It takes exactly one phone call, one insistent invitation, one mildly convoluted story about the pipes creaking from the cold weather in the city and scaring her in the night, and one final plea for Quinn to come over and spend the night. Or nights. At least until Kurt comes back on Sunday and she won't have to be alone in the apartment.
Because that's way easier than admitting she doesn't want to spend the weekend alone in the confines of their spacious humble abode. It's easier than admitting that after several months at NYADA, she still doesn't have friends to spend time with outside of curriculum-related activities. Or friends that don't expect any additional that's what she and Quinn are. They're kinda friends, right?
These are thoughts she wrings her gloves to as she waits for Quinn's train to arrive at Grand Central Station that Friday afternoon. These are the thoughts she gnaws her bottom lip to as her eyes scan the throngs of commuters and tourists moving past her, in front of her and behind her all across the platform. These are the thoughts she immediately abandons when she spots the blonde in the distance, her grin mirrored in hers as Quinn picks up her pace, moving in the direction of Rachel's (hardly surprising) overeager waving.
The evening is spent in a very cozy, very laid back fashion. Despite it being Friday night, neither girl is keen to go out, the strenuous week having sapped energy off of each of them respectfully. But there is a new exhibition at MoMA that Quinn would like to see and Rachel instantly agrees to go to the next day.
They spend the evening cooking, lounging and catching up. And who knew, the months apart mean that her guest has a lot to say, a lot to talk about, a lot to express. And Rachel is grateful for the company.
It's way past late before either of them notices. Rachel fights off the third consecutive yawn and proceeds to apologize profusely, because honestly, Quinn's clam bake story does interest her. It's just that as an early riser, her energy depletes sooner, and with the nice dinner and comfortable sofa and…
Quinn waves her off, nodding understandingly. Her smile is warm, she's not mad. Something inside Rachel lets out a sigh of relief, because something inside Rachel is still apprehensive around the blonde, careful not to make the wrong move, careful not to aggravate.
So understandably, the brunette gets extra agitated when they get off the sofa to head to bed - she to her own and Quinn to Kurt's - only to find his room in complete disarray. Rachel mentally slaps herself for not having checked before Quinn arrived, and sags at the prospect of having to move the mess of clothing and various other things off his bed, so that Quinn has someplace to lie down, when she is already this tired.
Quinn doesn't seem to be thrilled by the display in front of her either. She's actually frowning and mashing her lips together. That's not good. Annoyed Quinn is definitely not good. Panic rises within Rachel's gut, so she blurts the first thing that comes to mind to save the situation: They can share her bed. Her double comfortable than the sofa. She won't be using all of her bed.
For a few tense moments there's an indiscernible look on Quinn's face which Rachel identifies as deliberation. Followed by a simple nod and 'ok'. It's settled then. Rachel lets out a sigh of relief.
The evening routine goes by quickly and Rachel is on edge, unsure whether to chalk it up exhaustion or nerves. She never shared a bed with someone before. Not like a sleepover. Quinn must've been to dozens of them. What's the proper etiquette? How aloof should Rachel be as opposed to how giddy she's allowed to be? Right, it's no big deal. At least to Quinn it apparently isn't. She can do that, yeah. She can adjust her enthusiasm to Quinn's.
The girls slide beneath the covers and with a flick of a switch, darkness sets upon the room. After a moment of silence Quinn speaks up, noting the lack of any noise from pipes that Rachel complained so much about. The brunette is glad Quinn can't see her cheeks burning up as she flounders and stutters about them tending to rattle at random.
Quinn wonders aloud at the cause of the phenomenon and then proceeds to recall the various unidentifiable noises they heard around the house she grew up in. Over the years she was able to debunk some over time while others remain a mystery. Rachel realizes Quinn is an excellent storyteller, which makes perfect sense considering all the books she must've read. The blonde's narration combined with her soft, melodious voice slowly, but inevitably, lull Rachel. Right before she slips off into sleep she hears her name in that soft, melodious voice. She should probably respond. She should show that she is still listening. She should.
