"Two updates in one day?" you surely ask. Oh, don't get used to it.
Again, Glee is not mine but all mistakes are.
Oh. Rated R for Santana.
The constant fluttering and fawning of the photography team chafed her nerves worse and worse with every move. Normally, she thrived on this type of thing. The attention from an adoring public enslaved her. It was the most intoxicating drug on the planet, and she missed it. It'd be easy to relapse and return to the lifestyle she once had. But when it came to her children, Rachel reevaluated her desire. She didn't want this for them. And she didn't like how they were being treated. It was nearly an hour into the shoot, and her barely checked anger rose with each new instruction or comment from Andrew. So what if Ava's dress was a little wrinkled? Who cared if Joshua's left foot wasn't pointed straight forward? And why did it matter whether Daniel fiddled with the hem of the designer t-shirt? He wasn't stretching it out, nor was he fidgeting aside from those restless fingers tugging at the fabric. He was doing remarkably well with these pictures, but Rachel could tell his limit was fast approaching.
Actually, that limit passed them by about ten minutes ago. The camera flashes, the reflector screens, the nonstop movement and the voices and footsteps of the crew—it was too much for her son. His sensory integration differences were under duress. Too many lights. Too many sounds. Too many people. Too many variables invaded his balanced life—one that the family had taken great care to provide when he needed it. This house was his safety zone. Rachel saw he felt threatened, but she did not want to see him defend himself. It was amazing he hadn't gotten up and left already, that he sat waiting as best he could and not complaining. But the blinking of his eyes increased with each flash and his hands couldn't be stilled. He was done.
She looked to Quinn, silently asking her if she shared the same opinion. And like this morning, their unspoken language regarding the kids returned. Quinn watched Daniel for a moment. The blonde frowned then nodded.
"Andrew?" Rachel interrupted. "It's time to finish up with the children and break for lunch." Her tone brooked no argument.
The posh old man climbed down from his perch on his stepstool, upset. She didn't see why since multiple memory cards were filled with shots of the family. Moreover, she didn't care. He didn't need more. Andrew's lead assistant, Billy, managed to capture the pre-photoshoot antics of the Fabray-Berrys at play. Those paired with these staged photos should be plenty for the magazine and for Geoffrey. It was one in the afternoon and everyone looked tired and hungry. She was sick of seeing her family so exposed. None of them was happy with this and Quinn had taken to grimacing now. While Daniel…he needed out.
So, if Andrew had a problem with that, too bad. This was her family and she'd been more than accommodating today. She didn't have to agree to allow this publicity shoot in her home, and she sure as Sondheim did not have to agree to allow her children to be photographed like this. They were through. The actress would wear whatever outfit assigned and pose however Andrew wanted, but her children were finished. With no objections from Andrew, Rachel tapped her son's arm and pretended she wasn't hurt by his flinching from her. It wasn't personal. It never was with him. She signaled for him to stand.
Daniel rose from his crouched position, taking Ava skyward with him. She dangled over his shoulder with her arms hanging down his back, the two of them a firefighter carrying a roll of fire hose.
"Can I go?" he asked.
Rachel nodded but he already passed her, then Quinn, only stopping because Joshua intercepted him, lifting Ava off Daniel's shoulder and throwing her over his own. The taller boy kept walking. Out of the office, away from the stimuli.
Joshua didn't hold on to his sister for long. "Okay, she's all sweaty and I'm kinda dying."
The brunette mother frowned. For the teen to overheat in the stifling atmosphere, with so many people crammed into a moderately narrow room and wearing a thick sweater, wasn't out of the ordinary. But for Ava in her nightgown-like dress to be doing the same, well, that wasn't so usual. However, the lamps were hot and Rachel herself perspired under their beams. She wished more of them were the cool-burning halogen type. Unfortunately they didn't provided the most flattering lighting to illuminate the set as a whole.
Her oldest child passed off her youngest to their other mother. Quinn had shed her cardigan sometime in the last four seconds. Her stretchy black shirt clung like a second skin, her blonde locks were mildly damp from sweat, and her face and neck were flushed. She looked amazing.
Heat suffused Rachel's checks. It had nothing to do with the hot glow cast over them but everything to do with Quinn. Their kiss had been nice. More than. It left her lips tingling and her heart bobbling in her throat. It was the kiss she'd wanted to give her wife when she'd walked in on the bathroom conversation but chickened out at the last second. And it ended quickly. Rachel's insecurity defensively categorized it as more of a peck than a kiss, and she didn't know which of them to blame. Quinn, because she initiated it? Or herself, because she leapt the chasm between their mouths and latched onto the lips she knew so well?
