Title: The Double Royale: Origins

Author: J Rease

Rating: M/Obscene

Warnings: Shameless Porn with a shallow backdrop of a deeper, unexplained history in a different universe. Faberry (endgame), Quinntana (flashback rendezvous!) GIRLPEEN.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Quinn's side of the story. Third in the series. A continuation of The Double Royale: Off the Clock. Girl!Peen.

Author's Notes: This keeps happening. I have smut bunnies in my attic and they won't let me be! I am starting to think I have a problem. Anyway, this is a continuation. I'd advise you read the two parts before this to better understand the Universe. There will more than likely be a follow up, I feel the need for more Faberry girl!peen smut.

Origins

The only person who knew about her penis before Santana was Puck. And even still, he hadn't known until the birth of Beth, when he looked beneath her medical skirt and watched Beth tear her way into the world. She lost her virginity flat on her stomach, the soft appendage pulled tight against her belly-face down on her favorite green flower patterned quilt. They did it in the dark, and Puck hadn't protested much about any of her stipulations-after all, he was getting what he wanted.

She'd been curious, about sex. And Finn couldn't know and wouldn't understand if he did. So she drank wine coolers and let Puck put his hands on the parts Finn only got to touch above her clothes. She protested when he slid down her body to "Get her wet," and she told him to just, "Get it over with," before she changed her mind. Luckily, the pain and dry friction kept her erection nonexistent.

Most guys her age wouldn't understand... she knew that since before, when she was still Lucy and growing in ways other little girls just didn't. She was positive Puck would freak out and justify punching her in the face with the fact that she had a penis, and neglected to tell him about it before they had sex.

It took nine months to face the full consequence of her curiosity, and Puck waited until her stitches healed before confronting her about her biggest secret. For a while, she thought the anger of Beth's adoption would keep him away, but one night he showed up on her doorstep, his hands in his pockets and uncertainty etched on his face. It was the first time she ever talked about her condition with someone who wasn't her parents or a medical professional. Miraculously, he wasn't as upset as she expected him to be, and after an awkward run down of what she had and didn't have, he told her he wouldn't tell anyone. For months after, she wondered if he did it out of love for her, or the protection of his own reputation.

She still quarrels with the answer.

Santana's discovery was purely happenstance. She kept her anatomy to herself through high school, Russell promised her that the confidentiality agreement he had Figgins sign was air tight. Of all the ways she thought someone would find out, she hadn't expected it to be during a sleep over.

It was right after Nationals. The week after they flew back to Lima. She was staying with Santana, who was torn over the start of Brittany's vacation... conflicted over the time they would be losing because of it. Brittany and Santana weren't together yet, but Santana was sure the path was finally clear to take Brittany off the market.

They'd been drinking, because no matter how much fun they had in New York, they still lost. She was drinking for different reasons. She and Santana hadn't been friends for a long time, and the summer seemed like a good time to start rebuilding.

Sometime between tipsy and wasted, Santana began pulling clothes off her body, a sheen of sweat above her brow; a bottle of tequila fisted in her left hand. Santana was never one for shyness, and soon she was sitting in front of her in lace underwear, bobbing her head to the music radiating from her stereo.

Alcohol was her downfall. She sometimes got angry, easily persuaded or horny when she was drunk. Tequila had her straining against the tape that held her tucked away, and the burning sensation caused by the adhesive peeling from her flesh was more than she could stand. She usually calmed her body down with thoughts of child birth. Ripping flesh and bone breaking pain killed any sexual urges floating around her brain.

This time it wasn't so easy.

Santana started dancing, it was something they did often- jam sessions in their pajamas, ice cream and glee assignments, scary movies on nights thunderstorms kept them inside. It was traditional things she did with her friends, before she lost them both, and the nostalgia of the moment was broken when she realized Britt wasn't there, and that Santana was almost naked.

