Title: Why She Does It
Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Summary: Quinn has always been obsessed with torturing Rachel Berry, but no one really understands why she does it.
A/N: I had this idea swimming in my head and this is what floated to the surface. It's written as a one-shot, so technically it's complete, but I am considering developing it into a series. Let me know in a review or message if you'd like to see this continue. This is my first Faberry fic, so please be gentle.
The discarded animal print sweater on the floor let Quinn know that something was not quite right. Where the...?
Oh, the faint sounds of a Barbra Streisand song indistinguishable from all the other show tunes she didn't care for were a big clue, and ohmyshit Rachel Berry was on top of her. She let out an annoyed groan she thought was muted; keyword, thought. The wet warmth she had been acutely aware of in the vicinity of her collar bone traveled north to her ear. "I know you like that."
And she did. She did?
She had been here before. She'd found herself under the weight of Rachel's half-naked body, wondering how on earth she got there but not really caring because damn that feels good. Then Rachel's thigh pressed into her, and all thoughts regarding how, when, or why she was there went out the door. Time to take control of this situation once and for all.
With one swift move, Quinn was now upright, peeling off her shirt, a knee on each side of Rachel's hips. "I'm feeling a little overdressed," she breathed, discarding her top next to the lion on the floor. "And, well, this needs to go too." With that, she yanked Rachel upright by the bra and quickly unhooked and discarded that as well. Suddenly, she felt intensely rushed, as though she were running out of time. Fortunately, she didn't seem to be alone in that sentiment.
"Tit for tat," Rachel quipped, catching Quinn up in the undressing process. Tit for tat? That was a very Berry thing to say. The blond snickered internally at the corny, veiled boob joke she'd just heard.
A quick but gentle shove later and Rachel was again flat on her back, and at the admiration of the sight before her, the throbbing sensation Quinn had been feeling promptly transformed from mild to almost unbearable. Something would have to be done.
In a flash, blond hair surrounded dark skin as mouths reconnected and hot tongues battled and explored, fighting for dominance. Unconsciously, Quinn was pressing herself into Rachel, over and over and over, yearning for relief from this ache. Luckily for her, Rachel took the lead as she felt her jeans being forcefully yanked. She shimmied and kicked mindlessly, desperate to get the thick garment off her body and out of the way. Finally free of the jeans' clutches, she resumed her pressing with only two thin layers of panties separating the heat of their bodies.
Wait, what? Where had Rachel's jeans gone? Had she taken OH GOODNESS Rachel is doing that thing in her ear again and it's the last straw.
"Touch me please, I can't take it," she pleaded. Immediately, small hands slid in place and set to work.
"You're so wet," the brunette breathed, sliding a finger inside and eliciting a deep moan.
"You always make me feel this way." Her hips were rocking now, desperate for more. "More!" Not willing to wait for Rachel to take action, she threw herself on her back and removed her last article of clothing, frustrated at the loss of contact from those small, soft hands.
Those hands, however, were promptly replaced with something better, and Rachel slowly ran her tongue up and down with increasing pressure. With every stroke of that talented tongue, the intense aching that had been plaguing Quinn Fabray for what felt like years turned into euphoric pleasure shooting from her center to every inch of her body. As two fingers went to work inside, she felt the relief she'd been longing for come so close, it wouldn't take much more.
Suddenly, Rachel bolted upright, stealing away the sensations that had been so engrossing. "Do you hear that?"
Frustrated beyond words, Quinn could only pant out, "Huh?" while silently willing the situation to time warp backwards by about ten seconds.
"That beeping."
"Just ignore it!" she demanded.
"No, Quinn, you've got to-"
"Please!"
Quinn bolted upright. She was no longer in Rachel's bedroom. She was alone with her beeping alarm clock. And, if she were a guy, she'd definitely be complaining about blue balls. Simultaneously, she felt pity for herself and Finn for past incidents.
This had not been the first time. In fact, she went to sleep having a feeling this would probably happen. After all, she'd woken up this way once or twice a week for who knows how long.
She was thrilled to have made it five days straight without this type of wake up. Quickly, she rose from bed and set to getting ready. She needed to make a stop before school.
An hour and a half later, the doors of McKinley High School were greeting her yet again. She sighed as she heard Trent Reznor singing about every day being exactly the same in her head. Okay, she wasn't a big fan of Nine Inch Nails, but that song sure did fit like a glove sometimes.
There she was. Rachel Berry, at the opposite end of the hall, looking at the inside of the door of her locker like it was a freaking museum exhibit, no doubt admiring her life plan for stardom in outline form. She picked up her pace.
Today was not going to be exactly the same. She didn't usually do this; she just enabled it when others did. She tightened the grip of her right hand.
"Hello Quinn," Rachel squeaked, spinning around quickly after catching a glimpse of her in the door's mirror. Those big brown eyes got wide even more quickly.
Without words, she let loose. Life moved in slow motion for a moment as purple slush flew at Rachel's lion sweater (she WOULD wear that one today) in a huge flying blob. Yeah, good thing she went with the 44 ounce today. Too bad she hadn't chosen cherry; that would have had a better chance at ruining that stupid sweater for good.
A smirk tempted the corner of Quinn's mouth, satisfaction rolling over her. She may not be able to do anything about these dreams, but she could make sure she wasn't alone in her misery. "Morning, Berry," she snapped, flicking the plastic cup to the floor.
When Rachel stole a quick lick of her lips, Quinn was concurrently thankful and frustrated she'd gone with the grape.