-x-x-x-
"Rachel?"
"Rachel!"
"I cannot believe this. Rachel!"
Rachel is abruptly torn from her thoughts and she blinks rapidly as she finds the blonde standing in front of her, hands menacingly on her hips, expression rigid, and cold as ice.
"I'm- I'm sorry Quinn. You were saying?" she attempts to feign nonchalance, but her arms still end up crossed over her chest.
"Why bother? You weren't listening anyway. Just like you never listen." Quinn retorts.
"What are you talking about? Of course I listen!"
Where is this coming from? One moment they're almost amicable, friendly even, and the next the blonde has regressed to…to antagonistic.
"No, Rachel. See, there's a difference. You pay attention. But you don't actually listen."
"Well maybe I would if I weren't so busy worrying about upsetting you with every other thing I say or do!"
"That is so not-"
"But you just proved me right!"
"That's not what I meant! This is why you don't listen, because no matter what I tell you, you keep hearing what you want to hear, just so you can prove to yourself you were right. Rachel, if you'll keep believing that I am holding onto some kind of a high school grudge, you will never get it right."
"Then what else is it?!"
Fine. If Quinn wants to have an argument she can have one. But Rachel doesn't care to hold back and take her blows. If she plans on making Rachel feel miserable, well two can play that game.
"Why should I trust someone, who for years went out of their way to put me in my place?! To remind me how I didn't belong?! Every time I chose to pursuit my relationship, you insisted I do the opposite, because you just couldn't stand the idea that I could have it all and the happy ending you so desired for yourself. So you tried to sabotage my relationship just like you tried to sabotage Shelby's relationship with Beth. If that's not a high-school grudge, then what is it?!"
Rachel expects the slap. She also hears the sound of a slap. But the stinging sensation against her cheek never comes. Instead she feels pressure against her lips. Pressure from a different set of lips…Oh my god, Quinn Fabray is kissing her!
Rachel instantly draws back with a look of pure horror, pure violation, pure scandal on her face! She clutches at her cheek as if that had been the actual point of their contact. Something inside of her boils over then and there and she retaliates with a slap.
But while she can distinctly feel her hand drawing back and her flat palm moving forward, hear even the distinct sharp noise ringing out, her lips attach themselves to Quinn's a second time.
Rachel literally jumps back, furious.
"Stop it!" she exclaims, but the last part gets muffled, because there she is, kissing Quinn again. Her cheeks feel like they're burning, but no harm's been done to them.
"Don't…," Quinn pants, "Don't stop…"
Rachel doesn't. "You… are so… frustrating!" she grits out in between kisses and…
-x-x-x-
…and she jerks herself awake.
Rachel's eyes make out the contours of her bedroom ceiling and it's a strange kind of relief. As her eyes adjust to the darkness she studies it further. At least until her breathing settles down again.
The thing is Rachel isn't homophobic. She really isn't. The idea of kissing another girl doesn't gross her out. Her fathers brought her up better than that. But this is Quinn Fabray. And this is just... well technically it's not wrong per se, but wrong in the sense that it's Quinn Fabray and she's Rachel Berry. They share a whole antagonistic history, and you are absolutely NOT supposed to have dreams about making out with your (former) arch nemesis!
She lets her head roll to the right, to the part of the bed currently occupied by the blonde in question. Quinn looks so peaceful. Sleeping on her side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, her face expressionless and serene. It makes her look ten years younger and completely innocent. Especially with her lips like that, parted almost imperceptibly... Okay, no.
Rachel tears her eyes away and they land on the alarm clock on her nightstand. It's early. But not as early that she wouldn't be able to play it off as her morning workout routine. So the brunette stealthily slips out of her bed and out of her room. She's fairly certain she would not be able to sleep any more anyway.
Maybe she's more unnerved from her dream than she's willing to admit to herself, but in the morning Rachel takes great care to answer Quinn at any given moment and diplomatically tiptoes out of any scenario that could cause a potential conflict with the blonde. She knows she must seem on edge and, though there are a few instances when Quinn shoots her a sideways glance, she never asks her about it directly.
