A/N: Thanks for all the love! A lot of plot this chapter, have fun. Rachel is sort of cray, guys.

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The ghost of the fucking 11-inch boner that possesses my clitoris every time she steps into view—Jesus—every-fucking-time…

From her car, Quinn watched Rachel skip down all the many steps of her apartment building (and reminisced about her clit's demon-boner possession).

The sun was falling, just to make Rachel glow on her way down—like a goddess, golden.

It was nice out. The air was crisp but not too cold. She took a deep breath and tried to let it lower her temperature.

Rachel had insisted on having Quinn pick her up.

Everything in her head screamed WHY!? But it couldn't matter.

I don't care. I can't care about anything.

It was the promise she'd made to herself—the last time she'd gotten fucked over. Never to really give her heart away again.

Or at least 'till she was older and things were realbetween people—not just so obviously a game.

Definitely not now. Definitely not to—

No.

She broke the tracks right from under that train of thought.

Struck it from her mind. Mentally sprayed it down with a super-soaker of holy water.

I'm not here to figure her out. I'm here to fuck her and be her friend.

That's it, isn't it?—What she asked for from me.

So—Rachel Berry could make as many peculiar demands as she wanted. It wasn't fogging up Quinn's head.

No.

It wasn't.

1

THE TIME: an hour prior to Quinn's arrival at her apartment complex.

Rachel sat in front of her vanity, humming.

The songs from back in Quinn's room were now stuck in her head. They made her feel warm and lightheaded again—that loving euphoria.

But she felt a distinct lack of peace.

It was getting much harder to keep Quinn neatly in a box—filed far away in her apartment (which in itself felt like its own secret world).

It was getting hard because of this—Rachel sat applying make-up (at the moment a pink, shimmering gloss for her lips), in preparation of an outing with her.

Quinn wasn't in one (dark, hidden) place anymore. They were officially more than nothing. They were friends. Quinn agreed. She was picking her up.

Rachel got what she wanted even without thinking she could. So much for the law of attraction.

But still. The guilt surged, and multiplied. What usually lasted from the length of her walk (of shame) from Quinn's apartment to hers now permeated her thoughts for hours.

She really was cheating on him.

It was stupid to keep denying it. Stupid to keep doing it—not even putting up a pretense that she was trying to stop. She was on her way to a sex-shop with her…side-piece. This was fully happening.

She had his icon open on her phone.

His warm green eyes, his floppy hair—and the familiar smile. The first smile she'd ever kissed. Alec's smile. At fifteen, it had given her butterflies.

There was a doubt—a fear, that kept her from calling.

Because—what if Quinn was just what she wanted for this fleeting second, and then it went away.

What if she was losing Alec over nothing?

But—we're not nothing.

She and Quinn had deduced that a few days ago. And in order to really advance their relationship (friendship), she had to give up Alec.

It didn't feel okay. To be not-nothing with Quinn and still be his girlfriend. It wasn't fair to anyone except her.

So she pressed on his face—right above his button-nose.

It rang just a few times.

"Babe!" He'd greeted her with. The word dragged out and delivered excitedly, "You haven't called in forever."

A pang of guilt. Another echo layered above all the others.

"Hi."

It was a little pathetic.

"Is everything okay?"

His concern made her sick. She'd probably be making him sick soon too.

Her mouth felt dry and her tongue felt heavy. An image of his smile flashed behind her eyes again.

"I have to tell you something and it's really, really bad."

There was a moment of silence, then he muttered the smallest "oh."

"And you're going to hate me."

She sounded like a four-year old, and realized it. But sort of felt it too. And she owed him at least her bravery now.

She swore she could hear the light fading from his eyes.

When he finally spoke, he said, "You know I won't."

He was being brave. And lying. His voice had an edge. She could tell he was a little scared. She knew that he wasn't really sure he wouldn't hate her.

But that was good.

Because she maybe did something he'd despise her for. And she knew it, as she did it. Knew it, as she was keeping it secret for months.

"I'm—I'm an asshole."

And she felt like crying about it. The pressure burned behind her eyes, but she closed them. Tight. And held the tears at bay.

"Rachel," his voice was heavier; a little more anxious, "Please—whatever it is, you can tell me."

Stop fighting who you are.

Just admit it.

"I've been sleeping with someone else."

On the other line—a sharp exhale. She guessed he'd been holding his breath.

"Are—are you serious?"

She nodded, then, feeling stupid, whispered, "Yes."

"How—wh—" He sounded sick, so she'd guessed correctly, before, "With who?"

"A girl—Quinn—I met in my English class."

Her own head felt heavy to her.

"Do you love her?"

It was abrupt, harsh—accusatory.

"No."

She answered abruptly too.

