Thank you for reading and reviewing! I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story. Incidentally, despite me deliberately setting this in the future to try and give it a half decent chance at staying within canon, I think I now have to officially say this counts as an AU story. *shrugs*

They start sitting on the couch.

It's only just turned nine, but shots seemed the natural progression from two bottles of wine over a stirfry. The film burbles on in the background, but Santana really isn't watching, and she's happy in the knowledge that neither are Quinn and Rachel.

Quinn splutters after the second shot, and gasps at Santana.

'Seriously, what kind of civilized dinner party deteriorates into shots this early?'

Santana shrugs with one shoulder, and rests her glass on the table, next to the bottles.

'Well, you know, sometimes people put liquor in coffee, this is just a… refined version of that.'

Quinn blinks at her, and then frowns, while Rachel perks up at the mention of coffee.

'In what context are you applying the word refined, here, because…'

'Coffee! Oh my god, Santana…bring me coffee, please. I brought you wine.'

Santana wrinkles her nose at Rachel for a moment, about to refuse, because that is the sort of thing that would happen when they're all forty and having a bi-annual meet up to moan about how challenging raising kids can be, but Quinn pokes her in the side in encouragement.

'Come on Santana, remember your hosting skills.'

Grumbling, Santana levers herself to her feet, because apparently she's hosting a dinner party now, with the world's two bossiest people.

Glancing at Rachel, Quinn squeezes gently at the knee closest to her side. The couch isn't really big enough for the three of them, but the bean bag on the floor looks like a hygiene hazard, so they've squashed in. Rachel's got the corner, and after a moment she extends an arm, and brushes a strand of Quinn's hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Quinn resists the urge to curl herself into Rachel's palm, because she isn't a cat, for goodness' sake.

'Hey, Rachel… Santana thinks she's going to tell you all about how smart it would be for you to stay single for a while. Somehow she's managed to elect herself nominated relationship guru of the three of us.'

Rachel snorts after a moment.

'Has she met herself…? Do you think I should stay single?'

Quinn can't really look anywhere towards Rachel, which is pretty useless because looking at Rachel is all she really wants to do.

'I think you should probably do whatever you want?'

Rachel's fingers trace a pattern down the outside of Quinn's arm, over the cotton of her sleep shirt.

'Right now, I want coffee, I think. And to stay sitting like this. And… why does Santana think I need to stay single?'

Quinn shifts slightly in her seat, which just results in her being even closer to Rachel.

'Uh, she thinks that… and this a conversation in which I was a helpless spectator only, I'd just like to clarify… she thinks that you have a tendency to, um, get physical with new people slightly too quickly. Particularly if you are feeling stressed. Or. Um.'

Rachel is probably frowning, now. Quinn would be frowning, if one of her friends suggested that she sleeps with people at the drop of a hat.

'I… that's… do you think that?'

Quinn shakes her head abruptly, and then looks at Rachel, at how wide her eyes are.

'No, obviously not, but… my position on this has been compromised slightly, huh?'

Rachel bites her lip, and looks away, seemingly concerned with what is happening in the movie, all of a sudden. She asks the question as if it is of no importance to her whatsoever.

'How?'

Quinn wants to kiss her, which would be the singularly most counter-productive act in this conversation that she could produce. So she settles for the second most counter-productive.

'Because whenever I'm close to you I'm thinking about kissing you. And it is…marring my ability to think rationally about anything.'

Rachel looks back at her, and licks her lips, and that would be that if Santana didn't announce her arrival with coffee by kicking the door open with her foot.

'Seriously guys, you'd better be tipping big tonight, the service you are getting…'

After another round of coffees, and half another bottle of wine that Santana found in someone else's cupboard, Rachel decides to tackle the subject head on.

Because she's not…angry, per say. She's aware that she doesn't enjoy being single, that she likes feeling loved and having someone to share her life with. And relationships involve sex. It is hardly something to be ashamed of.

Rachel is surprised that Santana is suddenly advocating celibacy, she doesn't know what to make of that. And she is annoyed that Santana decided to discuss this with Quinn, who is the last person Rachel suddenly wanted to be processing this type of idea about Rachel's love life. Seriously, Santana could have had this discussion with her Dads and Rachel would have been more comfortable.

