A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I continue to be overwhelmed with the response. Once again, I'm a little nervous continuing this, since it was originally meant to be a one-shot, and I'm still a little nervous about the subsequent chapters living up to the first. But I do have one or two things that I want to deal with in regards to Quinn's psyche for this fic. I'm envisioning maybe one more chapter, possibly two before it wraps up. Again, thank you guys for your awesomeness. I love being a part of this fandom. :)
When your eyes finally flutter open, the feeling in your chest locks you down and you're forced to look it in the eye. You've never felt it before and, even now, you're not sure you can identify it for what it is. You only know that you're laying in your own bed, cradled in the softest, strongest arms.
You're anchored and floating at the same time.
You stir, they tighten around you. A nose burrows deeper into your neck, and you shiver.
Quinn.
Memories from last night roll over you, wave after wave; they rise and crest and break over your heart until you're delirious in your happiness.
She held you. She told you she wanted to be with you, wanted to follow you and take you with her into the future.
You can still hear her pleading with you to suck her neck – you wonder if the mark you left there is now a swirl of purple against perfect creamy skin.
The feeling rises again in your chest and spreads through your body like sunlight breaking through a thunderstorm – you never knew that you had the ability to feel this happy. Waking up beside Quinn... if Neverland were a real place, this is the memory that would make you fly.
Other memories come now, and you lose yourself in the flood. Quinn in your tank top, flustered and blushing as her nipples begged you to touch, to taste. Quinn, biting softly on your ear. Quinn, asking in a breathy, timid voice if you really fantasized about her. The way your heart fluttered at the promise of tomorrow, the way she wanted to build a foundation with you. A foundation.
You and Quinn.
Rachel and Quinn. Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray.
Your names sound like they've always been meant to be said together.
You replay Quinn's voice, raspy and tender, telling you that she cares deeply for you. That's what she said. Deeply.
She's certainly holding you like she does. One arm through the crook in your neck, draped down your chest; the other wrapped snuggly around your abdomen, holding you solidly against her body. You trace your fingers over her skin, following the line of arm down and up again. She's so soft. The bulge of her bicep, the bend in her elbow, her wrist. The skin is delicate but the muscles that ripple beneath it belong to an athlete. She's strong.
Lying here with her, sunlight streaming through the slats in your blinds, you're struck by the intensity of Quinn's dual nature.
You've mostly seen her hurting. Even when she schemed and manipulated, tormented you, you didn't think she was a bad person; you only saw her as injured, a helpless thing trapped by her own world. Void of acceptance for herself, for anyone. But you've also seen her vulnerable. Fighting for and then giving up Beth. Finn's anger over her deceit. Losing her family. Losing herself.
The Quinn that has her body wrapped around you now seems to be some kind of amalgamation of the two.
This Quinn, the Quinn who spent the night in your bed, pressing her mouth feverishly to yours, this Quinn is a nurturer. A protector. A giver of secrets and a taker of tears.
You get the feeling that she sees you, really sees you, and you never thought anybody ever would. You try to talk yourself out of it; she's just Quinn. A girl who takes what she wants and leaves what she doesn't. A girl who doesn't feel.
But she does feel. She showed you as much last night. She feels more than anybody you've ever known, and it scares you. She's like a storm, capable of sweeping you away, of capsizing you. Of raining and railing and thundering against you. She's somehow volatile and steady at the same time. A sleeping storm.
She intrigues you.
"Good morning," she kisses into your ear. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Of course she's awake. You've only been laying here completely absorbed in yourself, overanalyzing everything she gave you last night. You're ruining your fairy dust moment. "How long have you been awake?"
She sighs so softly that her breath is a flutter on your skin. "I never really went to sleep," she admits.
You explore her arm for a while before your find her fingers and weave yours through them. You let a silence fall down over the two of you and wrap you up tightly together. You force your mind to quiet down by concentrating on the even breathing in your ear. It's comfortable and safe and after a while you'd wonder if she's finally fallen asleep if it weren't for her fingers drawing lazy circles on your stomach.