Her mouth went dry at the undulations Santana was making with her hips, she felt herself stiffen at the thought of San grinding on her that way. She watched her momentarily, letting her mind drift to all the places she'd fit inside Santana... tight, wet, warm places she could disappear into.

She was biting her lip to keep from keening from the back of her throat. She was usually more in control of this aspect of her condition. She'd gotten through Cheerios practice without popping a tent, and she rarely had to rub one out to keep from being discovered. She was used to not having urges, just curiosity of what it felt like in comparison. And she especially kept her more perverse thoughts about her friends to a minimum.

This time it was unavoidable. Santana was swaying erotically to the music; the base was pulsating with her jerky movements, her hair spastic around her face. Santana's eyes were low, hidden under the guise of intoxication; but still wanton and enticing. She couldn't look away, and she kept her eyes locked on Santana's as the brunette looked straight at her.

She felt the lightheadedness of blood leaving her brain, and she was almost sure Santana would make her ruin her sweatpants if she didn't stop. Santana was still gyrating to the music as she sauntered up to where she was sitting, entranced with the free show. She almost jumped when Santana's hair brushed the side of her cheek, and waited for the brunette to whisper in her ear.

The song that was on faded on the outro. Her cd player clicked, but no other song followed.

"Like what you see, Fabray?"

Warm, breathy air tickled the tiny hairs on her earlobe; she could feel the outline of Santana's soft upper lip. She gulped. She didn't think Santana would take it past teasing, but the growing erection she had was starting to get uncomfortable. She couldn't back down. It'd always been that way between them. She knew she should probably excuse herself, but getting past a nearly nude Santana Lopez would probably result in accidental stimulation.

"What exactly am I looking at, Lopez?"

Her voice faltered. There was a crack at the end of her question, and she couldn't seem to move her eyes from the 'v' of Santana's pelvis, trying not to think about the smooth skin she'd know she would find there if she reached out and touched it. The smirk in Santana's voice was sinister enough to make her consider bolting to the bathroom. She was still getting hard and Santana leaning above her was overloading her senses.

"You're looking at the hottest piece of action in all of Lima. So do you like what you're blatantly ogling? Or are you still in denial about all those lady feelings you've been having?"

It catches her off guard. Sexuality for her wasn't as easy as it was for most of their peers. Even still, she hasn't explored the other avenues of her desires in fear of her secret becoming public.

"What are you talking about-"

"Oh please, Q, don't play dumb. You gawk and stalk the hobbit year long, you totally pushed up on Britt freshman year and I can count on two hands and both feet how many times you copped a feel when you thought I was sleeping. Don't even get me started with the cold showers you rushed to take after Cheerio practice. Don't be shy, Quinnie… man up and admit that you want to get up on this."

She heard the medical tape pull from the inside of her leg before she felt it. It was precisely at the same time Santana's tongue traced the shell of her ear. Santana was just trying to gauge her reaction. She was still poised beside her ear, waiting for her to make a move. She couldn't chance standing up; the evidence of her arousal was bulging in the crotch of her sweat pants. She wanted to chance running, hoping Santana would let her get away without chasing after her. She leaned on the bottoms of her forearms, her knuckles gripping the edges of the chair she was sitting in—hoping to stand fast enough to get away from Santana and avoid the possible catastrophe.

Santana's arm shot out and she stepped sideways, her hands were on both arms of the chair, on top of hers. San's eyes were level with hers; smoldering and daring. Santana licked her lips, big red and tequila heavy on her breath and let her eyes trail slowly to her lips… then lower before—

There were no words. Santana stepped back immediately, the sharp intake of breath cutting against the pin drop quiet room. If her heart were a jackhammer, she'd have massacred her chest. Santana looked between the obvious bulge in her pants and her face, confusion bunching her brows. She didn't know what to do. Santana walked up to her abruptly, falling quickly to her knees and yanking on the waistband of her pants. She pulled the cotton down in three big tugs, and she watched as her erection sprang to attention.