"Then why—" he was beginning to sound flustered, "For fun you're doing this?"

She sighed; and her heart hurt.

"No."

Why was she doing this? It just made things worse—that she simply couldn't stop herself.

Weak will, no impulse control. Those were her reasons.

"I—" his voice cracked, "When you came out—and said, that—that you were bi—I asked you if, if it was something you wanted to try. If you—wanted a break. And you told me no."

"That's not—" she felt like she was sinking, slowly, in the sand; and it didn't really matter whether she struggled—at best it would just expedite the process, "It's not about that, Alec. She just happened to be a girl. I wasn't—looking to find a girl. I wasn't looking for this—"

"So how did it happen?"

"I don't know," she confessed, and at that, tears came and ruined her mascara, "I really don't. And I don't want to lose you. But I tried to stop…and I just can't."

She heard him scoff.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"I am—" she looked into the mirror, at herself, "I'm serious. And I'm—sorry. I'll do whatever you want. But I—I know I'm…not going to be able to stop right now. Because I'm me. And I want it in a way where…I know I can't stop myself from…doing it. So you can dump me. And you've probably earned the right to curse me out too."

He sighed, and she knew he was curling himself into a ball on the floor (cold white tile of his room probably). He was small like she was. They were short together. He was five four and constantly receiving jokes. But she'd never minded it.

"I'm sorry I hurt you—I really hate myself for it. And I'm sure you probably hate me too, but you've fucking earned it. Honestly."

There was a pause and then a very long sigh from him.

"I don't," he sounded small and far away, "I've always loved you. You've been the girl I wanted since middle school. And when I got you…I promised myself I'd never lose you. So—if you need to do this now…you…you can. I'll give you your freedom. We're in college, and we're young, so I get it. But in the end—it has to be us. It was us in the start, and it has to…end that way. Please don't fall in love with someone else. Please—don't ever leave me."

She swallowed.

"I won't."

And he breathed in like he hadn't been able to in a while. Like he dove deep into water and was only just resurfacing after all those minutes they'd been talking, "Okay—good."

There was a pause between them that they maybe needed—while they waited for their hearts to slow down.

Then he sort of muttered, "Rachel?"

She wiped at her eyes with a wet towelette, "Yeah?"

"Is—is she—?"

Her heart palpitated, "What?"

He seemed to think for a moment.

"Nothing—"

And she was relieved.

When he spoke again, she could tell he was trying his best to sound normal. And she was grateful.

"So—are you going to ask me about stuff or is this just—a heavy-on-the-angst with no fluffy chaser sort of phone call? Because that would really suck."

"How's the dancing?"

"Dancey."

She smiled, almost. And proceeded to put him on speaker, and fix her face in the mirror while he talked about strict instructors and hectic rehearsals.

Her mind was everywhere.

She made Quinn wait like ten minutes after she'd texted that she was parked outside her complex.

2

Quinn simply quirked a brow at her as she slipped into the passenger seat.

"Jeez—you'd better look that good."

All the gold and green of Quinn's eyes rolled up and down her body. She wore, simply, a short black dress, white stockings, and black ballerina flats.

She'd thought it'd been sort of plain, and safe (she was trying harder to look less ridiculous by society's standards) but Quinn watched her and licked her lips. Rachel shivered in her seat.

It was so nice out that they kept the windows down. She got to see the setting sun's rays shine on the blonde of Quinn's hair, and give her a halo. As if she deserved one—the way her eyes glazed over when they gave up the pretense of watching the road, and fully fixed on her. Bright, verdant hazel under fairy lashes, flirting.

Rachel scolded her with a look but couldn't keep up the act either. And smiled.

"Um—I sort of have…news."

They turned into the heart of the city. Quinn watched her curiously, frowning a bit, "Like, breaking? Or—entertainment? General interest? The arts? It's the arts, isn't it? Something happened in Broadway?"

Rachel shook her head. She wasn't sure how Quinn would take it. With her, it was always a gamble. Her emotions swirled in a hazy, murky swamp where the fog liked to roll around. Rachel thought of herself as a clear pool of water.

She bit her lip.

"I confessed to my fiancé."

It came out…unintentionally matter-of-fact.

Now—to gauge her emotions.

The first clue was the length of the silence—uncomfortable. The second came from her grip on the steering wheel, both hands holding on so hard you could see the pale knuckles flex under the glowing skin. And the third—her jaw; tendons jumping to life, for a second visible.

Rachel could tell. Quinn was at least tense.

Finally, in a low voice, "What—what did he say?"

Rachel took in and exhaled a deep breath. It seemed harder to explain than it'd seemed when it was happening.