So she knocks back the last of her wine, and points at Santana.

'San. Santana. What's this I hear about you thinking I sleep with anyone that moves?'

Santana blinks slow at her from her seat in the beanbag, and then rolls her eyes at Quinn.

'Wow, your translation skills are pretty sucky… that wasn't what I said, Rachel. Hell, I wouldn't even judge you if that was the case.'

Quinn holds her hand up from the other end of the couch, and looks hazily at Rachel. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe Rachel just sees it hazily. Whatever.

'For the record, that isn't what I reported… Rachel, that isn't what I said. Nobody has said that.'

Quinn looks so worried that Rachel reaches out to stroke at Quinn's foot, momentarily, before remembering where she is. She points again at Santana.

'No, but, you, what was it? You think I have sex with people too quickly? Which is pretty rich, coming from you, can I just say…'

Santana harrumphs at her for a moment, and waves a hand to dismiss the accusation.

'Okay, for clarification… and all of this was said in a loving and supportive manner, don't look at me like that… I think that, because you are super hot and sexy and ridiculously attractive, you've always got someone flirting with you, making themselves available for sex. Which is excellent, and more power to your vagina if you want to sleep with them, feminism is awesome. But, you know, you tend to get, like, a little caught up, in your love life, if drama is happening. And so, what with all the auditions, I thought maybe having a dry patch would…Rachel, will you stop looking at me like that, did you not hear me call you super hot?'

Rachel holds up her hand for a moment, all the time aware of how Quinn is staring at her.

'You think… I should stay single, for the sake of my career? Santana, that is the most… whatever. As long as we are definite on a few things; that my sex life is not available for judgement, and that all people find me super hot.'

Santana snorts after a moment, and rolls towards her, tugs on her foot as if she is trying to pull Rachel down onto the floor.

'Yes, Berry. Super hot, like the sun. Motion passed. But just, think about it, yeah? Kurt has been reporting lots of running around mopping up tears and general drama, these past few weeks, which can't be good for the auditions… how are the auditions, anyway?'

Rachel is going to murder Kurt. She makes a mental note, and then strikes out towards a topic of conversation that doesn't make her sound like a slut or an emotional wreck in front of Quinn.

'I… well, very well! The one today seemed really positive, and I've been invited to the call back already, so, you know, that's hopeful.'

Santana claps both of her hands together twice in celebration, and Quinn raises her glass towards Rachel.

'Good job… fingers crossed for the call back. When is it?'

Rachel smiles, and crosses her legs, so she is sitting Indian style on the couch, about a foot away from Quinn, who looks away from her after a moment, frowning, and then pokes at Santana with her foot. Santana glances at up at her, and then stretches her hands imploringly towards Rachel.

'Um, yes, when is it, because… what Quinn, are you saying I should offer to watch? Because…'

Rachel laughs, and then shakes her head firmly.

'Oh god, no, it is a closed process, people aren't allowed to come watch.'

Quinn claps her hand to her face, and just wags a finger at the both of them.

'No, good lord, you two are so dense sometimes… no I was suggesting that maybe you should apologize for thinking that Rachel sleeps with everyone.'

Santana stares at Quinn as if she's crazy, and Rachel's inclined to agree.

'What? Quinn, we've moved past that, clearly… I called Rachel hot; it is my ultimate apology.'

Quinn glances at Rachel, who shrugs in agreement, and then she just rolls her eyes.

'Okay, well, maybe you should apologize to me for inflicting a discussion about the sex life of one of my friends on me.'

Rachel takes a gulp of her glass, suddenly concerned about how Quinn is reacting to this. Rachel is a bit drunk, which is fine, it means she can relax into the couch and be comfortable about the fact that she's wearing her pyjamas in someone else's house, but it does mean that she isn't very good at reading what is going on in Quinn's head, especially because it would seem as though Quinn has pulled her usual trick of staying two drinks behind everyone else.

Santana pulls herself over to the end of the couch which Quinn is sitting at, and just flops down on top of her, face down.

'Quinn, I am so sorry to have emotionally traumatized you by mentioning the word sex in front of you, it was insensitive of me to forget that you are under the impression it is an act carried out only by perverts and heathens, and so… Rachel! Get over here, come on, Quinn needs platonic love!'