She breaks the silence with a whisper against you. "Tell me what you're thinking?" You can hear a thousand different emotions in her voice, so tangled together that you can't begin to sort them out. The fairy dust moment is back in full force, and you're flying again and pulling her with you.
You caress the palm of her hand with your fingertips, and she gasps softly.
"Do you like that, Quinn?" you murmur. You can feel her nodding faintly. She seems to have forgotten how to speak. You like it that she wants you touching her. You want to touch her forever. "How do you feel about last night?" you ask.
She presses her forehead into the back of your head and the arm around your waist flexes. You run your hand up it and back just to feel her muscles working.
She's thinking.
"I don't... I'm not a very open person, Rach," she mumbles into your hair. "I can't talk about the things I feel like you can. I'm not good at being vulnerable."
This girl in your bed is a mystery. You want to know her. You want her to show you her heart and ask you if you'll keep it for her.
God, you want to keep it for her, and it's only been a day!
You want to tell her all the things you feel. You want to say that no one has ever made you feel this happy just by wrapping you up in her arms. That you could kiss her and hold her and feel her pressing into you for the rest of your life and never be tired of it. That no matter what you have to face in the future, even if it turns out to be horrible and depressing, it won't ever conquer you if you can just have her look into your eyes forever.
But you can't say those things. You can't show her your heart because you didn't even know until yesterday that you feel those things. It's all so new and overwhelming.
And what if it dissipates just as quickly as it bubbled up within you?
You suddenly feel sad, like maybe you feel too much and can only scare her away and won't ever deserve her. You're a mess and you know it. And she's a mess and you know it. You have no illusions about Quinn Fabray. You know she's not perfect; you've seen her at her worst, and she's seen you at yours. You feel like nothing good can possibly come from the things you're feeling. You're both far too strong and stubborn to work together.
God. Now you know you feel too much. Instead of burdening her with your crazy, you force a chuckle, even though you're starting to panic.
You're ruining this, Rachel Berry. Stop it this instant.
"Well, I don't think it's any secret that I don't ever listen to people anyway, so technically we're a match made in heaven," you say and feel relieved when she laughs into your hair. Like, really laughs. You don't know that you've ever seen Quinn Fabray let loose with an actual rib-shaking laugh, and you're kind of disappointed that you didn't get to see her face for this one.
You make a promise to yourself that you will make her laugh like that again and that you'll be looking into her eyes when you do.
"Good point," she says, and you smile because, even though you missed it, you're the one who made that happy sound come out of her.
You debate whether or not to say what you're thinking at this moment. It could be too much too soon; it could be exactly what she needs. You decide to present her with your thoughts and trust her enough to respond honestly and with maturity.
"Quinn, could you maybe... I don't want to push or guilt you into talking about things you don't feel comfortable talking about, but maybe... we could help each other? You can rely on me to listen to you without judgment and I could rely on you to force me to stop thinking about myself for five minutes. It could work," you add feebly and shut your eyes tightly. She just said she didn't want to talk and you're pushing. You stop breathing while you wait for her to react. What is she thinking? What is she feeling?
"I'll try, Rach," she says quietly. You hope to god you haven't asked too much of her. "I feel like... god, my heart is so full." She's nuzzling now, and somehow you know that it's out of shyness more than intimacy. Though, you suppose they sometimes could be considered one in the same. She buries her face further into your hair. "I feel... like I held myself back for so long. I kept myself from you for so long. And now that I've held you, kissed you," she murmurs, "I don't ever want to not be touching you." She's breathing so evenly, and you want to respond, to tell her all the things you're feeling, but you promised. So you continue to caress her palm while you wait for her to open up. You glide around her hand, ghosting over her knuckles. Her fingers are long and graceful; lovely. She's lovely.
"Go on," you encourage softly, and she sighs again.
