Fingertips.
Ridges of fingerprints dragging across Quinn's palm. The sensation so sharp, yet light, she can't help but gasp; Her mind is concentrated on the feel of Santana above her.
Her fingernails begin dragging across Quinn's skin, and she lifts her chin so Santana has a clear path to kiss her neck.
Everything is dark.
Everything is black.
Everything is unseen except for the explosions of colors behind her eyelids; the blues and purples, yellows and reds. Everything is swirling, but not mixing together. People say when ones sense is no longer in use, the rest amplify. Truer words have never been said.
Quinn can hear everything.
She can feel everything.
Every sense is at its highest and it is absolutely overwhelming. She doesn't know what to do. She cannot move on the outside, but her insides are exploding. Her hands are pinned above her by Santana and her toes curl when her tongue knocks on her lips, asking for invitation. Reluctantly, Quinn's lips oblige and she lets Santana's tongue barge into her mouth. Reluctantly, not because she doesn't want it, but because she is afraid the butterflies in her stomach will emit and erupt through her body until she can fight the urge no longer.
There is something wonderful to her about losing complete control. There is something thrilling about knowing and beautiful about trust.
Did she trust Santana?
Quinn wants to.
She can feel every single one of her taste buds and can taste the sweetness in her saliva. There hot breath mixes, and even through the air she cannot tell where it ends or begins. So soft and wet with intent, Santana's tongue thrives to find the deepest and darkest places past her hungry lips.
The kiss is slow and sensual. The kiss is selfish, but it's kind. Her lips befriend Quinn's; they move in a way that she could never imagine and they spend time getting to know each other. Their lips move in harmony as they brush past each other.
Then the kiss turns greedy; it gets restless. Her lips leaves Quinn's wanting and longing for more. They tease and ridicule; they are evil and ruthless. Santana and Quinn tag team with their teeth. White, jagged pearls envelop each other, pulling, tugging, scraping and dragging. Quinn should be concerned, but she's not. Any feeling caused by Santana is a good feeling, no matter how painful it may be. In fact, she wants more. She wants all of it; the bruises, the cuts, and the marks. She wants proof it actually happened.
It feels like a dream. Quinn tries to remember how it all started, but Santana's hot lips travel to her jawbone.
Sharp strokes; teeth; lips.
Quinn sighs, any sound escaping her mouth sounds foreign and she hears it far away.
Fingertips again.
Ridges following the curvature of her chest and she hovers over the valley in between. Quinn's mind splits in tow, three, or maybe even four; every bit of her trying to figure out what is happening. Blood rushes to where Santana's lips are working and her skin feels heavy and sensitive. Her fingernails dig deep into Santana's palms as if that could somehow indicate that Quinn does not like to be teased. Her lips and tongue compose symphonies on her chest and it drives her crazy.
Quinn's chest swells with oxygen and is released when Santana draws a perfect line down to her stomach with her tongue. She gives up and lets go of any control she thought she had over herself. Quinn yanks at Santana's restraints in a fit of pleasure, only to be replied with a whine and the digging of heels into the mattress. She must have forgotten where her hands were in between Quinn's pleads, and quickly reminds her when a tingle crawls up her calves. Her fingers soft at first, dig into the skin just above her hip bones and Quinn moans because it couldn't feel any better. Her back arches off the bed and Santana takes the opportunity to slither her other hand between the mattress and her skin, outlining the valley straight down to her lower back. Her mouth is no longer on her chest but moving slowly down her stomach.
Quinn's there; at the point where even if she tried to open her mouth, no sounds could escape.
Fingernails scrape her back.
Please leave a mark.
Lips caress her stomach and muscles tighten. Hands swirl across her thighs and they part like the red sea. Quinn can hear Santana smirking. She can feel the heat of her hands hovering over her pelvis. She'd be chuckling and observing the lust. They're bathing in the honesty that's been held back for so long. Their bodies unclothed, souls uncovered. They're completely exposed, and there is nowhere to hide. There is no flaws, no imperfections, because they are both equal. All things stashed away are now present to hear, taste and feel.
Santana hovers over Quinn and her tongue just licks the outer lining of her lips. She's falling; it's dark. It's pitch black. In her mind, Santana is a god, she is an entity. She can feel her everywhere; her nails on her stomach and her lips on her burning skin.
She is losing herself.
Fingertips.
Quinn's chest rises and falls in deep long breaths, and she wants it to last. She wants to feel her on top of her forever. Her teeth tug lightly on her lips, her tongue brushes them softly and her fingers search her body one more time.
The wall that has so long held her is unconfined with one last embrace as Santana sits up.
There's a silence, but her eyes smile up at Quinn and she releases her grip on her wrists. Quinn reaches lower and wraps her arms around Santana's half-naked body, and she chuckles into her shoulder.
"What?"
"I told you I would blow your mind," Santana sneers.
"Oh please," Quinn laughs.
"C'mon Fabray, you could barely keep yourself together.
"Now I know what Brittany is missing out on."
"Don't remind me."
"That didn't feel like a pity fuck."
"Hardly."