Nausicaa

The sun beat down, hard, fast. Rachel Berry sat flustered under it, upon the beach. Heat filled the air, thick and damp. She wiped away beads of sweat forming along her hairline and let out a defeated sigh. She fluttered her thin tank top and adjusted her skirt to be as relieving as possible without being distasteful . . .

Down the sandystreet, Quinn Fabray lay on her stomach; her cheek pressed against her arms, face content, eyes closed. Rachel Berry, heated by the girl, had attempted, lost, attempted again, lost again, to keep her eyes away from Quinn - or at least her body.

It was not that Quinn's body was at all revolting in any way. Not that at all, for it seemed, to Rachel, to be sculpted by goddesses. The way her ivory skin, now being gently coloured cream, ran from her cheek, to her cheeks. How her back scooped in, perfectly, allowing posture incomparable. How her thighs, full and soft, ran together through the rest of her legs, twisting down at her feet. Her arms, proportional to the rest, lined against each other for something of a pillow for her head. And her hair, darkly blond, spouting from her and flowing forth: one simple strand stroking her cheek.

Rachel could not help but stare. Her hand fidgeted in her lap. They, conflicted, clenched and squeezed, groped and squirmed. The rest of the group was off somewhere, while she and Quinn were left alone for themselves. There was no one else around. Rachel slowly pressed against herself, looking around, paranoia filling her blood alongside the natural ecstasy. She bit her lip and gazed down at Quinn: her gorgeous face, her softly curved hips, that voluptuously voluminous . . . bottom. The seemingly flawless thighs, thick and smooth.

And Quinn's eyes fluttered open in an instant, preceded by unnoticed movement, followed by her pushing herself up, stretching her arms, body, and everything else out, for display, to Rachel Berry. Her soft stomach ran up to two breasts, full and delicate, contained in a bikini that itself clung hungrily. Quinn's eyes seemed to glance over at Rachel, and a smile curved across her face.

Rachel Berry blushed, and stopped the movement on her hand which seem to have lost control of itself. The heat radiated. Her face burned red. Quinn's hand ran up and down her thigh, then the other the other. Her eyes cast downward, eyelashes black and lovely. Her hand, upon coming up from her legs, sat on her thighs, slightly squeezing them, before she stood up and turned her back to Rachel, her butt to Rachel. The bikini bottom clung, some parts darker with moisture, each cheek plump and enticing to Rachel Berry, who felt her thoughts leaving her head in favor of new ones concerning her cheeks and Quinn's cheeks.

Quinn - being the tease she may have been - slapped her hands down at the edge of her hips, her bum jiggling in natural response. Rachel squirmed. She, now safe from Quinn's eyes, started her caresses again. What she wouldn't do to have Quinn come over, slowly, hips sashaying, eyes directly upon her, Rachel Berry, her breasts bouncing ever so slightly, and lean down and say something like, "You like what you see?" or something sentimental like that and kiss her, Rachel Berry, with those lips, feeling that nose against hers, and then be allowed to touch that body, to admire it, to stroke and love and . . . and love, oh goodness, and spank her, spank that round bottom, hear Quinn squeal girlishly in delight as she stuck it out further for her to make red, and Rachel loving every moment, every time her hand came down against the skin, maybe her other hand reached up to grope Quinn's breasts, feeling each full one in her fingers; what was going on, was Quinn looking at her, was she still rubbing, what was Quinn doing, what was Rachel doing? Quinn returned down onto her seat.

Rachel glanced around. There was no one. No one had seen, barring Quinn, maybe. Rachel let out a content sigh. Quinn held her head up high, a smile, proud, on her face. The sun beat down, hard.

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