Santana is platonically trying to smother Quinn with her breasts, as Quinn's arms flail slightly, attempting to remove Santana from her body. Rachel snorts, and crawls over, tugging at Santana's shoulders and wrapping her arms around them both until they've settled into a friendly hug.

'Santana, I'm not sure your method of apology was leading anywhere other than to Quinn's untimely death. By boob.'

Santana laughs, and pats Quinn on the head, who is looking a little red in the face.

'What a way to go, huh Q?'

The only positive to come out of Santana's complete uncalled for assault on her person, was that when Santana moved away to change the dvd, Rachel didn't.

And so, now that they've spent another hour or so eating chocolate and actually watching the movie this time (Pitch Perfect, which is not exactly her favorite kind of movie, but it lets them all bitch about how unrealistic the entire thing is) Quinn is feeling far more relaxed.

So what if Rachel likes sex? It could be worse; she could not like sex, that would be a whole different world of frustration.

And whatever this is hardly counts as a rebound fling. Rachel was still with Brody when she kissed Quinn (or did Quinn kiss her?) It is entirely different.

There is a little ball of unease, sitting tight in her chest. Quinn gets around this by pouring more wine on it.

Rachel is right next to her, while Santana swears at the screen and announces every time that the main girl and the shower girl are in shot together that they are complete lesbians for each other, before moaning about heteronormativity and how it is ruining her life.

Right next to her, so of course, Quinn's hand is on her own leg, but, somehow, the outer edge of her hand, from her wrist to her pinky finger, is resting on the side of Rachel's leg.

Sitting next to each other is fine. Santana had pretty much told them to cuddle, because the heating was erratic at best and Santana has no intentions of sharing her onesie.

This is fine.

Quinn tries to regulate her breathing, and becomes very aware of the fact that Rachel is not watching the movie, but watching her hand. When she sighs, Quinn has to close her eyes.

They open again when Quinn feels Rachel arm move, and then there are fingertips at the back of her neck. Quinn coughs hastily, but Santana's sprawled out on the floor like a starfish now, and is paying them no attention. Rachel continues with her running commentary about her serious doubts about the actors ability to maintain such a high energy performance without losing tone, and Quinn is losing her mind.

Fingertips rub, and then push higher into her hair line, and Quinn has to take a really deep breath in order to not push Rachel flat on the couch and climb on top of her.

Santana sits up abruptly in order to locate her drink, and Rachel removes her hand quickly, makes it look as if it was her own hair that she was rearranging, rather than Quinn's heart.

'I'mma, I'm gonna get some potato chips, we should be eating chips, right? Wait here.'

The second Santana is out of the room, Quinn looks at Rachel, and wow, okay, this is not a good position to be in while tipsy.

'Rachel, you have to… please don't keep touching me, I feel like I'm going to break.'

Rachel pouts at her, and then follows the path of her fingers as she traces a shape down the outside of Quinn's face. She murmurs low 'But I wanna touch you…'

Jesus. This was meant to be the time that Quinn checked that her and Rachel were still civil, before building up to possibly maybe perhaps taking it further, a couple of weeks down the line. Quinn feels as though they've managed to skip a few pages, somehow.

'Just… we should talk, huh? Before any of this, okay? Talking. Not in front of Santana.'

Rachel looks at her in a way that almost has Quinn leaning in despite the words that had just left her mouth, but then just nods, and disentangles herself, backing away to the other end of the couch.

'Okay. Sure. Good idea.'

Quinn is about to say more, because she really needs Rachel to understand what is going on here (hell, Quinn really needs to understand what is going on here) but then Santana walks back in, and throws a bag of chips at her head.

'Catch. Whoops. Sorry.'

Man, she really needs to get a bigger room. Or a bigger place to stay.

When Brittany moves in with her, (and, you know, fuck real life for a moment) they will have an enormous, open plan, apartment, and so Santana can watch Brittany cook while she reads out cryptic crossword clues, which Brittany is surprisingly good at, and maybe they'd have a cat called, she doesn't know, Slimfast, which would rub up against their legs, and stalk off in disgust every time they made out.

Perfect.

