Author's Note: Written for Faberry Week, Day 6 - Tattoo. Because I had to do it.
Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta ever.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.
Heart On Your Skin
Wear your heart on your skin in this life.
~Sylvia Plath
It's a perfect day.
They spend the afternoon strolling through the botanical gardens and have an early dinner at a little Italian restaurant before taking in a show. Rachel still loves experiencing Broadway from the audience as much as she loves performing on stage. After, they walk hand-in-hand back to Rachel's apartment in Midtown East. She'd moved out of the loft in Brooklyn more than a year ago to escape the influx of extra roommates in the form of fiancés and girlfriends and old high school classmates crashing on sofas and floors. She can afford it now with two shows and a Tony under her belt.
They have a glass of wine and slow dance to a few classics, trading even slower kisses. Everything with Rachel has been slow since Quinn made the decision to stand outside of that stage door eight months ago, offering a smile and quiet congratulations. The slow sipping of the coffee they'd shared as they'd talked for the first time in years. The slow rediscovery of a friendship they'd both missed before a slow slide into something more.
They end up on the sofa with bodies pressed close as they explore previously undiscovered inches of silky skin with lips and fingertips, venturing a little further with every soft moan. Every time they're together, they grow a little bolder, and this time, Rachel tugs at Quinn's shirt, pulling it up until Quinn allows her to remove it completely. There's a hum of appreciation that precedes hands on her breasts and a mouth trailing a warm path down over her sternum. She feels the rush of excitement at this new sensation. Quinn has been with women before—her one-time thing long transformed into a first of many—but that doesn't make every first with Rachel any less meaningful.
Quinn is all about reciprocity these days, so it's natural for her to reach for the hem of Rachel's shirt. She loves being touched, but she needs to touch Rachel—to see and feel her in all the ways she can. Quinn grins, licking her lips in anticipation as she shifts their positions, traversing the alluring landscape of Rachel's body. She begins at her throat, working her way down slowly—always slowly—tasting and touching until she's thoroughly learned every curve of Rachel's breasts through her lacy bra. Rachel's fingers are threaded tightly into Quinn's hair, her back arching as she pants and purrs and gasps with pleasure. It's only when Quinn finally abandons her breasts to explore a taut, toned abdomen that the journey grinds to a sudden halt.
Rachel tugs lightly on her hair, whimpering in protest when Quinn hastily jerks her head away. Something cold and unpleasant slithers through her, and she sits up, running her own fingers through her hair with a frustrated sigh.
"Quinn? Wh-what's wrong?" Rachel asks breathlessly, pushing herself up by her elbows and staring at Quinn in confusion.
"I didn't know you had a tattoo," she answers flatly.
Rachel's look of confusion doesn't immediately fade, but her left hand drifts to rest over her ribs where the small, cursive script is branded on her skin. "Oh," she whispers, nodding in understanding. Quinn watches Rachel swallow and bite her lip while she shifts on the sofa until she's sitting up as well, fingers still tracing idly back and forth over the tattoo. "Is…is it a deal breaker?"
Her voice is thin, wavering almost imperceptibly, and Quinn squeezes her eyes shut and breathes through the painful twist of her stomach. It's not as if they've never spoken about Finn Hudson. In some ways, he stands between them in death as solidly as he did in life. Quinn can still remember that phone call, the pain of finding out that someone so important to her teenaged self was gone in the blink of an eye. She'd wept for Finn, for his mother, for Rachel. She'd attended his funeral and said her goodbyes, offering sympathy and comfort to Rachel that had gone unacknowledged in the wake of her grief.
Quinn has never begrudged Rachel her right to mourn Finn in her own way and time, even though it had meant keeping her distance for awhile because of the convoluted history between them and the often painful memories that come with it. She hadn't been the right person to help Rachel through the regret of missed opportunities and canceled weddings and broken engagements, not when Quinn had so often been the loudest voice arguing to let it all go and move on with her life. So she'd given Rachel a little space, but the fragile bonds of their friendship had stretched and torn as life carried them further along divergent paths. It had taken years for those paths to cross once again.
Finn's presence in Rachel's heart has been an unspoken truth for as long as Quinn can remember, and while it's been transformed in death, it hasn't been erased. Until this moment, she'd willfully believed that she could forget—push the ghosts from her mind and focus on the here and now and, most importantly, the future—but that's nearly impossible when the name of Rachel's first love is inscribed on her body. Quinn has never hated a tattoo quite so much, not even her own.
