displeasure this was not the end. She kept wiggling and grumbling to herself—trying to get more comfortable—finally the diva couldn't take anymore and locked her arms around the girl's slender waist forcing her to stay still.
This seemed to do the trick as Quinn finally stopped moving and relaxed contentedly in her arms.
It was almost three am before Rachel either lost consciousness or succumbed to her exhaustion. Reports vary.
Quinn snuggled deeper into her impossibly comfortable pillow. Maybe Mr. Schue was right after all, any place that offered such an amazing night sleep couldn't be all bad—no matter how it looked from the outside. She probably owed the choir director an apology.
Not that she would ever give it.
The blonde groaned in displeasure when she cracked one eyelid open and was met with bright, Florida sunshine flooding the room and ruining everything. She squeezed her eyelids shut and tried to forget it was morning.
Unfortunately the pounding in her head made this almost impossible.
*THUD*
*THUD*
*THUD*
Through sheer stubbornness Quinn clung to the last few seconds of sleep before her higher cognitive functions were unkind enough to inform her that the loud noises weren't a headache but rather someone rap-rap-rapping on her chamber door.
*THUD*
"Quinn?"
*THUD*
"Rachel?"
*THUD*
"Oh Christ, they've finally killed each other. Someone go find Schue."
"Quinn if you are awake I would greatly appreciate it if you would let me go. One of use ought to answer the door before whomever wants entrance takes it upon themselves to procure a key." The familiar irritating, grating, high-pitched tone of Rachel Berry's speaking voice was far too close for comfort
Oh no.
No. No. No.
Damn it, not again!
This shit happened every single time she ended up sharing the bed with someone; her older sister absolutely refused to sleep in the same bed as her. Quinn had thought her overwhelming disdain for Berry would carry through to her sleep and offer some protection against an uncomfortable morning after.
*THUD-THUD*
"We're up! Stop pounding on the door like some sexually-frustrated gorilla; you're going to wake the whole building!" Quinn's snarl quickly silenced the would-be bedroom intruder.
From outside the door a quiet voice was heard, "Is Rachel alive? We kinda need her today."
"I'm alive." Rachel's voice easily carried through the paper thin door to whoever was standing outside their room.
"Our 'continental breakfast' runs from 7:00 to 7:19, Schuester said if you want anything you'll have to get up now."
"We'll be down in a minute." Quinn called back half-heartedly. As footsteps faded off into the distance the blonde realized she was still on top of, and practically eye-to-eye with, Rachel.
"I highly doubt there will be vegan options available for our complimentary breakfast." The diva said calmly, like she wasn't in a compromising position with someone she barely tolerated on a good day.
Rachel was feeling curiously detached from the situation, instead of getting up-in-arms over the ridiculous fiasco from the night before the tiny singer was going with the flow. This might explain why she had yet to unwrap her arms from around Quinn's lithe form. A detail that only became apparent after Quinn tried to get up.
The blonde scowled, her face only inches away from Rachel's. "Let go of me, Les-berry"
Obligingly Rachel released the taller girl. "'Les-berry', really?" She asked, her tone mild—it wouldn't be until later that the disbelief over the hypocrisy would set in. For now her stupor seemed to act as a defense mechanism protecting her from rising to Quinn's bait and risking her wrath.
Truly it was bizarre to be so blasé about everything. It sort of reminded her of the time her dads had agreed to the therapist's suggestion of medication. Or the time she had experimented with herbal remedies for her laryngitis.
Quinn leapt from the bed as if it were on fire. Or soaked in trans fats.
The blonde brushed off imaginary dust particles/Berry cooties. "Whatever, I'm not my best first thing in the morning." Quinn stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
"Why Quinn Fabray, how on Earth are you still single?"
The door opened suddenly and a tiny bottle of ancient shampoo/conditioner flew through the air and connected with the back of Rachel's head.
"Go away, Berry!"
"That's not what you said last night!"
With a screech the door reopened and the irritated blonde, clad only in a worn towel, emerged to pelt her roommate with tiny travel size products.
Snickering—most likely due to delirium—Rachel made good her escape and fled the room, still wearing her pajamas.
The petite singer bumped into Noah Puckerman in the poorly-lit, narrow, dilapidated hall. The tall football player had evidently heard at least part of the conversation. Puck just leered and held his hand out for a congratulatory high-five.
It was really more of a low-five, but don't point that out to Rachel.