Tonight has been pretty good though. Quinn's been a bit weird, but then that's like saying that rain has been a bit wet, so whatever on that front. Rachel has been fun, though, happier than Santana can remember in a while, and maybe Brody had been weighing her down for longer than she had let on. Santana still hasn't fully grasped what prompted the breakup, but asides from pinning Rachel down and tickling it out of her, she doesn't know how to get to the truth.

But, whatever. Rachel's happy. It's all good.

'Santana, I think, maybe, you should tell me again how hot I am. In front of Quinn. When Quinn gets back. You could do it now, but in front of Quinn is better. Having an audience is always better.'

And… well, maybe it's time for bed. Rachel never normally propositions her when she's sober.

'Rachel… I am not having sex with you in front of Quinn. It isn't that sort of girls' night. Besides, Quinn would pass out, so…'

Rachel claps both hands to her mouth, and stifles a giggle, anxious for Quinn not to hear her in the kitchen.

'No, I didn't mean…no, that would, not be to plan, I… would you have sex with me if Quinn wasn't around?'

Santana sits up and gives the crazy girl on the couch her best hello, weirdo look, and Rachel snorts at herself after a moment.

'I, oh my gosh, I retract that statement, I… I'm just checking that you think I'm hot. For confidence boosting reasons. I'm not crazy.'

At this point Quinn sticks her head around the door.

'Guys, I'm tired, are we sleeping soon?'

It isn't Santana's fault. Hell, Quinn doesn't know if she should be blaming Santana or thanking Santana, but seeing as Santana seemingly is entirely oblivious to what has been happening between Rachel and Quinn this entire evening, she deserves neither.

But Santana has insisted that she is the one who sleeps on the air bed.

'No, fuck off Quinn, I'm not a complete barbarian. As host, I get the uncomfy bed. My mom would kill me if I let guests sleep on the floor. You and Berry have my bed, I have the glory of the floor next to it. Plus it means you guys have to be extra nice to me in the morning, and I get to be in a bad mood. Don't look at me like that, I changed the goddamn sheets. Appreciate, yeah?'

Quinn doesn't know how to say 'if you make me share a mattress with Berry there's a reasonable chance I'll die of sexual frustration by the morning', so instead insists on using the bathroom first, so at least she can be under the covers by the time Rachel gets in. Who knows; maybe prayers will get answered for once and Quinn will already be asleep.

She pulls the comforter up to her chin after checking that her phone alarm is set for a reasonable time (she has to wake up first, to remove herself from whatever compromising position her unconscious body will have adopted over night), and closes her eyes with determination.

She's so tense that she jumps, when the bathroom door clicks shut again, presumably containing Rachel.

Anxiously, Quinn tries to review why giving in is not an option.

She has never done a relationship. She'll hurt Rachel somehow. Or Rachel will not want her. And then she'll have lost her.

Plus… maybe this is just rebound territory.

Maybe, somehow, it'll be detrimental to Rachel's career.

It feels like a helpless, pathetic excuse, and a fairly large part of her brain yells at her that she is being an idiot, but Quinn clings on tight, firmly ignoring her body's impulses.

Rachel had been pressed into her side so tightly Quinn could smell her shampoo, which had been exactly the scent as the last time Quinn had inhaled lungfuls of Rachel. The fact that the last time occurred when they'd both been reeling from an orgasm had not helped.

Rachel had been touching her deliberately. Not enough to be anything but just good friends on the outside, but inside Quinn had been on fire.

The door nudges open quietly, and Quinn slams her eyes shut again, probably too late.

Asleep. Asleep. She feels the mattress shift, and godammit the term double bed is such a lie, there is no way that half a double equals a single, Quinn feels like she must be right on top of Rachel.

On top of Rachel is not a good phrase to have in her head right now.

Rachel wiggles around a bit, and then murmurs into the ceiling, quiet enough to give Quinn the option to ignore, if she wants.

'Sorry.'

Quinn fights not to react, but can't help it. (Maybe it'll be written on her grave; she couldn't help it)

'Why?' She doesn't open her eyes, as her only concession to common sense.

Rachel shifts, and Quinn doesn't know if she rolled on her side towards Quinn, or away from Quinn, and so has to wait until she speaks to find out.

Towards her. Rachel rolled towards her.

