author's notes: this is unbeta'd, and more faberry than juberry. i no longer watch glee so i'm not sure how well cassie's character is written, nor rachel's in relation to her. sorry!
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Rachel Berry doesn't know how they got here.
Well, in a way, she does – she is the one to orchestrate the whole thing, with thinly-veiled suggestions and glances with promises unsaid. It's a game for the two of them, built on just enough tension (both sexual and otherwise) to be interesting.
It was a fascination Rachel couldn't explain – from Cassie's blonde hair to her fit, toned, dancer body, to the way she kept pushing Rachel down, expecting her to break. It was all too familiar in a way Rachel didn't want to think of – a call back to Lima, to the emails she sends to New Haven, unreplied to.
So when Rachel finds herself in the studio late at night, and Cassie is there, she knows how – she just can't define the why. Why she's being pushed up against the wall, why Cassie is the one instigating and holding her there – why Rachel is responding in turn. It's not right, student and teacher, she knows that, but Rachel can't bring herself to push Cassie away – to tell her to stop.
Why.
Rachel needs to figure out the why, then.
Why do her hands fist in Cassie's hair and pull her head back roughly? It leaves Rachel in a position to delve further into the warmth of the blonde's mouth, though her tongue does not cease fighting for dominance. Why does her body, to her will or against it, suddenly come alive, as if made of molten gold rather than flesh – gold the same shade of Cassie's hair?
Rachel wants to understand the true meaning of this meeting, to dissect it and make some understanding, but right now logical thought is beyond her. She could spend all evening thinking about the mechanics of their coming together, late enough that no one in the halls will hear their fast breathing or heady moans, but then she would miss out on the true beauty of it, wouldn't she?
Cassie has wasted no time sliding a hand up the loose fitting shirt Rachel is wearing, ignoring the skin between her fingers and Rachel's covered breasts. Rachel's hand, once holding Cassie's head back in a suitable position, is now weakly twirled in chunks of blonde hair. The fight for dominance she had made at the start has now left her, banished away by thin, pale fingers undoing the clasp of her bra.
It would not be a lie to say it had been a while since Rachel slept with anyone, and her dormant sex drive (which hadn't protested her abstinence until now) is suddenly bought back to life. Her bra cups fall forward, but are still held in place by the shoulder straps. There is enough room for Cassie to wiggle careful, conniving hands beneath them and pinch Rachel's nipples. There's no slow, there's no tender, it's hard and rough and exactly the way some late night student-teacher tryst should go.
Rachel's shoulders are pressed against the wall, but her chest has gravitated forward as if a puppet on strings played by Cassie's hands. She can't help the moan that escapes her, echoing louder in the empty dance studio than it would have anywhere else. Cassie laughs, a derisive sound, leaning in to capture Rachel's lips and claim them as her own.
In a steadying motion, Rachel places both hands on Cassie's hips, feels the way the muscles surrounding them work in time with her kisses. She puts up enough fight to keep it interesting, teeth tugging on Cassie's bottom lip hard enough to leave an indent when she's done.
Rachel is the one to instigate them pulling apart, panting hard, wondering if all those subtle remarks during class had thrown her way out of her depth.
When two hands suddenly twist both of her nipples, just enough pain to please, Rachel knows she has.
Cassie laughs again, leaning forward to a select spot on Rachel's neck where she bites and sucks, more vampire than human.
"Come on, Rachel." She breathes against wet, tender skin, licking at the purpling bruise she's left behind. "You keep telling me you're going to be the best, prove it."
And with that, there's three feet between them and Rachel's sagging against the wall. She can feel sweat settling uncomfortably on the back of her neck, her lips parted and all she can think about is how many times people said similar things to her. From dance teachers in elementary school to her peers in her school to –
– "You think you're the best thing in this school, don't you, Manhands?" Quinn sneers, Cheerio's skirt caught on the bathroom basin she leans against, causing it to rise up higher on her thighs.
"I – I wouldn't say that, exactly, but it can't be denied that–," Rachel replies – attempts to reply – but there's suddenly a faceful of angry blonde consuming all of her vision.
There's a moment of tense silence, and Rachel can feel Quinn's warm breath against her own lips. Would it really be so hard to just lean forward and capture them?
"I'm the best thing that's ever happened to Finn, to this school, to this town, and you're just going to have to keep dreaming." A horribly malicious smirk contorts Quinn's face.
Rachel has a horrible tendency to say the completely wrong thing – to push buttons she shouldn't be pushing – and now is probably the worst time for her to do so which also makes it the best. "I'll prove it to you. I'll be the best." Rachel attempts a sneer but it falls flat, feels wrong on her face.
Quinn laughs, and Rachel can taste it. "Alright. Prove it." She snarls, before disappearing from the bathroom in a swirl of red and blonde.
"I'll prove it." Rachel says at last, Cassie's hooded eyes not shifting from where they had focused on her breasts.
It had always been about proving herself. Maybe that's why she was here tonight – it had started out as a way for her to prove she could be the best dancer at NYADA, and had ended up with her trying to prove something entirely different.
That she could go face Quinn someday soon and announce to her that she will prove it – that she really could be the best. Years of being pushed down, of having her pigtails (literally and figuratively) pulled, all by the one person Rachel had been unable to deny. Even when Quinn threw slushy in her face, Rachel felt more the uneasy turn of butterflies in her stomach than the ice coating her skin.