"I feel happy," she says. "You make me feel happy, Rachel." You're running your fingers up and down her arm now, pouring as much comfort and support as you can into your touch. You never knew a single sentence could make you feel joy all the way down to your toes. "I know I don't deserve you—" You can't help it, you interrupt her with a shocked gasp (how very Rachel Berry of you), but she nudges you and murmurs, "you promised," and you settle down instantly. Maybe she really is good for you.
It's a few moments before she gathers herself again. And then she takes a deep breath like she's about to dive underwater. "I'm happy and excited and nervous and scared and a little intimidated, and I just wish I could see into the future and just know so I don't have to worry any more. And I just, I just..." She groans, frustrated. And you wait, because she asked you to. "This isn't making sense. I just, I feel like I want to protect you and have you save me at the same time. And I don't deserve you, Rachel, no matter how much you protest. I'm a liar and a manipulator. A horrible person, really."
You can feel yourself tensing. You don't like how she's describing herself. This isn't the conversation you should have in bed the morning after you've kissed all night and you feel so ridiculously happy. But she's still talking, and you listen because you're relying on her to bring you out of yourself. "I've done terrible things, Rach. Hurt a lot of people. But..." Another deep breath. Another dive into the deep end. "You make me want to be a better person, Rachel. I look at you, in your eyes, and I can see how you see me. You see me like... like the woman that someday I want to be."
She's breathing heavier now with the effort of her confession, and you let her hold you while her words sink into your heart, into your skin.
How did you never know that she could be this sweet? This powerful?
You frantically search for something, for anything, to give back to her. She's let so much pour out and into you that she must be completely empty. You need to fill her back up somehow.
"Quinn." It isn't a question. You mean it to be a point of focus, of validation. Your heart races at her words; your mind is foggy. In the five years you've known Quinn Fabray, you've never seen her this vulnerable, not even when she was pregnant and homeless and devastated. You don't know how to respond. She deserves so much better than this frozen, mute thing lying beside her. She deserves to know how she makes your heart race; how she makes you feel like you can be something. Instead, all she gets from you is, "you're better with words than you think you are," and it's so quiet that you may as well not even have said it at all. It's the best you can do, under the circumstances. You feel like you've failed her somehow.
"Yeah?" She sounds so uncertain. You can do better than this.
You can do better for her.
"Yeah. That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me." You say it because it's true. She needs to understand. There isn't enough love in the world you can pour into your voice for Quinn in this moment. You'll help her understand. There is nothing for her to fear when you're wrapped up in each other like this.
But, her words! The things she has unlocked in your heart! This is not the Quinn you've known for years. This is a girl who is brave and romantic. A girl who knows herself well. A girl who is very, very good with words. And yet she's still somehow so unsure of herself in this department. So unsteady.
How on earth did someone so wonderful become so broken?
When she doesn't respond, doesn't move, you're nearly mad with wanting to know what she's thinking. There was a time when you would have pressed. You would have pressed Finn, Jesse. You would have needled and pried until they were sick of your voice, and they would have told you as much. And you would have cried. You would have ruined the moment forever, turned this fairy dust moment ugly and harsh, given up your ability to fly.
But, somehow, you're not even tempted to press, and you're certain that it has nothing whatsoever to do with you. It's because of Quinn. You want her safe. You want her protected. Quinn keeps you from wrecking the moment without even knowing it. She has steadied you, made you stronger in one day, and she's not even aware.
It makes her all the more beautiful to you.
But, her words! Your head is reeling, your heart is soaring.
She's like your own personal Shakespeare.
You're a performer. You thrive on feelings and drama and emotion. And Quinn Fabray, with her amazing breath-stealing words, has just given you a lifetime's worth in one breath.
It's too much. It's too much to feel at one time. You both need a moment.
You gently extricate yourself, and Quinn grips harder, bent on keeping you with her in bed. You turn and press a kiss to her temple.
A fleeting connection between temple and worship flickers in your brain, and you wonder how to describe the correlation, what you feel. You're convinced that if you could peel back your chest and show your heart to Quinn, she'd be able to express it perfectly.
Her words are magic.