"He—he was upset—but understanding of—you know, everything. What with us being…young, and apart, and everything. So…he actually says it's okay…as long as we end up together. I'm…free."

No you're not! Quinn thought forcefully—and could feel the argument kick and scream in her chest, You just have a longer leash.

But what business was it of hers?

She wasn't a contender for Rachel's hand in marriage.

He got on one knee for her. I got on two. And as it stands—I get to fuck her in hard and abstract ways while he gets…to marry her one day. So what?

I'm…by far the biggest winner here.

She turned into a parking spot, on the back entrance of the store.

"Cool," she said, "I'm honored to have his blessing. Did you ask, specifically, if I could fuck you in the ass tonight?—because without the 'okay' I'm not sure if I, you know, could feel all right about it."

At that, Rachel scoffed at her—and shook her head. And Quinn was happy to have her hate her for the moment—because it meant the subject would be dropped in favor of Rachel's brand of punishment (the silent treatment interspersed with random tantrum intervals that took the form of long passionate spiels). Quinn, by then, knew well how to traverse this.

She exited the car, and jogged around to open Rachel's door. The girl had her hands crossed at her chest. Quinn gave her a smirk, and offered her hand and—it worked. She was letting her hold it (after a rather cool glance up at her).

It was only a matter of time before her mood turned.

Rachel walked next to her. She hardly ever got to be out with Quinn. Not since the party, really. And occasionally for a few minutes at school, if she happened to catch her attention.

It felt—surreal and electric. Quinn was so beautiful, it was almost like she could reflect it onto whoever she was with. She felt the way glittering fairytale princesses looked, dancing in the arms of their beloved—in front of the court's awed/appalled faces.

There was a sense of victory. A sense of warm elation (reminiscent of Quinn's marijuana). A sense of—irresponsible amounts of affection; making her stomach swirl opposite to the way it was used to.

It wasn't more intense than her private moments with Quinn, but neither was it less so. It was just a different feeling. Being with Quinn publicly—that feeling dwelled in pride.

She looked over the length of the building they were walking into, practically framed in red and pink neon.

"This place is very big…and showy."

Quinn chuckled, "I know. I don't like those…back-alley, little rinky-dink porn shops. They tend to be filled with creeps. Or have…viewing booths, and other atrocities."

Rachel made a scrunched-up face and Quinn tried not to love her nose.

They walked in.

Rachel noted it was bright. And smelled of the same wildberry incense Quinn had burned in her room.

The size of it made it seem like a Toys 'R' Us for adults. The slat wall was filled with all sorts of things. Rachel could hardly focus on a single item at a time.

She turned to Quinn, "I don't forgive you for never having taken me here before."

Quinn rolled her eyes, and grabbed a plastic, pink shopping basket complete with glittery handle from a stack by the door.

Rachel immediately swiped it off her, "Obviously I get to be in charge of what goes in the basket."

Quinn nodded, and thought, as long as I get to put those things in your ass I don't care.

It was going to be quite the challenge in horniness, this shopping trip. She could already feel the hot, sharp shift in her focus—now framed only around the delectable ache in her clitoris, as she watched Rachel peruse the shiny, alluring packages. Her little hands occasionally picked one up and read the description.

Her brow furrowed.

Adorable—Quinn's mouth fell open for a sharp exhale, as the pulse at her clit beat deeper; threatening to make her cum start to spill.

Dark eyes turned to her, "How come these are just little bullets and massagers?"

Quinn nodded towards a black curtain, "They keep all the good stuff in there."

Rachel smirked, "So what are we waiting for?"

Quinn quirked a dry, derisive blonde brow, "Which one of us is Alice again?"

They showed their IDs to a smiling red-lipsticked employee at the entrance, and stepped through.

It went from a pink, fluffy motif to red and black walls with neon lighting, and provocative posters everywhere.

Rachel smiled wide at everything.

The first thing she did was pick a lubricant. There were about a billion of them, set on glass shelves tiered on seven separate rolling displays.

"Can I get an anal one and a…regular one?"

Quinn frowned, and nodded dumbly, "Yeah—of course."

"It's not that my spit doesn't work, when I suck you off," she murmured, "It's just—it dries out really fast."

She seemed to blush, and Quinn put a warm hand on her lower back.

I'm a stupid fucking brute.

"Fuck—I suck—I'm sorry. I wish you'd…said something."

Rachel nodded, "I know—that was before you told me not to put you on a pedestal. Back when I was afraid to…even talk to you for too long."

Quinn leaned over her, and her eyes shone with empathy. Rachel knew what she wanted to say (and why she probably couldn't).

She got on her tiptoes and kissed Quinn's cheek.

"It's not a big deal. I'd just—like to use it from now on."

Quinn nodded.