Santana leaned back on her legs, and took a moment before speaking, her breath falling out and hitching back in with uncertainty. She cleared her throat. She watched Santana, speechless on the floor in front of her, and she felt the familiar sting of tears collect at the corners of her eyes.

"This explains so freaking much."

She hadn't realized the weight on her chest until it had been lifted. She expected disgust, morbid fascination even. She leaned back on her chair and rubbed her face in her hands. The oddness of the situation didn't register until she felt Santana's hand wrap around the base of her girth. It was weird at first, the feeling. No one had ever touched it. There was this overwhelming sense of heat pooling her cheeks, her chest grew hot and she let her head slowly settle on Santana. She'd pulled her hand up from the base, dragging and squeezing as she clenched her fist around the tip of her. It was the heady, that feeling, watching Santana do that to her… the first. Santana showed no shame in what she was doing, her eyes linked with hers, never straying as she lifted her hand up, rolling her wrist on the down stroke. She had to lick her lips to keep her shallow breaths from stealing the moisture there. She wondered how she looked, pants tugged down to her ankles, her dick jumping eagerly into Santana's ever moving hand.

Her mind couldn't concentrate on anything other than the sensation. She couldn't pull her thoughts away from the stroke and rhythm of Santana's hand. She let her head fall to the edge of the back of the chair and she got lost in the tug pulling from the bottom of stomach.

"How much do you want me?"

She felt Santana drag her fingertips lightly over her slit, the tip of it parting her folds and dipping down lower to tease her opening. She felt her hips buck at the new touch, and she scooted closer to the edge of the seat, her arched back parallel to the chair she was teetering on. She snapped her head up when Santana squeezed; she was so close.

"I want you so bad, it hurts."

She says it through gritted teeth and hooded eyes. Santana smiles coyly, and let her mouth settle on the tip of her cock. She only heard the breath that pushed out of her lungs and felt the soft thickness of Santana's lips around the head of her penis, her tongue flicking back and forth as she swallowed more of her. It was overwhelming, stuffed in Santana's mouth, her lips adding extra sensations as she takes her all the way down to the base.

She nearly blows her load.

Santana feels the surge of her pulsating cock, and she pulls back out to the tip, gripping the base of her before bringing two fingers to her slit and pushing them inside her. She feels like she can't take it. Like something dangerous is about to happen and she won't be able to stop it. She feels the involuntary movements her torso is making; she feels the spasms and contractions that are littering her hyper sensitive body.

And suddenly, all of Santana's hands are gone. When she realizes that her eyes are closed she blinks back into Santana's bedroom. Santana walks over to her bed as she unclasps her bra; she lets if fall off her shoulders as she turns to face her. Santana grips her thumbs under the waistband of the lacy underwear and scoots backwards toward the headboard. She's somehow managed to toe off her underwear, and she's stretching her legs out in front of her. She lets her hand dangle in the junction of her open thighs, and speaks—raspy and guttural.

"Come here." Santana bites her lip.

That's all it took. She's climbing out of what's left of her sweatpants and pulling the baggy t-shirt over her head in one swift move. She admires Santana for a moment, bold on the ebony sheets of her bed, musky with the dew of her provocation. She begins to climb slowly up her body, letting her instincts guide her. She wound up towering over Santana, breathing heavily over her lips as she contemplated kissing her. It was… intimate. But Santana looked luscious beneath her, and she felt her erection rubbing against the supple skin of Santana's inner thigh. She closed her eyes, and let their lips meet.

Kissing Santana had been sobering. Suddenly she remembers that this will be her first time being with someone this way; being inside of someone. She willed her eyes to close tighter, and got lost in Santana's lips. She feels Santana wrap her legs around her waist, and feels the wetness ghosting over the head of her penis—she grunts and pulls away.

It's all too much. She's hot and she's hard and Santana feels so good against her—and this is too much. She's rarely masturbated and somehow she's still stiff, red and angry at the loss of stimulation. Santana stands in front of her momentarily, she's naked and gorgeous and she doesn't hesitate before straddling her lap. Santana kisses her, and she gets lost in the moment. She can't register where things are while she still has her eyes closed, but she's sure the room would be topsy turvy when she opened them again.