"I'll be right back," you promise and force yourself away from her. You don't want to, but you think she might need a breather. You know you do. Not to mention, you feel like there's moss growing on your teeth, and you're desperate to kiss her again with a fresh mouth. You retrieve your t-shirt from the floor, drape it over her stomach, smile down at her.
She's laying on her back now, her hair messy and wild; you love that she's kept it short from nationals last year. It looks very sexy splayed across your pillow. She has your quilt pulled up under her arms, covering her, fingers playing nervously with your t-shirt.
She's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen.
You lean down. "Hey," you whisper. She won't look at you. "Hey," you try again, and her eyes flutter to yours. Her cheeks are tinged pink. You're inches from kissing her. "Quinn, no one, and I mean no one has ever made me feel half as special as you just did. Your words are magic." You press a soft kiss to her mouth. "I'll be right back, okay?'
You don't move until she finally nods, and you're certain she believes you.
Then, you pull the bathroom door gently behind you and brush your teeth, smooth your hair. You take your time. You stall.
You know it's not much, but you hope it's enough. Quinn is letting you in, slowly letting you see who she really is for the first time, and you're scared – you're terrified – but this is bigger than you. You need to see her, to know her.
You're reminded that nothing seemed real until she kissed you.
It split you wide open; it changed you, and now you want everything.
When you sneak out of the bathroom, she's laying on her side, watching you through half-closed eyes. Your t-shirt is still draped across her abdomen, but the quilt is pulled high enough around to cover her body. You thought for sure you'd given her enough time to pull the shirt on, cover herself up for the daytime.
You must look confused because she offers you a hesitant smile.
"Do you need me to go or can you...?" She motions to the bed, and you take the hint and circle the bed, slide in behind her. You press against her everywhere you can. You'd wake up to her every morning if she'd let you.
"Of course I don't want you to go," you say. "I want you to stay forever."
Now that your teeth are clean and you're settled back against her, you let yourself look at her. She left the t-shirt off for a reason, you think, so you admire her back, her shoulders. She's sexy in a tank top. There's so much skin.
You'll die if you don't touch her.
You reach up gingerly and smooth your palm over her shoulder blade, and she hums approval. Her skin is so smooth. And cool. She's swaddled up in your bed, yet her skin is marvelously cool to the touch. You follow the curve of her shoulder up, up and thread it under blonde hair, caressing up the back of her neck.
You can't remember ever being so enamored with another person's back before. You love the way her skin feels beneath your hands.
They're running all over her now, fingers working under edges of the tank top to explore more skin. When you trail your nails lightly down the outside of her arm, goose bumps erupt in your wake, and you can't help it – you surge forward and press a hot kiss to her shoulder.
"Mmmm, Rachel," she moans softly. The sound fills you with need and you bury your face in her neck and breathe in.
"Quinn, you smell amazing," you whisper and kiss her there.
"Feels good," she mumbles, and you smile into her neck. Before you can think, you hook your arm around her waist and pull her roughly against you, rubbing your nose into the back of her head.
All you know is, you're instantly on fire and you need more.
When she pushes back into you, she feels so good that you groan against her, and now your hand is rubbing her stomach and pulling her closer. Her hips are moving and when you realize that she's rubbing her ass into you on purpose, you nearly come against her.
Something about this seems way too fast. You're screaming at yourself to stop but then Quinn whispers, "Don't stop, Rach. Feels so good," and you're completely lost.
You're scared of what you're about to do, but you need to feel her. You've wanted to touch her stomach since last night, when she caressed you there for a half an hour. It made you feel so good, and you want that feeling back. You want for her to feel that good. This is step you haven't taken yet, fingers on skin here, so you slow your movements and hover your fingers at the hem of her shirt, toying with the material so she knows what to expect.
You hesitate – maybe you aren't ready for this step – but she runs her hand over yours and pushes up under her top, showing you how to stroke her, showing you what she likes. Then, you're moving up slowly on your own, and she doesn't stop you when you finally slide your palm across her flat stomach to her sternum. You stop; she's holding her breath. You can feel the weight of her breasts on either side of your fingers and you know you're so close that it makes your mouth literally water.