It's always been about proving herself to someone, but the one person Rachel's wanted to prove something to is miles away.
As Rachel covers the distance between her and the blonde and drops to her knees, Quinn doesn't seem so far away. She closes her eyes and nudges her nose up against the tank top covering toned abs from the world, feels them jump at her touch.
Despite Quinn's Cheerio's commitment, she had still had sport classes with Rachel once a week. In such a long time, it would have been impossible for Rachel not to notice the impressive body Quinn possessed. Touching it now is like everything Rachel had envisioned – hand sliding up a flat, firm belly to reach perky breasts, ducking beneath the built-in tank top bra without having to fuss with any of that clasp business.
Rachel's first touch on Quinn's breast is gentle, reverent, and she slowly rolls the peak around between two fingers. Her other hand finds the top elastic of Quinn's leggings and underwear, and pulls them down to rest tangled around her knees. Rachel can hear moaning above her head, breaths that come shorter and faster as Rachel's hand speeds up around Quinn's left nipple – then her right.
With pants out of the way, Rachel's free hand grips Quinn's hip, as Quinn's hand tangles in Rachel's hair. She can feel those fingers, calloused from years spent writing out straight-A assignments after school, from lugging cheer gear to and from the oval, from waving pom-poms and clapping and zipping and unzipping that perfect, tight uniform. They grip her hair and hold tight and the way Quinn says, "Rachel," goes straight to her vagina.
Rachel lets out a shuddering breath, pinches Quinn's nipple in farewell, and moves her head lower.
Through lidded eyes, Rachel can see only this: pale stomach muscles rippling and tight blonde curls. She mouths kisses down Quinn's pelvis, trimmed hair tickling her lips. Soon she reaches the place she seeks, a small nub of sensitive flesh that requires just the slightest tilt of head for Rachel's lips to meet it.
As soon as they do, Quinn jolts above her, the hand tugging hard enough to pull some hairs loose. Rachel moans, feeling the pain from so many shoulder bump and slushies suddenly paying off in the best way. Quinn's falling apart above her from one moment of contact – Rachel's finally proving herself.
Without giving Quinn too long to re-establish herself, Rachel is putting herself directly to the task at hand. She's done the same to herself before so many times, but with lips and tongue and teeth instead of fingers it's a lot different. It takes time to find the rhythm Quinn desires, the position Rachel wants.
Her eyes are still mostly closed, her head tilted back to afford her the most contact with Quinn's hot flesh, and all she can see is milky skin and blonde hair and that alone is enough to get Rachel off.
But Rachel doesn't have anything to prove to herself. That she has, in the past, gotten off on simply the thought of Quinn is testament to her dedication. To please Quinn, to make her forget all others – that is what Rachel needs to accomplish.
As her tongue swirls Quinn's clit, pulling it from side to side to see what move elicits the most broken cry of "Rachel," Rachel lets a hand sneak up the back of Quinn's thigh.
It's all a tad confusing, and a very difficult position to move in, but Rachel finds herself more focused on making Quinn break than her own cramping muscles. Her arm locks around Quinn's thigh, two of her fingers reaching up to press against the damp skin there.
"God, Rachel, don't fucking stop." Quinn cries from above her, hips rocking against Rachel's face now, increasing their contact.
Rachel is not in a position to refuse Quinn anything, and with how wrecked she sounds, why would she want to?
Rachel decides to forgo any teasing and slides two fingers right inside Quinn, feeling how open and ready she is. It's no more effort to slide in a third finger, and then set up a pace that is somewhat in keeping with the ragged thrusts Quinn is providing.
Even after the most intense cheer practice, Rachel has never heard Quinn pant so much. Her thrusting is slowly losing whatever semblance of a pace it had, and Rachel can feel Quinn getting close.
In one movement, Rachel pushes her fingers in as deep as she can, curling them in to massage the spot she'd only previously been brushing by. Quinn lets out an almighty cry, taking God's name in vain the way only a Christian girl can, and then she's on her knees sagging against Rachel's body.
"I told you I'd prove it to you, Quinn." Rachel murmurs, pressing herself into blonde hair, satisfied even without an orgasm.
The body against hers stiffens, and pulls back, and it's then Rachel has to face the person in front of her.
It's not Quinn – not beautiful, amazing, perfect Quinn – but Cassie.
Rachel's mouth dries out entirely, as Cassie's expression changes from confused, to amused.
"You know, Rachel," Cassie begins as she stands up, pulling her leggings back up and readjusting her shirt. "You've got potential. But it's as I always tell you – your mind is somewhere else. Sort that out, and then maybe we'll see."
Cassie ruffles Rachel's hair and makes straight for the door, pausing only briefly to toss back a "thanks," to Rachel, still sitting on the floor.
For one brief moment, she'd been able to forget it all. She'd been able to imagine herself in the bathroom on her knees, proving to Quinn her worth – or being pressed up against the wall of the choir room, letting Quinn claim her mouth and neck and wherever she desired.
Now all Rachel is left with is a dampness between her thighs, and a burning desire to be in another New city, with another beautiful blonde, proving herself for real.