Is Rachel afraid the events of her dream would repeat in reality? The more she thinks about it, the more ridiculous she begins to feel. It was just a dream. A fluke. Her subconscious playing a prank on her. She should not let that ruin her day. Their day even. Rachel begins to relax again.
And the more time passes from that ill-fated night, the hazier the dream's events become, the more Rachel relaxes again.
As arranged, they first visit the Museum of Modern Art. And because the weather outside is less than ideal, they quickly agree to follow it up with venturing to other cultural venues, preferably taking place indoors and possibly in close vicinity. A photography exhibit, a lunch, few library exhibits and a street concert later finds them sitting on the subway headed back to Rachel's apartment, rose-cheeked from the cold, but with eyes alight from the day's adventures.
Rachel nearly causes them to miss their stop (twice!), because, as hard as she wills herself not to, the train's pleasant rocking makes her nod off. She's not the only one spent though. Despite having taken regular sit-down breaks, all the walking, or rather trudging through snow, has thoroughly exhausted Quinn. Rachel is still in awe of her friend's perseverance. So, upon arriving at the apartment, they don't even need to discuss that, unlike the previous evening of chatting, they will call it an early night.
Though the thought does pop into her head, she is too tired to worry about her dreams. She's probably too tired to dream anything that night anyway…
-x-x-x-
"Rachel! Hurry up! We have to leave early to get there on time!" Quinn's voice urges her from the living room.
Quinn is right, of course. Rachel tugs at the sleeve of her outfit and nods to herself. This will do.
She strides out of her room towards the blonde waiting for her. But the closer she gets the deeper the frown on Quinn's face and it makes Rachel slow down until it morphs into a full-blown grimace of disgust.
"You can't be serious," Quinn says in that exasperate tone, the one that used to have Rachel always bristling. "I am not leaving this apartment with you dressed like that," she adds, placing her hand on her hip and gesturing up and down towards the brunette with the other.
Rachel is pretty certain she doesn't have to take any of Quinn's attitude anymore and sets her jaw before she defensively smoothes down her… penguin sweater?
She stares down at herself in confusion. She doesn't remember putting that on, not to mention even taking it with her from Lima. Same goes for the plaid skirt, the knee socks, the penny loafers.
It wouldn't be half as bad were they not horribly mismatched in color even by her standards. Rachel's mouth falls open and she struggles to articulate any words at all, because she really has no explanation. And here comes that familiar feeling of bracing herself for conflict. She doesn't notice Quinn approaching her personal space and it's only when Quinn's hands reach out to her waist that she looks up at her, bewildered. She tries to gauge the blonde's intentions, but she's met with an eyebrow raised in challenge and eyes piercing right through her. Rachel's breath catches and a sense dread or excitement or déjà vu washes over her, but it's impossible for her to look away.
The tension grows until Quinn lips part for a single-
"Off," Quinn commands.
Rachel's eyes widen.
"Take. It. Off."
And before Rachel can protest or even process the demand, Quinn's long fingers curl around the hem of her sweater and yank it off her…
…only to reveal a different undignified patterned thing underneath. Dark green on orange no less.
"No," comes the clipped verdict and this time Rachel squeaks.
"No."
She's pretty sure she hears the fabric rip when the third sweater comes off.
"No."
As she is sure a week from now she'll be still finding buttons scattered in random places around the living room as a blouse gets ripped away.
"No."
Oh come on! She could swear Quinn owns that very same cardigan!
"No."
Wasn't that Mr. Schue's sweater-vest?
"No."
"No."
"There we go," Quinn practically purrs as she steps back. "Perfect," she smirks.
Rachel chances a glimpse at Quinn.
A smile plays on Quinn's lips as she rakes her eyes down…
…Rachel's completely naked body.
-x-x-x-
Rachel's eyes fly open. Her first instinct is to look under the covers. A lengthy huff of relief, and a silent praise sent to the heavens. Thank goodness she is fully clothed. In her pajamas that is.