It's such an intimate gesture that you can't avoid the groan that bubbles up your throat. You're licking your lips in her ear and wonder if she can hear it, how dry your mouth is against her. You kiss her neck softly, try as hard as you can to avoid sucking because you saw last night how it makes her lose control.
And, right now, one of you needs to have some control.
She's breathing heavily now and you don't think she would stop you, but you don't want to take too much from her. Not yet.
You slide your hand back down and she releases the breath she was holding, a slow leak.
When you get to her belly button, at first you ghost over it, but on the next pass, you can't help it; you dip in and swirl your fingers around once. You never really thought about it; you were only going with the moment, but when Quinn bucks her hips and makes a strangled sound in her throat, you freeze.
That's a new sound.
She's still not stopping you, so you press in once more and swirl your fingers again. Her hand flies to yours and presses down. At first you think she's egging you on, pressing you harder into her, and you feel a gush of wetness between your legs.
You realize, this is what need feels like.
You need her. You need Quinn Fabray.
"Oh my god, Rachel," Quinn moans. "That feels... ugh... fuck... you have to stop." She pulls your hand away, and you nose further into her neck.
"I'm sorry," you mumble. "You just feel so good."
A laugh bubbles up her throat, and she says shakily, "You don't have to be sorry for that. It feels amazing. But it's, maybe, a little too... intimate for us right now? I mean, I could... I could have..." She coughs, selects a different choice of words. "You might as well have your hand down my panties."
Her words shake your whole body, and you clutch tighter at her and breathe, "Quinn." You're holding on because her words have wrecked you and it's all you can do.
She laughs again. "Sorry, sweetheart. I guess we're really teasing each other up this morning." She brings your hand up to her mouth, kisses your knuckles. She really is the most charming person you've ever met.
Your heart is slamming against your chest, and you try to control your breathing. You hold her. You hold her for so long that you're afraid she's fallen asleep. It feels amazing to be holding Quinn Fabray in your arms, in your bed.
In your heart.
"Rachel, you're so hot," she murmurs, and you giggle into her neck. Then, she laughs. "No, I mean, your body is hot." Another giggle. She elbows you gently in the stomach. "I mean, you're giving off heat. Temperature-wise. You're hot."
You snuggle tighter into her. "I've always been hot blooded."
It's instant, she's humming, and you push up enough to look at her face. "Really?" you say. "Foreigner?"
Quinn Fabray does not strike you as the Foreigner type.
She shrugs. "Finn," she says, and it's the only explanation you need.
"Please don't say that name in my bed ever again," you say, and she laughs.
"Deal."
Your fingers bury themselves in her hair and you murmur, "Sing to me?"
She rolls to her back to look into your eyes; you make room for her but keep your bodies pressed tightly together. "You want me to sing you Foreigner in bed?" she asks seriously.
You trace a finger along her collarbone, and she immediately sucks in a breath like she's been burned. God, her eyes are smoldering. You're not surprised; you learned last night how much she likes that. Hot blooded, indeed.
"Sing me anything you want to. I don't care what song." You really don't. You just want to hear her voice. She can make it sound so, well, smoky, and you've never admitted it to yourself before, but when she sings in glee club, you feel butterflies.
"It's not the song choice," she says. "I just can't believe that Rachel Berry is offering a solo to someone else. Is the apocalypse happening?"
The look on her face is ... god, it's amazing. It's fun and light, and she's flirting, openly flirting with you. She looks happy and like the weight of the world is no longer driving her down. You wonder what lifted it from her.
She's never looked more breathtaking.
You can't let her see it though; you're playing along. You roll your eyes like it's the most obnoxious thing you've ever heard, even though you feel like your heart is shooting off fireworks.
"Sing," you command.
She makes a big production out of thinking about it.
She's so damn cute.
This playful side of her, it's... God, how did you get so lucky?
When she starts to sing softly, you feel your eyes go wide. She sees your expression, increases her volume. She's singing, "no I never felt this way before; yes, I swear," and wiggling her eyebrows at you.