She lets Santana lean her backwards, and she falls flat on her back until Santana is above her, their breasts kissing feather lightly as they shift. She's rubbing against the velvet parts of Santana's sex, and she aches to be inside of her. Santana pulls back and she follows, putting her weight on her palms, outstretched behind her; mesmerized. Santana lifts and her left hand disappears behind her, and she guides her inside.

She brings a hand to Santana's waist and lets her fingernails grip. She's thinking of childbirth and pain and nothing is helping because Santana flutters and squeezes on the inside and she can't help but curl her toes and grit her teeth. Santana's hand tangles in her hair and wraps around her neck as she kisses her, harder this time. It's a distraction momentarily, and Santana swivels and twists her hip as she lifts up the length of her.

Her head lolls back.

Santana is torturing her, she's sure of it. There's no way she could be going that slow above her. She pulls the hand away from Santana's hip, and she cups it over her right breast. She lets her thumb roll sideways over her brown nipple, and she stops Santana's movement when she puts her mouth over it. She laps at it momentarily, following suit with the other one. She's shaking, still inside Santana as she marvels in how long she's been there without bursting. Santana shoves her onto her back, and she leans above her as she rolls and tucks her hips, riding her as she squeezes her thighs together. They're rocking. The bed is thumping solidly against the wall. She pushes up on Santana's down stroke and shudders at the friction. It's getting harder to ignore how deep she is inside her. She feels the swell somewhere deep, gushing toward release.

Santana is making noises that are ruining her determination, and she's suddenly crashing on the brink of climax. Santana pulls her hand down, guiding her thumb to her clit. She's humming little "mmmhmm" noises as she rides her, and she finally takes Santana's hint and circles her finger around the swollen nub. The humming gets louder as Santana leans her hand on her left thigh, gripping at the flesh as she bounces on top of her. It's hard to keep pace with her fingers, and the way Santana is convulsing around her cock, she's not sure if she'll be able to ride out her orgasm without exploding.

She flicks her thumb twice over her clitoris, and enjoys the chorus of expletives that flood out of Santana's mouth. It's sudden and abrupt, and Santana is clenching so tight around her she thinks the brunette might force her out. There is a flutter, and she feels the tickles of tremors up her shaft. She pulls out quickly, stroking to imitate the spasms. She finishes in her hand, her thighs sticky with her own arousal, her hand filled with the clear remnants of the act.

Nothing was as good as that first time. It felt like an awakening. It felt like something akin to being shocked into existence. It was raw and unrelenting and she let herself get lost in uncomplicated thought. That's how it started. Santana showed her things she'd always been clueless about. She filled in the blanks to sexual gratification and she evoked a part of her that she had once been ashamed about.

When Brittany came back, what they were doing stopped immediately. It went unspoken. All she had left now was what she learned in Santana's bedroom, too many nights during the summer of junior year. It took her till school started senior year to realize what she really wanted… who she really wanted. She watched Rachel Berry drift away after the death of her father. They'd been friends, once upon a time, and suddenly she was consumed with "work" and other things.

So she followed her. She trailed and tracked her; she watched from parking lots and followed her on foot. When she realized who she was; what she was doing—she'd been shocked. It wasn't every day someone found out the identity of one of Lima's best kept secrets. It took her a few weeks to let it sink in. It took a while longer to realize that she had to take what she wanted. She could. She would.

She did.

When she scheduled the appointment, she rationalized that it would settle her curiosity. When Rachel actually called her back, she convinced herself it would get Rachel out of her system. Because Rachel was leaving, and she would be a big star somewhere else. When she kept coming back, she figured it would end abruptly, as it did with Santana, for better things or other people.

It never did.

A/N:

No worries… there will be a fourth chapter.

Please review.