Her head lolls to the side. Of course Quinn's still asleep. Second weird dream, second night in a row. It's obvious they are caused by the blonde's presence. But it still begs the question of 'why' though.
In their time together – the awake time – Rachel can't help but be constantly on edge around her. It isn't even as if either of the girls did anything deliberate that would trigger these or anything deliberately insinuating. And it isn't even as if Quinn might do anything triggering or insinuating. And of course It isn't as if she wanted Quinn to do anything triggering or insinuating. …right?
No, of course not, Rachel chastises herself. Seriously, in what universe would Quinn appreciate seeing Rachel naked when she has herself such a flawless bo- Rachel's cheeks burn red hot. She did not just picture Quinn naked. Ok, this needs to stop. Also, she's still staring at Quinn's side of the bed.
The way in which Rachel executes a perfect storm out from under her covers without waking her guest is impressive, even to her.
But the thing with trying not to think certain thoughts is that once they're in your head, they become impossible to ignore.
Overnight, the city had been covered with a fresh new layer of fluffy, white snow. Regardless of it being Sunday, the city doesn't have enough workers to get the roads under control, never mind the sidewalks. And by the looks of it, the one in front of their apartment building is there somewhere, just under what now looks to be about a massive ten inches of snow. And considering their yesterday's exhausting adventure… Rachel huffs and it makes the steam from her mug of coffee fog up a spot on the kitchen window in front of her. Yeah, they're pretty much snowed in.
That turns out to be just fine with Quinn. Her train doesn't leave until the evening, and it's not like this is the last time she'll ever be in the city to check out all the sights. It's not exactly a promise, except it kinda is, and it makes the corners of Rachel's mouth quirk up. Weird dreams aside, she really enjoyed the time she spent with the blonde this weekend. Yeah, she enjoys the company of this Quinn. Especially this Quinn - the more laid back, less tense, less angry Quinn. Getting out of Lima, out of the confines of high-school hierarchy, really did them both good. And you know what they say, absence makes the heart grow ffffffooo-Rachel nips that thought in the bud.
Speaking of college, since there's nowhere to go and neither of the girls wants to force an interaction that might test the bounds of their delicate armistice, they rationally agree to work on their assignments for class. And the silence that at first felt a bit awkward soon becomes a comfortable kind of silence. It's not even really necessary, but somehow they still end up studying in the same space, the same vicinity of the living room even. Because even though Rachel usually studies on her bed, it would feel rude for her to place any sort of doors between her and her guest. It is the polite thing to do. And of course if Quinn needed to be alone to concentrate, she could always go to Rachel's or Kurt's room. She would not have a problem voicing that. Right? Unless, given the fact that it is Rachel's or Kurt's room, meaning not Quinn's, Quinn doesn't say she wants to be alone, because she believes it's not her place to impose or request… Rachel worries her lip for what feels like the fifteenth time that weekend.
Be as it may, Quinn doesn't seem discontent. Quite the opposite.
Rachel gets to observe just how content and comfortable the blonde can get. And the various positions Quinn can assume... while reading. The light grey yoga pants the blonde is wearing aren't helping matters much either. Some of the blonde's body parts have always been (however little, but still) concealed by skirts of various length, but now that Rachel actually takes a look… she wants a drink! Non alcoholic, of course. Or a coffee, oh yes, a coffee, else she will never get any work done on her assignment. She stands abruptly striding off into the kitchen. Three second later she backtracks, to ask Quinn if she would like some, too.
Much later that day, they somehow manage to get to the Grand Central Station. It's a good thing that Quinn suggests they head out earlier than necessary - Rachel would make the suggestion herself, but she doesn't want to seem like she is trying to get rid of Quinn – which is good as it takes almost 45 minutes longer than it would under normal weather conditions. Especially since the snow that had melted throughout the morning has now glazed over as the temperatures dropped, so every step they take must be deliberate and calculated. Maintaining such firm balance puts great strain on Quinn's feet so, whether Rachel likes it or not, she needs to hover close. At least three times does the blonde slip and Rachel steadies her by wrapping her arms around her waist. It feels almost like hugging, or an awkward kind of slow dance were Rachel not have banned herself from overthinking after their shared study session.