Then again, did that kiss warrant any blame?
"She's out again," Quinn said.
Rachel smiled softly, shaking away all thoughts of the kiss. "She's been tired all week. I believe it's a combination of starting her dance class and her allergies." Late summer into fall proved worst for their child. It was ragweed season, and New York was strangely notorious for it. Ava's autumn misery began her first year of life. Then only eight months old, she'd been one unhappy baby.
Quinn hummed in agreement. "Right. Plus she stayed up pretty late last night. She's got to be exhausted if she conked out during this."
True. Ava lasted about twenty minutes before crankiness overcame her, and she'd fallen asleep shortly after Andrew positioned her over Daniel's shoulder. He'd wanted a profile shot of Daniel on the floor with Rachel standing at his side and Ava "flying" over him like she'd done with Joshua. But in the time it took to prepare his camera, she'd snuggled into her brother and drifted off. The brunette mother doubted Andrew had many photos of her with her eyes open.
Joshua peeled off his sweater and revealed the black and white checkered button-up plastering his skin. He had it the worst under these lights. He scarcely made it to the clothing racks before the shirt was off, and the jeans were quick to follow. Both were given to Amy, the wardrobe woman, whose sights remained on the muscular young man wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Like a model for a Calvin Klein advertisement. Rachel was appalled, shocked into silence.
"Joshua Hiram!" Quinn all but hissed at him.
"What? I'm hot."
Vaguely, Rachel overheard an "I'll say" from behind her. She couldn't turn around fast enough. Billy looked dazed, focused on her son.
"Hey, John Wayne Gacy. If you wants to keep them pedophilac peepers, I suggest you avert your motherfucking gaze rights abouts now," Santana said from across the room.
She'd stayed since returning Ava, plopping down in the office chair and kicking her feet up on the desk. The lawyer claimed boredom, but Rachel knew she was making sure the employees adhered to the stipulations of the contract updates Geoffrey sent her, which had been why she'd made her way over today in the first place. Only to get beaten by her best friend. Yet, injury would not distract Tana from her roles as advocate and guardian of the children. Which, legally, she would be in the event of Rachel's and Quinn's deaths. Therefore, in accordance with her position as third mother-elect and family legal-eagle, the instant a memory card reached capacity, it was handed over to Santana for safe keeping until everyone sat down to approve which photos were acceptable. No exceptions. And she's not so nicely requested the phones of every crew member. They lined the desktop, allowing for no chance of anyone leaking unauthorized images of the kids.
The assistant jumped. He obviously didn't realize he'd spoken aloud. Just the same, it was inappropriate. Joshua was sixteen! And this man had to be in his forties or older.
"Did you hear me, Sandusky the Second?" Santana's bare feet, with their black polished toes, were off the wooden surface and on the ground before she finished her sentence. Sure, she went through the wringer with Quinn, but Rachel knew the girl from Lima Heights Adjacent rattled her cage within the acculturated New York lawyer.
Billy's Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed in fear. "I'm sorry, I—just…ummm…"
Quinn cut in. "You're going to go to lunch. And you're going to take your time. Then Andrew will call and let you know if your assistance is required for the rest of the day. That's what you "just umm". Understand?"
Sweet Stephen Schwartz, Quinn sounded scary. Whenever she displayed that level of calm while clearly irate, it was best to stay out of the way and be grateful her wrath was directed at someone else. Hopefully. The gnashing of teeth was very telling: Billy's day (and paycheck) just took a turn for the worse.
Rachel interrupted the unholy war brewing. She didn't honestly believe this man to be a pedophile otherwise he wouldn't have passed Geoffrey's background checks and gotten into her house. But she didn't like his response to Joshua, and she was very aware dear Billy wasn't the only one objectifying her teenaged son. "Why don't you take Laura and Amy with you? I'm sure they'd appreciate the invitation."
She had no doubt that redhead would pounce on Joshua like a tiger if given the chance. Out of everyone on the photography crew she had to be closest to his age, too. Amy was older, maybe in her early fifties, but Rachel didn't like the leer in her eyes either and would not risk her son near a possible cougar. She hadn't been able to get a good read on the dresser. ESP let her down today due to sleep deprivation and the stress of the previous twenty-four hours. Still, removing the make-up girl and the costumer from the vicinity of their temptation seemed the most prudent course of action. This was her son and this was her house. No jungle cats allowed.
Unless it was Quinn with a massive case of bedhead. Lions were therefore acceptable. As were panthers, because Santana was just petrifying sometimes. And both were categorically territorial.