The nerve!
"You're singing me the song you sang with Sam? In my own bed?"
It's unbelievable! It's preposterous!
"Quinn Fabray, if you're going to keep bringing up boys, you can just get out of my—"
"Oh, calm down," she says, twirling your hair in her fingers. "You'll blow a gasket."
"I'm not offended by the song. I'm shocked that Quinn Fabray actually has a sense of humor."
There! The rib-shaking laugh! You see it! You're looking in her eyes! God, she looks amazing. Her whole face is lit up and she's just... gorgeous.
The laughter fades slowly, dissolves into a beaming grin, just for you. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You goof," she says.
And then she begins to sing, softly.
"She's got a way about her." Now your eyes really do go wide. "I don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her." Oh! She sounds gorgeous. Her eyes are locked onto yours and she's not looking away. You can feel yourself melting as she sings up to you from your own pillow.
"She's got a smile that heals me. I don't know what it is, but I have to laugh when she reveals me. She's got a way of talking." She flashes a wide smile at the line and you roll your eyes.
"I don't know what it is, but it lifts me up when we are walking anywhere." She looks so sincere, so helpless below you. It's the sweetest she's ever looked, and you want to always remember this moment, just as it is.
"She comes to me when I'm feeling down, inspires me without a sound, she touches me and I get turned around." She takes a breath, sits up and pushes a soft kiss against your nose. You can't help but close your eyes against the tears you feel there. Maybe you can hold them in. You doubt it.
"She's got a way of showing how I make her feel, and I find the strength to keep on going." She traces your cheek, calls to you silently and you open your eyes to find her. Quinn Fabray is singing to you. The sweetest song with most beautiful look on her face. She's tender and gentle and you're losing yourself rapidly beneath her touch, her voice.
"She's got a light around her, and everywhere she goes a million dreams of love surround her," she smiles again, that brilliant life-giving smile and breathes one last word, "everywhere."
You can't help it; you bury your face in her neck, clutch at her. Your eyes are as full as your heart and you just want her to hold you forever.
"Quinn, that was beautiful." God, you wish you could stop crying. The look on her face... No one has ever looked at you like that, not even Finn. It looked like... pure adoration.
"Yeah?" The confidence she poured into you when she was singing has been replaced with something softer. She needs validation. God, she's such a romantic! How did nobody ever notice what a romantic she is?
"Yeah," you breath, and you marvel once again that it's physically possible for you to feel this happy.
She's nuzzling your hair. "I'm glad," she says and pulls you tighter.
You draw your fingers across her skin. A thought occurs to you and you let it slowly out of your mouth. "You're always so stand-offish in school. I had no idea you were this... tactile." You were going to say romantic, but for some reason it doesn't feel like this is the moment.
She falters. "It's... okay, right? I just want to touch you all the time."
You kiss her neck. "It's very okay. I love it that you're this tactile."
She moans lightly and you swipe your tongue across her skin.
"God, Rachel, you're so good at that." She rolls to you, nose to nose, thigh to thigh. So far, this is your favorite way to be with Quinn. Neither one is in charge; you're both holding each other. Equals.
It's deliciously intimate.
"So, I hate to bring this up, but what time is it?" Quinn says.
You lean up, peer over her shoulder, and you can't help it (you swear you can't), you look down and forget instantly how to breathe. Quinn's white tank top is askew from her turning in your arms and you can see straight down it. Her nipples are incredibly stiff and you're flooded with desire for the second time this morning. It only lasts a second, and you know how self-conscious she is, so you drag your eyes back to the clock on the nightstand before collapsing beside her again and snuggling close. You pull the blanket up around you both.
"It's after ten," you say through a yawn, hoping it masks the blood coursing through your veins and straight down between your legs. "Why? Have somewhere you've got to be? Some kind of hot date?"
She's developed a pattern of stroking your hair, tracing your jaw, stroking your hair. The smile on her face is amazing. If fills you up and erupts on your own mouth, reflecting back to her.
"Yes," she says. "A very hot date."