By the time they arrive at the station there isn't much time left for sentimental goodbyes. Rachel frets for a moment about the possibility of the sidewalks in New Haven being in similar life-threatening state and makes Quinn swear on her Cheerios uniform to text her as soon as she safely arrives at the dorm. Even if not safely. Just… she needs to know, else her mind will run rampant with catastrophic scenarios. And her mind has run rampant quite enough lately. Rachel earns a mildly puzzled sideways glance for that last blurt.
When she gets back to her apartment, Kurt is already there. They talk about their respective weekends, he pauses at the mention of Quinn having stayed over, they idly talk some more. Rachel gets the strange feeling Kurt takes it personally that the blonde visited the one weekend he was out of town. He'll get over it. Or he won't. Whatever. Rachel is kind of tired from braving the elements anyway.
-x-x-x-
Rachel likes all kinds of music, and she really likes the tune floating across the living room right now. Though she can't really put her finger on its genre. Come to think of it, she cannot decipher the artist nor the track's title either. Which is mildly irritating because she could swear she heard it before and Rachel Berry nothing if not prizes herself on her ability of being able to identify a song by its first six notes or less. Especially the ones she likes. And she likes this one! Now if only she could-
"Dance with me," someone purrs right next to her ear and Rachel jumps in her seat.
It's Quinn that's leaning close with her arms propped against the arm of the sofa. But she doesn't wait for an answer. She straightens up, turns around and proceeds to sway to the music. Rachel just stares, rooted to the spot. Quinn has always been a good dancer, a carefree dancer and an assured dancer. And Rachel can't help but admit that what's happening in front of her is actually really aesthetically pleasing.
"Rachel, if you won't join me, at least steady me," Quinn's voice is as smooth as honey. "You never know, my legs might give way." The invitation is punctuated by a smile and half a shrug. And before Rachel's mind can catch up to the rest of her body she is suddenly standing in Quinn's personal space.
The blonde leans back against her though her body never stops moving to the music.
"Much better."
Rachel should really say something by now, because Quinn keeps rubbing her behind against Rachel's front. At one point she bends forward, which pushes her even more firmly against Rachel, and continues her sensual swaying. Rachel gulps. Involuntarily, her eyes slide down Quinn's back all the way to the place of their 'connection'. The blonde's curves are mesmerizing, inviting her to touch. The urge becomes too strong and Rachel can't help but give in. Slowly, her hands lift from her sides. Slowly, they approach their target. Rachel licks her lips and decidedly attaches her hands to the swell of Quinn's backside. Contrary to Rachel's apprehension, Quinn doesn't tense up or stop swaying, not for a second. So she tentatively adds pressure through her fingertips, thumbs brushing up and down. It is then that Quinn turns to look back at Rachel over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes and the corner of her mouth turned upwards in a sly smile that seems to encourage further exploration.
The lack of a negative reaction makes Rachel bolder. With her gaze never leaving Quinn's she slides her hands up the blonde's ass and back again, appreciating its curve, its firmness, the way she can scrape her nails across. The last of which elicits a soft moan from Quinn that lasts throughout the motion, makes her back arch even further and then her head drops forward, needing to recover. The sound makes Rachel's lips fall open and not only does it wipe her mind blank, but takes with it any inhibitions she may have had before.
Curiosity erupts into an urge and Rachel Berry has never been one to shy away from opportunities presented to her.
Rachel Berry grasps the hem of the blonde's yoga pants.
Rachel Berry sinks to her knees, dragging Quinn's yoga pants down, leaving the blonde exposed right in front of her.
Rachel Berry licks her lips.
Rachel Berry leans in.
-x-x-x-
Rachel Berry jerks herself awake.