Billy hopped into action, turning off the set lights as though doing so would solve world hunger. What a dedicated fellow. He grabbed the two women in question and rushed from Quinn's presence. Just because the doctor cradled an adorable toddler did not make her any less forbidding. And while Rachel was also wary of those particular three visitors, her glare wasn't nearly as ominous as her wife's. Any time hazel eyes shifted to jade, well, it was just good to stay away.
Those eyes were locked on Andrew who remained motionless by the small table of cameras, but Quinn didn't speak to him. "I don't think we'll be needing Billy for the rest of the day, do you, San?"
"I think you're right, Q." Santana smiled demurely at the photographer. "What about you, Drewby? I'm sure you can make do with one less minion."
Andrew sighed and begrudgingly agreed. Everyone in the room knew he didn't have a choice. "I'll tell him."
"I'll join you. Just to make sure he understands, of course." Santana grinned like a cat that caught its mouse and gestured for Andrew to leave the office ahead of her. She scooped up the cell phones on the way. The two remaining assistants filed out as well, chasing their phones.
Rachel closed her eyes. Her reputation as a temperamental diva would be resurrected shortly. No way would Billy refrain from gossiping to the media about his "unfair" sacking. Technically, Rachel wasn't firing him. Quinn and Santana were.
"Is she always so beastly?" Clarissa asked. She stood next to Joshua, holding out his own t-shirt to him while he pulled on his jeans.
The actress tilted her head to the side and removed an earring not belonging to her. "When it comes to the kids, yes. She's fiercely protective of them. But she's a lot more relaxed with me and—"
"She'll hang me out to dry in an instant. Horribly fickle."
Rachel frowned at Quinn's lie. Did she not recognize this great opportunity to exalt some of Santana's finer qualities instead of dragging her down? So maybe the two women didn't hit it off earlier, but what harm would it do to nudge them in the right direction to try again? People should get second chances.
Well, that thought gave her pause.
An electronic chirrup eradicated it. Joshua retrieved his phone from his pocket and read the text he received. "Tía says lunch is here."
"What? We haven't—"
Another beep cut her short.
"She says stop asking questions and come eat…umm…Hobbit." Joshua's face turned beet red. "Sorry Mama." He backed out of the room, off to eat food already foraged.
Rachel groaned inwardly and took out the other earring while toeing off the sandals she wore. Tana would be getting a talking to. She picked up the shoes and brought them to Clarissa who'd stepped up and taken over wardrobe in Amy's absence. It was nice seeing someone be a responsible adult.
"Go eat, please. I can put these away."
Clarissa shook her head. "I'm not really hungry. Besides, it's my job to help and Amy doesn't take too kindly to outsiders messing with her method."
The brunette could certainly relate to that. If things weren't done the way she liked, then they might as well not have been done at all. She shucked the seashell bracelet and reached for the zipper running up the back of her dress. A grumble came from her right and she twisted around, puzzled.
Quinn had shifted the dead weight of Ava higher on her chest and shoulder, and a pink t-shirt dangled from between her clenched teeth. She'd unzipped the back of the little gown and was slogging one sleeve down Ava's shoulder, but with no success. Rachel rolled her eyes and moved to help. She stood in front of her wife, Ava sandwiched between them. Eye contact wasn't necessary and the two mothers worked together. With experienced movements, Rachel freed their daughter's arms. Quinn pulled the fabric from below, lifting the little girl away from her torso in a wave-like motion to tug the dress down and off. It caught on Ava's foot and Rachel quickly unhooked it while grabbing the shirt from Quinn's parting teeth. A pair of matching track pants appeared from under the blonde's arm and their hands met recurrently as they wiggled in one short leg at a time, drawing the pants up then smoothing the shirt over Ava's head and back. Chubby arms peeked out the sleeves and fell limply at the little girl's sides.
The dance of dressing a sleeping child, ladies and gentleman. They could do it backward, too. And although they were out of practice, Rachel gave it a nine. She smiled at Quinn. Quinn smiled back. Ava slept on.
"I'll put her in bed and get the clothes from Danny," Quinn said.
Rachel stroked Ava's hair for a minute and agreed. The brunette kissed her daughter's warm cheek and presented Quinn with another tiny smile. One she hoped was understood with the gentleness and gratitude she intended. Then she spoke her same words from this morning, but in a much different tone. "I'll see you downstairs?"
Quinn returned the smile tenfold and reached her free arm around Rachel's back, pulling her close, but not near enough to touch elsewhere. Tapered fingers met the zipper of Rachel's dress, towing the slider away from the top stops and down the chain of metal teeth until they halted at the base of her spine right where her lower back curved. Those fingertips lingered above her skin but didn't touch. Instead, a barely-there kiss grazed her forehead and Quinn stepped away.