You feel your smile fall. You're a good actress and could keep it in place if you wanted to, but you don't. You want Quinn to know that the idea of her going on a date with someone else later bothers you. You spent all night kissing!
She leans forward, rubs your nose with hers. Slides her cheek along yours and breaths heavily in your ear. "A very, very hot date."
Is it completely un-leading lady of you to gulp audibly?
"With, with who?" you squeak.
She pulls back and is looking at your through the longest eyelashes on the planet. She chews her lip.
"Well, I haven't asked her yet."
Oh. Oh!
She sees the recognition on your face and grins.
"Gosh, for a girl who's so smart, you sure are slow sometimes."
"Hey!" You try to sound upset, annoyed, anything, but really you're just so excited that she's lucky you don't tackle her and squeal like a little kid. "Quinn Fabray, you are ruining asking me out for the first time."
She sobers instantly, and you feel the smile die on your lips. Why did she turn so serious all of the sudden? Did you push the joke too far?
Her eyes flutter, lashes dip down. She's looking up at you again, and you forget how to breathe, how to think. You didn't push anything too far. She wants you.
"So," she says, (hands through your hair, finger down your jaw, hands through your hair – your heart is pounding), "I was thinking. Maybe you'd like to..." - she chews her lower lip and you find it somewhere between adorable and sexy as hell - "go out with me tonight?"
You can't contain it any longer. Quinn Fabray kissed you all night in your bed and then asked you out on a date. You squeal and pounce on her, laughing, both of you, laughing, and she holds you until you stop squirming and look down into her face, breathless and happy. And the look she throws back up at you somehow stops your heart and makes it beat wildly at the same time.
"So that's a yes?" she asks.
"No, it's a no," you say flatly. "You should see what my yesses are like."
She laughs again, throws her arm over her eyes in mock exasperation, and you have this brief, fleeting glimpse of your future; the two of you together, playing and laughing and living life side by side. You gasp lightly. How could you never have seen it before?
Quinn is perfect for you. You're perfect for Quinn.
How on earth did it take her this long to follow you home and fall into your bed? It should have happened years ago.
You realize that she's fallen still and is watching intently, those eyes so in tune to whatever's inside of you. You feel like she knows your heart before you do. She can see it coming at her, and she's unflinching.
"What?" she asks softly.
"What's Monday going to be like for us?" You drop your eyes. "At school."
Suddenly, she's gathering you to her, hugging you to her chest. "Oh, Rach," she breathes. "Please don't worry, sweetheart. It's going to be fine."
She's stroking your hair, and you don't want to worry. You want to fly with her, hold her hand and soar into the sky. Straight on 'til morning.
But you've only had one day with this Quinn. She might only last one day. She might not be here by Monday. And you're Rachel Berry; you have to know.
You'll take her for as long as she'll stay with you, but you have to know. For your heart. You have to.
She pushes herself up, takes your gaze with her eyes and holds it like it's your body she's pressing to her own.
"Hey." She's so soft. Everything about her is soft. You want this Quinn to stay forever. She tucks your hair behind your ear, cups your cheek. You lean into her. "Don't worry about Monday, okay? Let me worry about Monday. I need you to worry about tonight."
She has your attention now. "What about tonight?"
She's shy again. Dual Quinn, swinging like a pendulum. Fierce one moment and on tiptoe the next. "When we go out," she says softly, picking at the blanket, "I've never been on a date with a girl before. I've pushed... this part of me down for so long, Rachel, I let it turn me into something I never wanted to be. And I won't be able to just shrug it off overnight." What is she saying? Your tongue is thick in your mouth; you can't find the words, so you listen. You only have to listen. Listen, and let her words run over you. "We're, you and me, we can be... a team, right?" A team. Part of Quinn's team. The two of you, together. Partners. You can do that. You nod, and her smile is powered by relief. "We're a team, so tonight, I need you to be the strong one." She looks like she might crumble at any moment. "You said I didn't have to always be the strong one. I need you to be that tonight. Okay?"