She takes a deep breath. She grabs the pillow beside her, presses it to her face and lets out a muffled groan, kicking her feet in exasperation. Why, why, why?! Why does she keep having these dreams?! Quinn's gone back to Yale, there's no need for the haunting to continue. And yet there goes her mind, nearly making her go d- and is that Quinn's scent on the pillow she's still grasping?! (The pillow's sent flying off the bed before the thought of the scent's pleasant quality has even time to register.)
Rachel cannot remember the last time she welcomed Monday morning this eagerly. Or the distraction of a busy week for that matter. She writes a detailed list of everything she needs to and can take care of. Anything and everything to keep her mind off of… well.
She figures the more thoroughly occupied she is, both physically and mentally, the less a chance of her dreams zeroing in on a particular person. Alright, 'zeroing in' is maybe not the best descriptor as it has her recalling, and she stresses, the highly fictional events of her latest dream all over again. Rachel frowns. Hard.
It's then that Kurt asks her if everything is alright and points out her neglected breakfast. And of course Rachel sighs and lies about it. But Kurt doesn't seem to budge and inquires further about her sleeping patterns, tilting his head to scrutinize the dark circles already forming underneath her eyes. Which she rolls dramatically. It's fine, she's fine, it's fine. She's just been having some… well, they're not entirely nightmares… some unfortunate dreams. Kurt looks very much like he would like to comment on the issue further, but the pointed look Rachel gives him is enough to shut him up. She will not dwell on the subject, because there is nothing to dwell on.
And for most of her days she succeeds in not doing so. She attends classes, takes notes diligently, does her assignments, dances with precision, sings with perfect pitch. Yet little changes when she lies down in her bed. Night after night her dreams revolve around the blonde. They even seem to be growing more bizarre each time.
One time she dreams of being back at that fateful night, when she held a party in her parents' basement. They're playing spin the bottle. It points to Quinn. No matter how many times she spins it, it always ends up pointing to Quinn. Rachel then realizes it's actually only her and Quinn sitting in the circle. Well, Quinns. There's Cheerio Quinn, Pregnant Quinn, Skank Quinn, Quinn with long hair, Quinn with short hair, a Quinn with a murderous glint in her eyes and several other Quinns (their outfits kinda remind Rachel of the Village People?). Someone suggests that Rachel should make out with all of them and she jerks herself awake.
Another time she is reprimanding Quinn to hold still, to stop fidgeting. Quinn complains that she's getting cold, but resumes her pose on the stool. Rachel licks her lips as she refocuses on the naked body before her, then dabs her easel on her palette. She mutters something about warming Quinn up later and resumes her work on the detailed mural she's painting on the wall of McKinley's bathroom.
She thinks she begins to see a pattern when she becomes Quinn's psychology teacher; complete with a braided bun and thick rimmed glasses. Sitting on the table in what is supposed to be her office she sternly lectures the blonde after having failed her on the spot for writing on a test that Fanny Brice was the quintessential character of one Patti Lupone. So Rachel shrugs and sighs dramatically, folding her arms. Her voice dips into a predatory tone as she informs Quinn that in order to pass the class she will have to take an oral exam. Quinn promptly drops to her knees…and Rachel jerks herself awake.
The worst thing is she doesn't have anyone to talk to about it. Well, technically, she doesn't have anyone disinterested. Both people available for a psychoanalytical discussion know all parties concerned and their mutual history. Plus one of them has a strong propensity towards spreading 'juicy' private information.
And the other one is Quinn.
The campus' therapist is also out of the question. Even in the academic part of the theater world gossip travels far and wide (and fast) and she shudders to imagine the rumors that would spark if she were to seek out a professional's opinion. So Rachel opts to simmer in silence. Woe is her.
It's not even that the dreams are that explicit. Rachel's brain makes sure to shut things down each time before they can. It's the jerking herself awake and not being able to go back to sleep that's the actual nuisance here. In a highly demanding environment such as NYADA, sleep is very precious. An absolute necessity. Going without sleep is irresponsible, not to mention hazardous. It is common knowledge sleep deprivation leads to a lack of focus. A lack of focus could lead to a sprained ankle and Rachel absolutely cannot afford a sprained ankle right now.