Is it a deal breaker?
Quinn's gaze drifts back to Rachel, who is now sitting with her shoulders slightly hunched and her arms crossed self-consciously over her exposed torso. She sees the girl that she'd met in high school—talented beyond reason but so insecure behind the bravado. She sees the girl that had first made her wonder if she could be attracted to women. She sees the woman that she's been slowly falling in love with for months—the woman who has always seen something worthy in her that runs so much deeper than her skin. She's known from the very first kiss that in some ways she'll always be in competition with the memory of Finn Hudson, and as much as she hates it, she's pretty certain that she wants Rachel enough to battle that particular demon.
"No, it isn't a deal breaker," she finally admits, watching Rachel sigh in relief, "but it is a kind of a mood killer. At least right now," she adds as an afterthought when she notices Rachel's worried frown.
Rachel forces a smile that doesn't reach her eyes at all. "You're not the first person to tell me that."
Quinn nods and reaches behind her to retrieve Rachel's shirt, handing it back to her. Rachel silently accepts it and begins to put it back on while Quinn fishes her own shirt off the floor. "When did you have it done?" she asks out of curiosity as she gets redressed.
Rachel glances over at her, worrying her lip for a moment before she confesses, "About a month or so after," she trails off with a shrug.
It makes sense to Quinn—no doubt a spontaneous decision in the height of grief to honor the man she'd loved. She supposes that it's slightly more rational than getting Ryan Seacrest's face tattooed on your back when you're more than a little drunk and pissed at the world. Of course, Quinn had quickly regretted her decision and eventually had her tattoo removed. The only brand on her body now is her daughter's birthday written in courier font on the inside of her left wrist. She touches the spot and tries to let go of her distaste for Rachel's tattoo. It's a part of her that Quinn will simply have to deal with.
Rachel notices the action and brushes her own hand over Quinn's. "Are we okay?" she questions nervously.
Quinn forces a smile and nods, turning her hand over and capturing Rachel's fingers between her own. "Yeah, we're okay." She leans over and brushes a quick kiss over Rachel's lips before she pulls away. Rachel doesn't look entirely convinced, but Quinn really can't do much about that right now except hold Rachel's hand and make the silent decision to stay.
They don't talk about the tattoo again. There's no need. Their lives don't revolve around Finn Hudson and haven't in a very long time. They do perfectly normal, mundane things like sending each other flirty texts when they both should be working, and browsing through the green market in Union Square and walking along the sand at Coney Island. Sometimes they argue about nothing, and sometimes they laugh about everything.
Eventually, they make love.
Quinn knows that tiny name is still there, but she doesn't let it stop her again from having Rachel. She closes her eyes and imagines that the skin beneath Rachel's left breast is as clear and unblemished as the skin beneath her right. She focuses on every other part of Rachel because they make up an incredible whole—so warm and alive and hers. She lightly grazes her teeth over a throat and shoulder, circling her tongue around hardened nipples and dipping it into a quivering navel. She worships shapely calves and thighs that are muscled from dance. She lingers between those legs, tracing every soft fold with her fingertips before retracing them with her tongue. She listens to the music of sighs and whispers and moans, and then she surrenders her body to Rachel and hears the refrain in her own tremulous alto.
They hold one another in the quiet afterglow, where the only thing that Quinn can see are the fading stars in her vision and the only tattoo that matters is the one that Rachel leaves on her heart. "I love you," she whispers into the darkness, and she feels Rachel's arms tighten around her right before she hears, "I love you too, Quinn. So much."
Quinn can never completely unsee his name. It's there in bed with them. It's there in the showers that they share and the mornings when Rachel rushes around in her underwear looking for her favorite sweater. It's at the beach with them for all the world to see whenever Rachel wears a bikini. Quinn stares at it so hard and for so long that it begins to lose its meaning, becoming nothing more than four random letters that make no sense together.
Life goes on. They pack up their individual possessions and move in together, making everything theirs. Rachel takes another show while her agent hashes out a recording contract. Quinn moves up the ranks at the magazine until she's writing articles that she's proud of instead of glorified puff pieces. When Rachel wins her second Tony, it's Quinn that she thanks. When Quinn proposes—complete with music and candlelight and the perfect view of Manhattan at night—Rachel doesn't hesitate to say yes, and she doesn't need to ask anyone's advice in the bathroom.
It's a perfect wedding day.
