A/N: Lots of intimacy of various pairings in this update, so proceed with caution.
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Let me take the friction from your lips
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Lulu drops her off in Baltimore on her way back to New Haven with Lucas and Rob. It's almost noon when they've navigated through the city to get Quinn to the bus station, and by the time she's arranged her ticket and sat on the bus for about four hours to make it to Port Authority, it's dinnertime.
There's no phone service in the lowest level of the bus depot, so because Quinn is angrily scowling at her phone and willing it to send the text to Rachel that she's here, she made it, it takes her a moment to even realize that, when she comes up the escalator, Rachel is barely ten feet from her.
Quinn stops. People stream around her on both sides, dragging luggage, but for a moment all she can see is Rachel, in a winter hat with faux fur and earflaps and a pea coat, bare legs and the hem of a skirt peeking out, gripping her own phone tightly in her hand and staring, smiling anxiously.
She moves, then, dragging her own luggage, and Rachel moves toward her, too, and it's almost immediate but not quick enough how soon Rachel is in her arms. She buries her nose down, trying to get to Rachel's hair under that ridiculous earflap, trying to breathe in her scent, her floral shampoo, her vanilla lotion, her.
Rachel draws away just enough that Quinn takes it as an invitation, and moves a hand up to Rachel's jaw to gently steady her head. Rachel's eyes are dark, nervous and inviting, and Quinn dips her head down to kiss her.
It's a brief kiss—they're in public, after all, and the reality of it makes Quinn's heart hammer so hard she can't ignore the sudden wave of self-consciousness and slight terror. She draws away, feeling breathless. "Sorry," she murmurs, "I just…I couldn't resist."
"Don't apologize," Rachel's voice trembles, "I had no desire to stop you."
That makes Quinn grin, shyly, and Rachel's expression relaxes similarly, until Rachel is reaching for the handle of Quinn's luggage and saying, "Come on. We have to switch trains to get home from here, very exciting!" Rachel wiggles her eyebrows, and Quinn snorts.
By the time they make it back to Rachel's apartment, it's settled into a strange sort of awkwardness, because this part is so familiar. This is the part where they are friends, where they sit together and order takeout and watch TV together. Where they enjoy the company of Kurt and Santana, people who Quinn is very much not interested in seeing right now, because she wants Rachel alone.
But there's Kurt, bustling around in the kitchen, making a quesadilla, and Santana, still in her pajamas, watching Bob's Burgers. Santana glances over and lifts her chin in greeting, "Fabgay."
"Shut up," Quinn returns. Santana shoots her a smirk and Quinn feels weirdly exposed, because she knows Santana knows, and she knows Kurt knows, not just about her being gay but about her feelings for Rachel, and she'll be under their scrutiny, and she's not ready to tell anyone what she and Rachel are still figuring out.
"Be nice," Rachel chastises Santana, who ignores her, while Kurt lifts a spatula in greeting to Quinn, who waves in return.
When they close the door to Rachel and Santana's bedroom, Quinn feels like she can breathe again. Rachel gives her a shy smile as they tuck her luggage into the corner of the room. "You okay?" Rachel asks quietly.
"It's weird all of a sudden," Quinn confesses.
"I know what you mean," Rachel murmurs, "I haven't told them anything, but I want to, but I want things to get settled between us first."
"Same," Quinn says briefly. Rachel reaches over to rub her back, and Quinn can't help that her eyes dart to the bedroom door, as if anticipating that Santana will walk in the moment they do anything remotely affectionate. Rachel glances, too, and her hand drops. She smiles nervously. The door being closed is conspicuous in and of itself, so they exit the room quickly.
It turns out that, to save money, Rachel has gone shopping for lots of meal components so she and Quinn don't have to buy restaurant meals every day that Quinn is visiting for the next almost two weeks. Rachel offers to make some pasta, but Quinn just shakes her head and says she'll make it. She's starving, and she can guarantee she'll make it faster (and better) than Rachel might (though Rachel is getting a lot better at cooking; she would have starved if she weren't). Santana's head lifts and turns, and she casts an interested glance toward Quinn, who is currently taking over the stove Kurt just vacated, and Quinn rolls her eyes and agrees to make enough for Santana.
And the evening is surreal. They try to act like nothing is different as they sit with Santana and Kurt and eat dinner while watching TV. Kurt ends up going to his room fairly early to wind down after a long day, and Santana heads to work not long after.
Quinn and Rachel sit on the couch together, continuing to watch TV, for several more minutes before Rachel finally turns to Quinn and asks, "Should we…go to the room?"
"Yeah," Quinn answers. She follows Rachel into the bedroom she shares with Santana, her body humming. She can't wait to kiss again.