'Because the idea of sharing a bed with me clearly made you very uncomfortable. And so I apologize that it is happening. I thought about maybe going home, so then you wouldn't have to, but then… I'm selfish, I guess.'

It's a lot of honesty, all at once, and Quinn bobs along on the swell of it, safe to try a little honesty of her own.

'It's not… I'm not uncomfortable at sharing a bed with you. I just… with Santana on the floor… I guess I'm not going to sleep much. Being so close to you. But not being able to… with Santana in the room too.'

Rachel sighs after a second, and Quinn wobbles for a moment, aware that Rachel's drunk, and Quinn isn't sober, and this is not baby steps, this is a giant on a pogo stick. She rearranges on instinct more than anything, turning to face her and opening her eyes at the last moment.

This is far too close. Quinn can't see anything in the half light, but this is far too close.

Rachel's fingers graze hers, in a meaningful accident, and Quinn reaches for them, holding on to her. Rachel squeezes momentarily.

'Santana is finishing clearing the dishes, she's being unusually tidy.'

It could be classified as making conversation, in fact it may well have been, but it doesn't stop Quinn nudging forward to kiss her.

Rachel gasps slightly, into her mouth, and then kisses back just as Quinn is wrenching her lips away.

'No, sorry, I shouldn't, why do I always end up doing the wrong thing when I'm with you?'

Rachel doesn't even grace that with a response, but chases her mouth, kissing Quinn insistently. Quinn's resolve melts, or evaporates, and she pulls Rachel's hand towards her, which seems to bring the whole of Rachel with it, until she has arms full of warmth and Rachel smells so good that it is driving her crazy.

Rachel's pressing into her, pressing so close some tiny, distracted part of Quinn wonders whether Rachel is trying to occupy the same space as her, as if she can never get close enough. The thought makes Quinn moan quietly, and Rachel surges forward, until Rachel's on top of her, and Quinn can't get enough, is pulling at Rachel's hips, trying to get even closer.

Rachel's hands touch to her neck, and then she locks her elbows to support her weight, kissing Quinn while moving her hips, rocking into Quinn like they've been kissing for hours, like these are the final few moments.

Quinn realizes that her hands have moved of their own volition, that she's cupping both of Rachel's breasts through her pyjama top, where they fit, they just seem to fit. Rachel rolls her hips down into her again, and Quinn rubs fingers over erect nipples, before stretching up to bite at the space of skin between Rachel's shoulder and neck.

Rachel softly grunts her approval, before reaching for one of Quinn's hands, and pushing it down, down towards the warmth that is already radiating from between Rachel's thighs. Quinn moans gently, and wants to protest that they have more time than this, that this is not how it should go, but she wants Rachel so much she feels powerless to protest against even herself.

Rachel is wet through cotton already and fuck, Quinn wants to taste her.

'You guys, do you mind if I put the light on in a second; I need to find my phone charger?'

It's not quite a bucket of water, but the sudden removal of pressure and heat is close, and Rachel rips herself away from Quinn just before the room lights up. Quinn blinks against the brightness for a moment, and then rolls back onto her side, cocooning herself in blanket.

Rachel groans a little next to her, and Santana shushes vaguely, before clattering her way around the room for what feels like an hour or so, opening drawers and moving things about and mumbling under her breath.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Quinn lies as ridged as a plank, while Santana seemingly circles her bed a few hundred times, in the way that a cat would do, before finally lying down and sighing.

'Berry, get the big light, would you?'

The mattress moves, and the room returns to darkness. Quinn is acutely aware of how close Rachel is, how warm she is, when she returns to her spot. Santana speaks from the darkness.

'Night, ladies.'

Quinn grunts a reply, and then waits.

She can't sleep.

Her eyes adjust back to the darkness slowly, but when they do there is just enough light filtering up from the street lights, five stories down, for Rachel to make out contrast between shadows and darker shadows.

Rachel cannot remember the last specific time she and Quinn shared a bed to sleep in. They did this frequently in second year, when Quinn stayed at hers more often when she visited Brooklyn, but as Brody became more a permanent fixture in her bed, Quinn ended up staying at Santana's every time.

Rachel decides she doesn't need to read lots into this correlation. That is just how it is.