So how does she stay asleep? Does that mean she should leave her mind free reign for her dreams to play out whichever way they will, just so she can get more rest? But what quality of rest would that be considering the …frustrating nature of her dreams?
Rachel's musings are interrupted when her phone rings. Her eyes widen when she sees the caller ID. She realizes she's just staring in shock and scrambles to pick it up. Quinn's voice is light and carefree and where there was a pensive frown just moments earlier, Rachel's features smooth out into a smile. The initial exchange of small talk and pleasantries is nice and despite recent events Rachel finds herself missing the blonde. But her smile soon slips into apprehension as Quinn explains the reason for her call.
An exhibit Quinn is dying to see opened this week and she was wondering, since they had such a pleasant time last week, whether Rachel would be inclined and available to accompany her to it.
Rachel knows what this means. Well, it wouldn't have to mean she'd stay over the entire weekend, but Rachel is sure her mere presence would suffice for some interesting mental fodder later on. Also the sleeping arrangements would be the same as Kurt will be around and the couch is out of the question considering Quinn's injury. So things are bound to get interesting, because Rachel doesn't have the heart to turn her down. Not when she sounds so cheerful and excited. Not when Quinn seems to be embracing the friendship Rachel's been so striving for.
So now Rachel dreads the weekend. Ok, maybe that's too strong a word. She is looking forward to certain parts of it, but less to others. She was hoping she would have this whole inappropriate-dreams-situation sorted out and long gone before Quinn's next visit. But you know what they say about best laid plans. Not that her plans would be 'laid' in any, um… she's thinking about it again, isn't she? No, she'll manage - like she always does - she'll manage and pull through and she'll keep it together.
When Quinn arrives later that Friday, their evening seems to be a repeat of last week as Kurt declares he wants to play the catch up game with Quinn as well. Rachel shouldn't mind sharing her friend, but it's just that she heard most of both of their stories, some even more than once, and not really having to add anything to it makes her zone out on the conversation several times. Rachel's atypical muteness doesn't go unnoticed and both Kurt and Quinn keep shooting her concerned glances and equally concerned inquiries.
When Quinn asks her, for what feels like the thirteenth time, if she feels ok, punctuating her earnestness by gently placing a hand on Rachel's shoulder, Rachel literally flinches and immediately hates herself for that. Painfully aware she just brought the whole laid back atmosphere to a screeching halt, she excuses herself claiming fatigue and heads to bed, leaving two sets of raised eyebrows behind her. As she lies in her bed, though she cannot make out the exact words, she can still hear hushed voices talking in the living room. She doesn't know what's worse - the fact that Rachel wants them to be talking about her, or the fact that by the sound of things they are not paying her abrupt exit any mind and are continuing to have a nice time without her. Rachel curls up into herself further and wills herself to sleep.
-x-x-x-
With her hands propped against the sides of the sink, Rachel scrutinizes her reflection in the mirror. The circles under her eyes are definitely pronounced now, the corners of her mouth perpetually downcast. If this carries on much longer she will really have to reevaluate seeking out professional help. Oh well, better get ready for the day.
And as she goes to reach for the handle, the bathroom door suddenly swings open with Quinn barging right into her, spilling-
"Oh my god! I thought no one was in here!"
Rachel waits until most of the cold, syrupy substance drips off her bangs before she opens her eyes to glare at Quinn. To which the blonde reacts… by smiling.
"I'm sorry. It was an accident. Rachel, come on. You know I never- you're really cute when you're grumpy like that."
Rachel pouts even more. Accident or not, it's not like it makes her feel any better about having been doused with a slushie. And why is Quinn even carrying that in here in the first pl- oh.
"Come let's get you out of these wet clothes."
Ohhh. Another dream. Rachel sighs. Resistance is futile. Fingers curl around the hem of her sweater and she lets them. She just hopes there isn't another one underneath.
Because the way that Rachel sees it, she has two choices right now: jerk herself awake and watch the circles under her eyes get deeper and darker. Or will herself to stay asleep and let whatever twisted scenario this is supposed to be run its course. How bad can it get anyway? Rachel opts for plan B.