Quinn Fabray, not even aware that the blanket she's been using as a shield all morning has fallen down to her lap, leaving her skin exposed. Quinn Fabray, senior cheer captain and prettiest girl in school. Quinn Fabray is sitting in your bed, earnestly asking for you, Rachel Berry, to be strong for her.
"Quinn, I don't—"
"I'll be nervous, Rach. Nervous someone will see us. Afraid of looks and whispers. I might even be... too fearful to hold your hand. I definitely won't be able to kiss you. I need to you to walk me through it. To be strong. If we're going to do this, I'll need you by my side or I won't make it."
Your Shakespeare with her words. Her words are magic, and magic is sometimes black. She can wrap you in darkness as well as light. Still, you're grateful for them. You can feel her all the way down, through and through, because of her words.
You find your voice somewhere in the thickness and say, "Of course I'll be there tonight, Quinn. I may not be able to fend off the looks and whispers, but I will hold your hand."
She smiles at that, and you're relieved again. She kisses your cheek, leaves her lips pressed to your skin until your breath flutters and she catches it in her mouth, kisses your lips. "And on Monday at school," she says, "I'll do the exact same thing for you." She kisses you again, and you believe her. You believe her because her words wreck you and save you. They unbutton you all the way down and swaddle you up again. You believe her because you can't not believe her. "We're a team," she says again, and you pull her in.
"Okay," you say, and she beams at you. Honest to god, Quinn Fabray light up the whole freaking world smile. It's the best thing you've ever seen in your life.
She kisses you again and pulls back.
"Where are you going?" You know it sounds pouty, but you don't care. She's leaving and she deserves to know that you're not happy about it. "I thought we were going to lay in bed all day and—"
She grins again. "And what, Rach? Make out? After kissing all night? My lips are raw, sweetheart. We've been kissing for hours. Besides," she darts a quick peck to your nose, "I need to go home so you can wait in anticipation all day before I pick you up tonight. It's all part of the first date experience."
You roll your eyes, but inwardly your heart is bursting. She knows you so well, it's scary.
"And stop rolling your eyes," she laughs. "You look like Santana."
"I do not look like Santana," you mutter, but she only laughs harder and pulls herself away from you.
"Believe me, I don't want to leave you but tonight will more than make up for it. I promise."
"Will you stay tonight again?"
"Yes," she answers without hesitation, "But after tonight, not for awhile."
"What? Why not?" This is the worst news ever.
She grabs her clothes and hauls them into the bathroom, peeks her head around the corner and smiles at you. And you melt all over again.
"Because, Rach," she says in a small voice. She can barely meet your eyes, but she manages. She's so cute when she's shy. "I want a chance to romance you." You can't help it; you suck in a breath. That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you; it was certainly unexpected. This is the girl who said an hour ago that you might as well have your hand down her panties with no shame. God, you're shivering just thinking about that. She sees your reaction and it lends her courage. "I want to romance you and it'll be too hard for me to act honorably if I'm in your bed every night."
She does drop her gaze at that and you don't mind at all. You're smiling your biggest Broadway smile at her, feel like your cheeks will burst at any moment, but you're so happy that you can't stop. She blushes at you, says, "I just want to wait with you. You're special," and ducks into the bathroom before you can respond.
When she comes out of the bathroom in her clothes from last night, you're still in a daze. She wraps you in her arms and murmurs, "Last night was the best night of my life, Rachel Berry. I can't wait to take you out tonight and kiss you again for hours after."
When her lips touch your nose again, you sigh.
"I'll pick you up at seven," she says. "Dress warm, okay? Jeans and a hoodie?"
"Are we really going someplace cold or do you just want to see me in a hoodie?" you mumble, and she laughs again. It's the warmest sound you've ever heard in your life.
"I might want to see you in a hoodie," she admits.
Then, she kisses you one last time and then lets herself out of your bedroom. You think vaguely that you should show her out, but everything's so dreamy that you can't do anything except collapse backwards on your bed and grin up at the ceiling.
Tonight, you're dating Quinn Fabray.