Quinn feels very far away, somehow. It is just a normal sized double bed, but the gulf feels insurmountable, somehow.

Rachel closes her eyes, and tries to make the room stop spinning.

Let's review this evening's events.

Santana suggests that Rachel jumps into bed with people too quickly.

Quinn reacts weirdly to the conversation.

Rachel pretty much just sits on top of Quinn, and uses any opportunity to touch her.

Quinn asks Rachel to back off.

Quinn looks awkward at the idea of sharing a bed with Rachel.

When in bed, Rachel climbs on top of Quinn and tries to shove Quinn's hand into her pants.

Abruptly, Rachel is fighting tears, because what on earth was she thinking? If she was alone in the bed she would cover her face with her hands, because good lord, she's embarrassed.

This was not how this evening was supposed to go. Quinn probably thinks she is some kind of sex mad lunatic who actually ignores every word Quinn says and instead does exactly what she wants. Not attractive in the slightest. Hell, Quinn probably only kissed her back out of politeness.

Normally a cringe only lasts for a second, two at tops. Rachel thinks she lies there for a full half hour, cringing at herself and being unable to do anything about it, forcing herself to lie still.

Maybe she's ruined it.

There's a movement, and Quinn's hands touches to her, gently. Rachel tries not to grasp at it, but instead just flexes her fingers, and lets Quinn slide her hand into hers.

And then…nothing. Rachel tries to breath deep, and settle out her heart rate, letting the warmth of Quinn's hand ground her, because people don't willingly hold hands with individuals that they are repulsed by.

Her head still feels woozy, but the pint of water she made herself drink before she came to bed seems to be having an effect, Rachel is less and less struck by the sensation that she is on a rollercoaster.

After an immeasurable amount of time, Quinn's hand squeezes hers, and she rolls onto her side, towards Rachel. The light means that Rachel can see nothing of her expression, just the outline of her shoulder, but she squeezes back, instinctively. Quinn murmurs at a low register, which does something to Rachel.

'Santana's asleep.'

Rachel automatically strains her ears for any audio evidence that this is the case, but all she can hear is steady breathing. Santana does not have the common decency to snore really loudly. She whispers back after a moment.

'Are you sure?'

Quinn nods, and shifts closer into her.

'Mmhmm, I know her breathing when she's asleep.'

Rachel fights the urge to press closer to Quinn's warmth, and uses her free hand to wipe hastily at her face in order to remove any evidence of tears. Quinn catches the movement, and reaches gentle fingers towards her face, tracing over her cheek bone. Rachel closes her eyes, and sighs once.

'Why were you crying?'

Rachel bites her lip, and blinks rapidly at the ceiling.

'Embarrassed. Made a bit of a fool of myself.'

Quinn hums at her, before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

'No. You didn't.'

Then she actually pulls Rachel into a hug, and just holds her, until Rachel relaxes into it, and they both just breathe each other in.

Rachel doesn't need to cry anymore. She readjusts slightly in Quinn's arms, and kisses her forehead. Quinn chases her mouth, before they bump noses, and Quinn presses a steady kiss to Rachel's lips.

'Can we, can we talk about this tomorrow? I want to… I want to do this right.'

It feels like a kiss to her heart, and Rachel just nods, not trusting her words. Quinn kisses her again, and Rachel rearranges into her, turning and shifting until her back is to Quinn's front, and Quinn's chin is resting on her shoulder.

Quinn nuzzles once at her shoulder, before sighing and breathing in deeply, and god, Rachel almost can't take it, she almost starts crying all over again. Instead she reaches for the covers, and moves them up so they are both warm, to Quinn's small hum of approval. Quinn presses slightly at her hip, and Rachel moves back even further, until there is no space and Rachel can feel Quinn's heart beating, inches from her own.

She read somewhere that two hearts in close enough proximity will end up synchronizing to beat in tandem. Rachel always wondered how it was decided which one would choose to adopt the rhythm of the other. She realizes now, with a flash of certain clarity, that surely they both adjust slightly, with each beat, before meeting in the middle somewhere. Surely that is the only thing that would make sense?

Quinn's hand is still resting awkwardly at her hip. Rachel reaches for it, and twists their fingers together, before moving their joined hands until they are pressed to where her heart beats, steady.