"Th-thanks." Did she just stutter?
Loving hazel eyes swept over her face and Rachel's cheeks flamed. The taller woman dipped her head in reply then adjusted Ava one last time and walked out of the room.
Rachel may as well have swallowed sand for how dry her mouth was. A chill gusted up her back and she hurried to the clothing rack and portable dressing screen. Clarissa draped her shirt and hoodie over the top of it. Forgoing a bra, she slipped the shirt on over the strapless bodice, sliding the dress down her legs and stepping into the yoga pants that'd replaced the jeans she'd originally put on today. The blood and grape soda weren't ever coming out. So, they met their end in a household hazmat bag along with her robe. She wanted no mementos of that fight. Rachel strode out from behind the screen.
"You're lucky." Clarissa took the dress and secured it to a hanger by its clear plastic bands then placed it on the metal bar of the rack.
"Excuse me?"
"She loves you." The stylist smiled, wistful. "It's rare to see that these days, you know? People get so good at hiding things, or they never learn how to express them at all, but her? It's written all over her face."
"Oh." The actress shifted from one foot to the other, stupidly afraid to look into those violet eyes. Why was she discussing private issues with a stranger? Clarissa had to be some kind of truth magnet, one with no personal boundaries. Rachel wasn't sure she was okay with that right now, no matter how much she liked this woman. She trusted her without knowing why, but didn't trust herself to continue their conversation.
Clarissa smiled. "Yeah. Must be nice, knowing your spouse still has it bad for you."
Rachel blinked away the pricking behind her eyes. Clarissa's confidence in the topic bolstered her somewhat, but the last thing Rachel needed was hopefulness that would surely be bashed to the ground. "Right. Well. Do come down whenever you're finished. Whether you're hungry or not, I shan't be known as a poor hostess."
She wandered downstairs to the kitchen and found Santana standing by the nearest counter. She gagged at the stench suffocating the room. It differed from this morning's bacon—all in viro meat had a peculiar, clean scent to it. However, this reeked and Rachel loathed asking something to which she already knew the answer. "What is that, and why is it in my house?"
Santana glanced up then stepped aside to reveal the offensive source, holding out her hands like a game show presenter.
"This," she said, beaming with a misplaced sense of pride, "is a culinary masterpiece. I know you're unfamiliar with such a thing of beauty, so let me break it down for you."
Rachel grimaced, uninterested in what she knew was coming but couldn't ward off.
"Right here is the divine union of bleached white flour wheat buns lovingly hugging market fresh tomatoes, lettuce, onions, jalapenos, a sweet mustard glaze with just the smallest dollop of ketchup, and a thin slice of processed cheese—probably colored by yellow dye five—nestled between two eight ounce patties of genuine bovine beefy goodness. Yeah, this used to moo. In the most banal terms, it's a hamburger. A glorious, succulent, and wondrous thing that's soon to reside in my stomach for roughly the next four hours."
She centered the burger in its paper wrapping, flimsy and transparent from the grease. Rachel nearly heaved while Santana grinned like she was trying to get it into bed with her. Oh, eww. Rachel hoped the lawyer didn't really do that, but she wouldn't put it past her. She choked back the bile in her throat.
"Stuff it, Berry. I refuse to let you ruin this for me." The woman's voice was thick with lust. For a sandwich. She pressed it down, flattening it bit by bit. The oily fat and meat juice dripping out of it was horrid.
"What, pray tell, are you doing now?"
Santana didn't withdraw her gaze from the object of her desire. "Ya gotta seduce it a little, persuade it into your mouth. Unlike the women I've fucked. They didn't take anywhere near the kind of work as this tour de flavor force does." She then shot Rachel a smirk then went back to loving on her food.
"You, and it, are disgusting."
"I think not, dwarf. We are both quite delicious. One of us more so than the other."
That slow lick of plump lips worked on many women, but not Rachel. There was only ever one mouth on her mind. Thoughts of Quinn and that easy grin brought a smile to her face. She couldn't help it.
Things between them were going well. Far better than she expected, given the circumstances.
Since the incidents this morning, there'd been no arguing or fighting. Quinn hadn't even spoken during the shoot, except to the children. She'd remained silent whenever Andrew changed his mind from one idea to another and repositioned the Fabray-Berrys over and over. She'd stood quiet sentinel over the family, but kept a small distance from Rachel, managing to always have a child between them. It wasn't out of coldness. She was respecting Rachel's request for time and space as best as possible in the enclosed location. It was equally nice and frustrating.