They moved down the aisles. At some things, not being able to contain their laughter. At others, they simultaneously blushed and checked each other's reactions with a quick glance. They reached a few common understandings.

Quinn felt her clit swell, blood pumping hot through it to sensitize the nerves. It clung, sticky, to the fabric of her boyshorts by now. She was so distracted.

They stopped at what looked like a fetish wall—all sorts of ropes, cuffs, gags, blindfolds, and collars.

Rachel hummed, and turned to Quinn.

"Would you ever—be into that?" she licked her lips, "Because I know we both like…rough sex pretty exclusively. But this type of bdsm stuff seems a little contrived sometimes. Like there's too much preparation, you know? It doesn't turn me on very much, the idea. It's almost—" she laughed, "Too theatrical. Like…I get enough of that in my everyday. Nothing makes me feel dirtier than…what feels like, real…genuine passion."

Quinn's eyes got a little wider. Her mouth fell open a bit too.

Then, she kept on.

"I mean some of it seems interesting. Like—what would you do? If you had me all tied up?"

Quinn's eyes roved, slick, over her breasts, "Get a fair shot at those. Just suck on your nipples…and let you keep coming from it. Like I know you can."

Rachel put the bed-restraints package she was holding back on the wall, "Not ready for that psychosis trip…but thank you for being honest."

Quinn just nodded at her.

Black eyes spied the collars—and liked the idea right away. Some of them were very pretty too. One of them was pink with little black star-studs. It came with a leather leash attached.

Rachel picked it up.

"What about these?"

Quinn watched, wide-eyed, as she put it on. It fit, perfect, around her neck.

"Rachel—come on—don't start…wearing stuff."

Rachel smirked at Quinn's becoming flustered.

"How are we going to know—if we like it? Besides, those other people earlier were whipping each other, so I doubt there are even rules." She snapped it closed at the back of her neck, and tested a pull on the leash.

She bit her lip, and wanted Quinn to try it.

"Pull on it."

Quinn sighed, "Rachel—no—come on. If you like it, put it in the basket. Just—why are you laughing?"

"You sound like Buffalo Bill!" Rachel snorted, "Like—put it in the basket."

Quinn gave a sharp tug on the leash then, "Shut the fuck up, you little brat!"

And people stared.

She rolled her eyes, and let the black pleather leash fall out of her hand.

"Just—let's get it."

Rachel's eyes shone.

"Yeah."

In the end, they stood at the counter with quite a few things. A glass butt plug (with a crystal accent glittering on the end of it), 2 different-size small-end silicone dongs, a few different types of lubricants, a silicone anal-training kit (in case the glass was uncomfortable) and the collar.

Quinn took out her wallet to pay, and Rachel did also.

"Can it be split?" She asked and Quinn shook her head at the clerk.

"No—don't do that—we're not—"

"It's only fair—it's our sex life, Quinn."

"Please shut up and put your card away."

Quinn smiled politely.

The clerk smiled politely.

"No—it's only fair. And just because our sex life works a certain way, it doesn't mean you get to just—decide what you want to decide. I want to pay equally. I'm sick of you making all the decisions around here."

Quinn squinted her eyes, Fuck is she talking about!?—She literally gets to decide everything. Which is how I ended up here—fucking a girl with some fruity open relationship that's also wholly co-dependent.

But she bit her lip, "Take your card back, Rachel."

Rachel slammed her card on the table. The clerk spotted her ring and nodded at it, surreptitiously accepting both cards (because fuck these people), "You two are married?"

"Engaged," Rachel cut in, "I'm—"

It took her a second to realize what she did. She sucked on her bottom lip and nodded at the clerk's compliments.

3

Outside, dark had fallen—unexpectedly. Rachel looked up at the white clouds against the black sky.

Quinn didn't say anything about it. And she was trying to forget it.

She figured the girl was being quiet because Rachel got away with paying too.

She was walking a bit ahead of her, holding their bag. Acting cold.

It made Rachel feel like a little girl, not being able to reach her mother's dress—to tug for attention. That alienated.

But.

Wasn't she not supposed to put Quinn up on a pedestal? Wasn't she supposed to get over—this amazement?

She's my friend, ignoring me—and I'm going to annoy her until she doesn't.

She skipped up, behind her, and grabbed her into a hug. She crossed both arms at Quinn's hard midsection.

"What's wrong, Quinn? Are you tense?"

She purred it into her ear.

"Are you tense because you need to fuck me in the ass?"

Quinn turned around and with a droll look kissed her hard on the mouth.

Rachel raked her nails down the slick skin at the nape of Quinn's neck, down the shell of her ear, the side of her face. Owning her. Scratching her for people to see—for people to see that her girl had nails.