When Rachel pulls her down next to her on the bed and connects their lips, Quinn sighs in contentment and scoots closer. Despite the fact that it isn't the first time Quinn has kissed a woman, it feels like it is, and she doesn't know where to put her hands, or really how to position their bodies, so she leaves her body awkwardly stiff and still while their mouths move together.
Given that they're doing nothing but kissing, it actually continues for quite awhile before Rachel finally pulls away and murmurs, "We should talk, huh?"
"Yeah," Quinn rasps. Her voice is barely working, probably because she's so breathless.
"So I…" Rachel begins, then stops, and frowns. "I don't know how to start this."
Quinn shrugs, "I don't really either."
"I'm scared," Rachel admits.
"You and me both," Quinn acknowledges.
"I just…" Rachel's mouth twists. "It's stupid and cowardly. But a part of me is scared to make this public because I don't want to see the negative reactions we might get. I only just realized that…women were an option for me recently. I haven't yet digested the fact that I may face discrimination for being a sexual minority."
"I'm scared of that, too," Quinn admits. It's really just the tip of the iceberg, for all the things she's afraid of. She remembers the look on her father's face when he found out she was pregnant and she just imagines it, magnified, on the faces of everyone she knows, when they find out.
"But I want to try with you!" Rachel says passionately, "I really do."
"I'm scared of messing up our friendship," Quinn blurts.
"Yes!" Rachel replies, "I am, too. I tried so hard, and for so many years to be your friend. And we are, now. I never want to lose that. I want you in my life, always."
It's bittersweet to hear, because a part of Quinn worries that this is probably impossible. They probably will fuck this up, and never talk again, and Rachel will find a nice leading man and get married and have a perfectly non-queer appearing life, and Quinn will just have a nurse her broken heart like she has for the past like, three years, or…
Yeah, it scares her to lose Rachel, to lose the one person who always seemed to believe in her. The one person she always believed in in return.
So she just smiles, tries not to think too hard about it, and says, "I want to be in your life always, too. And if we stop here, and now? We'll already have ruined our friendship. We'll regret this."
"You're right," Rachel nods.
"So…" Quinn says.
"We should try this."
"Yeah."
"…Can we keep it quiet? Just for now?"
"Yeah," Quinn nods.
"I might want to tell Santana and Kurt, after your break. I don't want them to know while you're here."
"I don't know when I want to tell my friends at Yale. Maybe after break. I don't know."
"Okay," Rachel smiles. "So these weeks you're here…are our weeks. Just us."
Quinn laughs, a little, "Well, Santana and Kurt will be here, too. And they might think it's weird if I don't want to hang out with them."
Rachel scoffs a little, but smiles. "We'll hang out with them, of course. But when Santana goes to work…this room is ours."
There's a glint in Rachel's eye that causes Quinn's stomach to leap. "Oh. Um."
"And this bed, of course," Rachel smirks.
Quinn can feel herself blushing, "I…I don't know."
Rachel laughs a little, "God, you're so cute when you're flustered. The bed is for sleeping, silly. And making out, of course. But I know we're not ready for anything else."
Quinn swallows, because just hearing Rachel talk about "anything else" is putting all kinds of images in her mind.
Rachel is grinning up at her, and, stomach flipping, Quinn leans over to kiss her again, her hand now threading into the hair on the back of her head. It's more natural now, like her body is waking up. It's not at all like making out with boys, when she was overly conscious of everything her body did, trying to both keep him interested and keep it tame. This is what feels right. What she wants to do. And it isn't long before Rachel is pulling her to lay next to her on the bed, still kissing.
She's getting better at this making-out-with-girls thing.
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Feelin' is easy, I know
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She has a date.
She, like, kinda had a date a few weeks ago, but that was in the context of a Brittany-approved dalliance.
Now, it's like a legit date. She's unattached (officially, if not really in her heart), and she's going to go out for dinner with a cute blonde.
It's Friday night, and Quinn has been here most of the week. They hung out a little bit Wednesday night when Santana was off, although apparently because Quinn and Rachel had spent the day wandering around after Rachel got out of class, they were tired and went to bed early. Whatever. She has to admit she's been looking forward to Quinn's visit, has kind of wanted to find a way to sit her down and tell her what happened between her and Brittany, but even when Rachel is in class, Quinn is apparently off doing her own thing. It's weird. And next week is Rachel's spring break, so she and Quinn will probably be attached at the hip like a pair of awkward unrequited twins.
Quinn really is a stupid lovesick puppy. Not that Santana knows anything about that.
It's around 6 in the evening, and Quinn and Rachel have come back from whatever they were doing in the city, giggling as they enter the apartment and stomp rock salt off their shoes. Kurt is still at work, so Santana hasn't been especially careful about remaining entirely dressed in the apartment. She's currently in black jeans and a bra.