However, Rachel liked being in her wife's arms. She liked that kiss. And she liked seeing Quinn so protective. It wasn't for her, but for their children. Quinn jumped in and halted one of the younger photography assistants before he could manually pose Daniel. She'd swung Ava to and fro, her arms swaying like slender tree boughs in support of their daughter's weight. She'd ruffled Joshua's hair, much to his and Clarissa's chagrin. She'd been Quinn. The Quinn Rachel fell in love with during the summer before their senior year at McKinley. The Quinn who'd strayed to fight gay panic with a rebellion of pink hair and an unfortunate tattoo. (Thank goodness she'd gotten rid of it. Rachel had a conniption when she first saw it. Although, that fit didn't compare to the one she had when she discovered her not-really-girlfriend/significant-friend-with-benefits spent her "alone time" hanging around with some forty-year-old skate boarder named Sarah, however.) The Quinn who'd come back to her and came out, holding Rachel's hand and facing McKinley's homophobia with the support of her girlfriend, the glee club, her coach, and her mother.
Her morning was filled with traces of who Quinn once was and the reasons Rachel missed her. Missed her so much. And loved her.
She loved how Quinn ran her tongue over her teeth, worried they'd budge out of place and hoping her tongue would realign them all. The compulsion developed when she'd been Lucy and worn braces, but Quinn still did it as though unconsciously checking that every tooth was in place. Rachel thought it was sort of cute. Especially since it'd incorporated into Quinn's smile. That pink tongue always netted between two rows of perfect teeth, trapped in the lower left corner of her mouth. It was her laughing smile. The one that showed up whenever Rachel did something Quinn found amusing but wouldn't tell her what or why.
There were other things she missed, too. Being scolded or thumped with a pillow for committing the great sin of reading over Quinn's shoulder. Or watching the doctor read on her own from afar. Quinn's habit of pulling the neckline of her shirt up over her chin and mouth, stopping just above her top lip, was adorable. It gave the impression of a turtle and never failed in motivating Rachel to think up new ways of how to sneak close and tear the material down so she could kiss the blonde senseless. Then strut away and wait for Quinn to follow.
And the way Quinn opened boxes. Stupid and strange as it was, Rachel both liked and hated the way Quinn tore into cereal or snack boxes like a bear as though the "open here" packaging instruction was merely a suggestion. It usually created a mess, but it was a mess Rachel missed telling her to clean up. God, she was being so dumb. Who missed someone who did that? Or who moved around in her sleep like she was participating in a dream decathlon? Yes, if Quinn had the empty space for it, she was quite the athletic sleeper and very hard to keep hold of. Always moving, sleeping or waking.
But she loved how, that when Quinn stopped and stood still, her hand always rested on her left hip in its idleness. Brushing her teeth, scrolling through her phone, whatever. Whenever Quinn's right hand happened to be occupied, her left fell to her waist and displayed the golden circle Rachel put there nearly twenty years ago.
The actress frowned, seeing her own ring glint in the overhead lights. She'd put it back on as per Geoffrey's less than subtle urging. In that instant, however, she couldn't recall why she'd taken it off in the first place. That was a half-truth. She did it because she was tired of seeing what a broken promise looked like.
"¡Fo, que mal huele aqui! What is that?"
Rachel was startled from her reverie by Clarissa's question, absently noting the hair stylist spoke the Puerto Rican dialect of Spanish. More accurately the "Nuyorican" dialect of New York. She wondered if the woman grew up speaking it or just lived in the city long enough, because it didn't sound stilted like secondary education-only Spanish employed by many whites of the country—which baffled her because it was the second official language; people should be using it more naturally now. Still, the interruption exiled thoughts of broken promises to the back of her brain wherein resided all the other things Rachel didn't like thinking or speaking about. They were the kinds of things she used as sources when she needed to convey a particular emotion in a character. Once they served their purpose, they were again cast to the far reaches of her mind. Bottling things up was bad, she knew this, but it was not dealing with those feelings and insecurities that made her performances all the more powerful and engaging and she couldn't afford to lose them. Rachel sobered instantly. Instead of working through her issues and letting things go, she'd tightened her grasp on them for the sake of her career. All at the sacrifice of her wife.
"That so-called bad smell is the—"
"It's Santana's hamburger," Rachel said mechanically, curtailing the snide remarks on their way out of Santana's mouth. However, her mind stormed with accusations and recriminations for what she'd done. How she'd chosen her dreams and the means to achieve them over their marriage just as much as Quinn had.