Rachel is glowing, and Quinn forgets to breathe repeatedly just looking at her. They're surrounded by friends, both old and new, and family, both blood and choice, as they say their vows and bind their lives into one. Quinn's ring is around Rachel's finger, and it makes them both ridiculously happy. It matters less than it ever has that Finn still owns a part of Rachel's yesterdays when Quinn has the promise of tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come.
It's been more than a week since they've been intimate thanks to Rachel and her sudden inspiration to abstain in order to make their wedding night memorable. Every night with Rachel is memorable, but Quinn had easily been seduced into agreeing. It's her turn to seduce her wife. She strips down to white lace panties and a bra, choosing to forgo any other kind of lingerie since she doubts that she'll be wearing it for very long anyway. She covers herself only with a short, sheer robe that she leaves open while she pours two glasses of champagne, but they're quickly forgotten when Rachel exits the bathroom in a silky negligee that shimmers over every delectable curve.
Quinn puts down her glass and swallows thickly, drinking in the moment in its entirety. She reaches for her wife, pulling her close and kissing her deeply while her fingers quiver against silk covered skin.
"Your hands are trembling," Rachel murmurs with a teasing smile, trailing her fingertips over the back of Quinn's left hand until they run loving circles over the gold of her wedding ring. "Are you nervous, Mrs. Berry-Fabray?"
Quinn captures her wife's hand and grins. "Fabray-Berry," she corrects mildly. The order of their names has been a highly contended subject, and it's still anyone's guess which combination will eventually make it onto the official paperwork. But that's an argument for another time. "And what I am," she purrs seductively, slipping her right hand over Rachel's hip, "is excited to finally make love to my wife."
Rachel hums in pleasure, and the tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her lips. "I love that word."
"Excited?"
Rachel squeezes her hand and tugs her closer. "Wife," she growls appreciatively before she catches Quinn's eager mouth.
Hands wander bodies in mutual adoration. Quinn's robe slides to the floor on the way to the bed, and Rachel's negligee follows soon after. A slight tremor moves through Rachel, and her breath catches. Quinn wonders at it, but her attention is currently too captured by her wife's breasts and the way they taste on her tongue.
It takes her awhile—longer than it should. She's trained herself not to look at that one particular spot in moments like this, but tonight a patch of black ink invades her peripheral vision against her will, and her gaze is drawn down. And just like the first time that she'd seen the tattoo, everything grinds to a sudden stop.
"Rachel," she whispers out on a shallow breath. "Wh-what...?"
"Do you like it?" Rachel asks softly, a shy smile playing on her lips.
Quinn can't seem to look away from the ink on her wife's ribs, and she traces it with shaky fingers. Those four familiar letters are almost unrecognizable, transformed into Finally and immediately followed by Got It Right.
"I…I don't understand," Quinn stutters out, transfixed by the phrase branded on Rachel's skin.
Rachel shifts beneath her, stroking a gentle hand over Quinn's cheek. "I know how you felt about my tattoo, Quinn." She opens her mouth to protest, but Rachel presses a finger to her lips. "You've done your best to avoid looking at it or touching it as much as possible since we've been together, but you've also never said a single word about it after that first time. You have no idea how much that's meant to me…how much I love you for that."
Quinn swallows around the lump in her throat. "It was important to you."
"It was," Rachel agrees. "He was. And I'll always remember him, Quinn, but…but it didn't feel right to have his name on my body anymore," she admits. "Not when your name is the one in my heart and the one attached to mine for better or worse. So this," she places her hand over Quinn's where it still lingers over her new tattoo, "this is for us. Because we finally got it right, and even though a little part of Finn will always be with me, you're the one that I'm going to spend the rest of my life loving, and I couldn't be happier."
Her beautiful face blurs in front of Quinn's eyes, and it's only then that she realizes she's crying. Rachel brushes a thumb over her cheeks to wipe away her tears, and Quinn laughs at how emotional she's being. "It's the perfect wedding present," she whispers, kissing her wife lovingly.
Her gaze drifts back down to the words written on Rachel's skin, and she traces each letter with a fingernail, making Rachel giggle lightly at the sensation. Quinn smiles and dips her head, pressing her lips to the tattoo to mark it as the starting place for worshiping every inch of Rachel's body.
Years later, Rachel will tattoo another name on her body—one they'll choose together on the date that will be neatly inked onto Quinn's wrist just beneath Beth's birthday—the name of the daughter whom they'll joyously welcome into the world together, forever tattooed with love across their hearts.