The garment is pulled up over her head and as soon as it is off, the rest of her clothes instantaneously vanish as well. After Quinn helps her step into the bathtub and Rachel draws the shower curtain behind her, she muses that this isn't half as bad as she worried it would be.
"Aw. You got some on me too!"
Oh here we go. Of course she did. The only thing missing is for a cheesy funky guitar tune to start playing out of nowhere.
So Rachel squares her shoulders and turns the shower on. She's running her hands through her hair, trying to wash out the slushie, when two arms wrap around her from behind. A body presses against her back, lips against the shell of her ear.
"You know I didn't mean to. Right? I'm sorry, let me make it up to you."
Rachel doesn't know whether Quinn is apologizing for this slushie or for all of them. But frankly, as soon as the blonde's lips attach themselves to her pulse point, she stops caring altogether. Because this? This feels nice. The warm spray of water feels nice, the arms embracing her feel nice, the kisses against her neck and shoulders feel nice. To hell with morals. After the week she's had she absolutely needs something nice without dwelling on it.
Quinn keeps murmuring she's sorry in between kisses. Rachel should probably stop her, but there's a very pleasant raspy quality to her voice that Rachel doesn't want to stop listening to. Slowly, but surely the arms around her start moving, caressing. One of them moves up, running her fingers along the brunette's jawline, the other slithers lower and lower.
-x-x-x-
It's Rachel hearing herself let out a lengthy moan that draws her out of her dream. It's a pity, because she wouldn't have minded staying in that universe a little longer. Letting herself relax was definitely… refreshing. Rachel stretches to her full length on the bed and turns onto her side ready to take on another round of dreaming when two arms slide around her waist.
"Where were we?" comes the raspy question and Rachel can hear the smile in her voice. It matches one of her own.
Quinn resumes her ministrations against Rachel's neck and as the blonde's hands find their way down Rachel's front, while Rachel's hand find its way up and into Quinn's hair. After a particularly massaging scrape of nails against the blonde's scalp…
-x-x-x-
It's hearing Quinn let out a lengthy moan that draws her out of her dream. Oh but what a sound to wake up to. Quinn's lying on the other side of the bed with her back to Rachel and, by the sound of it, she must be having some interesting dreams herself. Rachel scoots over and her hands slide around Quinn's waist.
"Where were we?" she whispers into Quinn's ear grazing her teeth lightly against the shell before trailing kisses down the blonde's neck.
Quinn gasps through a smile. She doesn't protest, she doesn't speak at all. Instead she guides Rachel's hand to where she needs it and reaches back between them to return the favor.
Is this what a sensory overload feels like? Rachel doesn't know. She doesn't know much of anything with the way things are progressing and the only certainty she has is the one of 'want'. She wants.
"Quiiinnnnn?"
-x-x-x-
This is the certainty that only comes with actually being awake. There's her familiar ceiling. There's the feeling of the sheets against her skin. There are the sounds of their apartment in the dead of the night. And apparently there was also a distinct sound of her moaning out a name. There's the feeling of heat and embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.
She tries to calm her breathing. It's not labored due to arousal so much as the anxiety-inducing prospect of having been heard. There's only one way to be sure and she slowly chances turning her head to Quinn's side.
It's dark in the room and dark outside. But even though she can't see every detail, she still can make out the features of the person lying next to her. Features that are perfectly awake.
There's Quinn, turned towards her, eyes open wide and trained on her. Quinn doesn't seem shocked, Quinn doesn't seem angry, Quinn doesn't seem appalled. With her blank expression and determined eyes Quinn seems almost like a wild animal ready to pounce.
And she does. Right onto Rachel's mouth. Rachel squeaks, but that's about the extent of her surprise or protest. Rachel really hopes she's awake as she wraps her arms around Quinn's neck. Because her dreams don't come anywhere near the real thing.
A/N: Originally, this was meant to be published on Valentine's Day. But then again, better late than never. I adore you faberry fandom.