"Must you be so pedestrian in your descriptions? It's not like you, Berry."
"Fabray-Berry." It came out strong, definite. Rachel looked up from the gold band on her finger. "It's Fabray-Berry."
"Is that so?" Ms. Lopez of the New York State Bar Association materialized in her kitchen. Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, gym clothes, and bare feet notwithstanding, the attorney was still fearsome as the fires of Hell themselves.
"Yes." Rachel's stare was hard and unwavering. "It is."
"And you're sure about that?"
Ab-so-fucking-lute-ly. "I'm certain of it." Nothing but the whole truth, so help her God.
"I see. Well," Ms. Lopez jutted her smug chin. Then, as though years of schooling never happened and that certificate reading "Juris Doctor" didn't exist, Tana slouched against the counter, utterly nonchalant. "Good to know, Hobby."
"Is that real meat?" Clarissa looked confused and ready to vomit.
"Damn right it is. Don't tell me. You're one of those hippies who either doesn't eat anything animally or just sticks to lab-meat." Santana sneered then inhaled long and deep, a smile returning to her face.
"Vegetarian, not vegan."
"You poor soul," she muttered, focused on her current and non-human lover.
"It's as big as your head." Clarissa snarled at her, hand still on her stomach. Her milky white skin tinged a kind of asparagus green. Rachel took a precautionary step back in case the hair stylist truly was as queasy as she looked.
"All the more for me to love." The lawyer gave Clarissa a slow and obvious once-over and sultry smirk. "I'm developing a liking for…fuller things."
"You're sickening."
"I'm awesome. You just have a stick up your ass. Good luck getting rid of it. Heeeyyy," Tana said as though the BEST idea just occurred to her. "Q's a doctor, I'm sure she'll help you out."
"Help with what?"
Quinn strolled into the kitchen. She'd redressed in her sleepwear and her chopped blonde hair blew free and tousled about her head. No one answered but they watched the doctor move around, retrieving plates and setting them next to pizza boxes Rachel hadn't noticed. She dug through the fridge for a minute, picking and choosing and looking at labels, then finally deciding and pouring a glass of orange juice. That was new… and gross. Since when did Quinn drink orange juice with her pizza? Since when did anyone do that?
Before Rachel got the chance to ask, her wife handed the tall glass over to Clarissa. What was going on?
All three brunettes fixed the blonde with puzzled stares, but the youngest one asked, "What's this?"
"Orange juice. Does a body good or something."
"That's milk, Stretch Marks."
She sighed. "Fine then. Just pretend it'll help with whatever you're talking about."
"Orange juice is gonna pull the stick from her ass?"
"Sure, San." Quinn rolled her eyes and attacked the pizza. "Or we could say it's masking the bad taste you tend to leave in people's mouths."
Santana gasped. "Blasphemy! Everybody likes my pus—"
"Tana!" Why was she friends with this cad?
The lawyer huffed. "Taco. Better?"
"Actually, Dr. Fabray may be right," Clarissa said, shooting a glance to Quinn and looking much better. No signs of nausea anywhere. "And I seem to have lost my taste for Mexican suddenly." She leveled Santana with a glare and sipped her drink.
Santana faced the younger woman head on, a dark eyebrow raising from behind her sunglasses. "Well that's a shame. I recommend getting your hands on some fine Puerto Rican then. Far superior cuisine."
Their sexual tension crackled the air like lightning. Rachel couldn't tell if the two women were about to kill each other or go at it right here in the kitchen. Either seemed plausible.
Violet eyes traveled the length of Tana's body in blatant appreciation and rage. They may not like each other, but Rachel could attest to the appeal of anger sex. The temporary silence exploded into loud bickering. Santana had too much vivacity for her own, or anyone else's, good. Rachel didn't know if she should stop them or not. Indecisive eyes rested on Quinn who appeared all too amused.
She sat on the countertop, munching a slice of pizza and swinging her feet back and forth. Her heels thudded on the cupboards while she observed the other two brunettes in the room catapult insult after insult at each other. Rachel approached her, noticing then ignoring that this was the same countertop she'd been sitting on this morning with Quinn's fingers inside her. A shiver raced through her. Not the time.
"You're enjoying this," she whispered, hoping the arousal in her voice wasn't obvious.
"Immensely." The doctor grinned. "This is the most alive I've seen San in…" She counted on her fingers. "Ever." Then she shook her head, eyes and shoulders drooping. "Won't work out, though."
Rachel tried asking what that meant, but a half-eaten slice of pizza got shoved into her open mouth.
Hazel eyes danced with mirth and a hint of trepidation. Guilt for putting the fright in that gaze speared Rachel's heart and she was resolved: they could either be afraid together or not at all. She liked the "no fear" option. She took a bite.
Chewing and swallowing down the vegan calorie festival headed for her stomach, Rachel returned the favor. She grabbed Quinn's nose, squeezing it until that strong jaw unlocked, then forced the pizza past her lips and smirked.
Quinn chucked the food to the side and trapped Rachel with her legs, reversing their position from this morning's indecency. Rachel's hands playfully pushed at muscled thighs, then arms when that failed to free her. Her wife snickered at her wriggling and imprisoned her wrists, eliciting the same carnal response as their early morning fight.
Instead of using the steady grip as a restraint, Quinn brought their gathered hands to her fair-skinned chest, exposed by the cut of the tank top. She wobbled but was held fast and secure, and a perfect nose brushed along the length of her imperfect one. All she had to do was tilt her chin upward and she'd be there, kissing Quinn again. Better than before.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but that's all she heard. Shouldn't there be a mêlée of malcontent non-witticisms currently happening? She didn't lean up, but tilted back. Only enough to search for the fiery duo and hope there weren't bodies on the linoleum—dead, or otherwise occupied. What she saw was a truce of sorts. Santana and Clarissa watched them, each with a grin.
"Yes?" Rachel asked. When in doubt, she went the route of the haughty. "May we help you?"
Quinn released her wrists but her hands naturally settled on the blonde's chest, palms down and fingertips trailing along a prominent collarbone. The doctor's staccato heartbeat and the throbbing of the vein running along the side of her neck were about to be Rachel's undoing. She forced her sights to remain on the other women.
"Watching you two is like watching really classy porn. All intimate and sweet before the hardcore fuc—"
"Santana!" Quinn's shout made them all flinch.
Kill her now, Lord. Just do it now. Rachel's hands fell away, landing on either side of Quinn on the granite surface of the counter. Santana Lopez was the bane of her existence.
"What? I lived with her. I know exactly what you two got up to. Some weekends you didn't leave the freakin' apartment. Also, point of order, did you think I wouldn't notice the amount of my Shunga body paint diminishing with every visit? Really?"
Santana's tone went from indignant to a more subdued yet pretentious snark.
"Now, I didn't say anything at the time because I'm a lady and we's don't discuss such things, but it would have been nice to be asked, you know? Common courtesy. Although, I did like the new bottle you got me for my birthday that one year. If I hadn't known what you two sex fiends were up to I woulda thought it was an invitation for a threesome—which I totes woulda been down with, bee tee dubs—but it was a nice gesture. The original Vanilla and Chocolate Temptation tasted better, but the strawberries and champagne flavor did not go unappreciated. Side note: now that this is all out in the open, did you ever try that stuff on food instead of just licking it off each other's tits? I swear it was better than Nutella. Damn, hold up," she paused, pulling out her phone and speaking to it. "Reminder: buy Shunga body paint."
The automated voice agreed, and Santana nodded thoughtfully.
"Cool, ain'ts had that shit in years," she mumbled to no one in particular, then replaced the device in the front pocket of the borrowed sports fleece she wore and looked at them all. "Aight, what was I saying?"
No one moved in the silence of the kitchen. Rachel's brain misfired, and her mouth dangled wide. Disbelieving eyes carried over the space. Clarissa's face went scarlet. Eyes that'd deepened to indigo met hers but quickly darted away and the younger woman chugged down the glass of orange juice. Rachel studied Quinn, but only peripherally. Now was not the time to walk down kinky memory lane and reminisce about what the pre-med undergraduate moonlighting as an art student could do with a bottle of edible body paint and an authentic bamboo calligraphy brush. Which had been purchased new instead of using the kitschy, sponge-tipped imitation one from the manufacturer. Quinn invested in a set of genuine art tools as opposed to buying their own Shunga paint, however, because she knew it'd irritate Santana, and Rachel admittedly liked the naughtiness of harmless stealing on top of using the product at all. But the idea of sharing the same applicator as their friend held infinite squik factor.
Quinn's lips squashed in a tight line, cheeks blazing, and her eyes bulged at the insouciant lawyer who'd spoken as though they were discussing the weather.
Santana herself looked indifferent and picked up her burger. "Fuck I'm hungry." She bit into it, moaning. Seduction successful.
It started as a low rumble in her belly. Then it bubbled up in her chest, shaking her, until it broke free and charged out of her mouth and pervaded the room, echoing off every surface of the kitchen.
Rachel laughed.
And couldn't stop.
She laughed until her eyes watered and her cheeks ached. The diva's frame shook harder, and her head flew back as her mouth opened wide in delight. Maybe it was delight. It could have been exhaustion or merely the moment's coping method. Whatever it was, it felt good. Like nothing was wrong and her life hadn't gone so far off course at it seemed and everything would be okay. It wasn't true. They couldn't pretend nothing happened or that all was well. But for now it just felt so fucking good not to give a damn. Not to control things. Not to sort out what she felt from what she was supposed to feel. Not try to fix things. Yet. They had time. She'd make sure of it. Later, they'd talk and figure out where they were and where they were going. But for now, she surrendered.
Attempting to stifle the cacophony would be foolhardy. So she relaxed into Quinn, still front to front. Then the arms, the ones that held her like no other's, pulled her even closer.
"It took you twenty years to say that, San?" Quinn asked.
"What? Not like it comes up a lot."
Yes it did. Santana Lopez pontificated on sex and anything related to it all the time. Why this conversation was long overdue didn't matter to Rachel, however. Because her wife was chuckling along with her. So what if it took twenty years to say? It was said and done and Quinn's tongue was nestled in the corner of the doctor's mouth, lips parted in a wide grin.
There it was.
"I missed that smile," Rachel said quietly, calm.
Quinn's smile blossomed all the more and her voice was tentative, but light. "I missed that laugh."
Rachel looked at her wife with a new kind of wonder, knowing she wanted to say more but not certain what.
Santana's timely vulgarity butted in. "Unless you two are actually gonna kiss and give me dinner and show, knock it the fuck off. This "will they won't they" BS is ruining my appetite."
No one told Rachel Fabray-Berry when she could and could not kiss her wife.
Her hands shot up from the countertop, and grabbed. One circled Quinn's waist, the other fastened to the nape of her neck. She raked her fingers upward through messy hair and urged Quinn's face to hers. If the blonde had any misgivings about their situation, she didn't show it. Instead, her eyes spoke directly to the contrary. They weren't hazel. Nor were they angry jade. They were emerald, deep and lustrous and holding Rachel completely enthralled. Everything went into overload. Blood racing, heat thumping, breath catching skin tingling and every other cliché applied in this situation. Something just shifted between them. She didn't know what it was, but everything in that gaze told her this wouldn't be a quick and dirty reprise this morning. Neither was it simply a recalcitrant act to shut Santana's yapping mouth. Calm settled around her and she kissed the lips in front of hers. It was slow and coaxing. It was tender, yes, but the brunette tasted desperation behind it. She tried to swallow it down but got Quinn's moan instead. The kiss was…awesome. There were tongues brushing and little licks, but it was still youthful and perhaps a little scared.
Rachel timed the strokes of her tongue with the strokes of her fingers in cornsilk hair.
Quinn's sigh turned into a growl and she took over. She tried, rather, but the brunette wasn't having it. Their tongues bandied back and forth, trading mouths while sinewy arms tightened around her, forcing her on her toes while the doctor explored. Quinn locked her hands at the small of Rachel's back, holding her hostage against a softly toned figure and the edge of the counter stabbing into her abdomen. However, all discomfort was replaced with the delirious pleasure of the blonde's tongue sweeping throughout her mouth and of their chests rubbing together. Rachel's back arched more, pushing them further against each other. She reveled in the throaty growl it procured and smiled against Quinn's mouth. She was kissing her wife.
Daring teeth nibbled her lip as her fingers teased the sensitive skin of Quinn's scalp. The shiver that rocketed through them both was enough of a jolt to break the kiss. Though unwilling to let go, Rachel angled her head back to look at her. Heavy lids blinked, revealing eyes so dark they couldn't rightfully be called hazel or emerald or any other shade of green, vividly contrasting with bright pink cheeks and swollen red lips. Rachel saw her reflection in those dilated pupils and let out a shaky breath. She was beautiful in Quinn's eyes.
An exaggerated sniffle sounded to their right. The couple turned to see the most coldblooded, calculating, and all around callous bitch in the world pretending to wipe a tear from underneath her sunglasses. "So fuckin' sweet."
"I agree, actually." Clarissa was intensely focused on her phone, frowning, then up at them. She looked sad. "Everyone's on their way back."
The actress sighed and rested her forehead in the crook of her wife's neck. Partly because she wasn't able to deal with how confused she felt, and partly because she wasn't sure if she could look at the blonde again without kissing her.
"Ready for round two?" Quinn asked.
Rachel sucked in a breath, mustering all the professionalism, skill, equanimity, and geniality she had left and straightened. "As I'll ever be."