Rachel and Quinn both kind of stop when they notice her standing there. Rachel appears pretty neutral—they are fairly used to see each other in various states of undress—and just says, "Hello, Santana! Aren't you off tonight?"
Quinn, on the other hand, is averting her eyes completely, in an embarrassingly obvious way. It makes Santana want to smack her. They spent years together in the Cheerios locker room, there's no reason to be so modest now. So Santana answers, "Yeah, I'm off. Tell Queer Fabgay to chill. It's nothing she hasn't seen before."
Quinn glares, and she is blushing now, so Santana smirks. Rachel, however, is assessing her appearance more now, "I was expecting you to be in lounge clothes, I suppose. Do you have plans?"
"Yeah. Unlike you people, I have game. I'm going to get laid tonight." Well. It's not a sure thing. But she's pretty sure she can make it happen.
They both stare at her with arch expressions until Rachel shakes her head, "Right. You and Brittany are open, I keep forgetting that."
"Maybe because Santana hasn't gotten laid from it before," Quinn shoots.
"That you know of," Santana growls, hoping it doesn't sound like the lie it is.
Quinn doesn't have an easy retort, so she ignores them as they go back to focusing on each other, sitting down together to eat takeout and watch TV, and continues to get ready for her date.
She meets Angela in downtown Brooklyn, this time for Thai food, and it's snowing lightly, on top of some afternoon accumulation. Angela's dressed in a long skirt and a red jacket, a somehow very appealing combination, with flakes of late winter snow sticking to her beanie. Santana grins, and they lean in for an awkward hug.
"You can get meat this time," Angela smirks as they go inside together.
"Thank god," Santana rolls her eyes, "Keep it up, you might get somewhere."
Angela laughs a little, and they head inside. There's silence as they peruse the menu, but once they order, Angela rests her elbows on the table and says, "I really was sorry to hear about you and your girlfriend breaking up."
Santana shrugs and looks away, "Well. She says it's a break, until she moves up here, so, I'm really not in the market for a girlfriend."
Angela snorts, "Please, I'm too old to date you. I'm not looking for a girlfriend either."
She's barely older than Santana, really, but it makes her feel like a kid for a moment, and it's an uncomfortable feeling.
Dinner is good, and they talk a little about television, and playfully complain about work. Afterward, Angela reaches for the check, and Santana totally lets her. She makes more and gets more hours than Santana, after all.
"So," Angela smiles, once they're standing outside of the Thai place.
"If you're asking if I'm DTF, the answer is yes," Santana smirks.
Angela laughs, "Man, you make this so easy. You're the perfect fuckbuddy."
"You have no idea," Santana winks, and cringes because it's cheesy as hell, but it makes Angela laugh again.
"So, where to?"
"Well, uh, my place is kind of out of the question. I don't have my own room…"
"Ah. Right. Okay. Well, we should be able to go to my place. My roommates might be home, but I doubt they'll care."
"Cool," Santana nods, "Let's go."
They get on the train, and Angela's stop is several before Santana's, in a slightly nicer neighborhood. They catch a bus to her apartment, which is a small three bedroom. A lady probably in her late twenties gives them an unconcerned greeting as they come in and take their shoes off next to the door, and they basically go straight to Angela's bedroom. It's small and crowded with furniture, books, and a messy desk covered in school supplies.
Santana does what she always does when she starts an encounter with Brittany: she takes control and starts taking off clothes.
Except Angela doesn't really cooperate. She just laughs a little and says, "What are you doing?"
"Getting you ready to go," Santana replies. She gestures to Angela's clothing. "These are in the way."
Angela shakes her head, "Damn, someone's eager. Haven't you heard of foreplay?"
"You mean fingering and oral? Yeah, let me get to that."
There's a long pause as Angela regards her, then says, "Okay…let's back up a moment."
Santana huffs, but drops her hands, "Sorry, what?"
"I consider fingering and oral to be sex."
Santana chuckles, "Well, yeah, so do I, but everybody else calls it foreplay."
"That's what I mean. Foreplay means something different to me than what some straight people might call foreplay. I mean, maybe you're ready to go already, but I'm not."
"What do you want me to do?" Santana frowns.
"I'll show you," Angela says, and presses Santana against the door.
She's kissing her, and trailing her hands over her body lightly, really not even touching anywhere that interesting. She just keeps kissing, trailing her lips over Santana's face and neck, until Santana starts to feel uncomfortable with the level of tenderness being shown here. She tolerates it until she finds herself pressing back, trying to gain leverage to unpin herself from the door.
Angela moves back, and smiles a little, "See? You're getting even more worked up."
Santana takes stock of her body for a moment and realizes it is kind of true. But it's half from erotic tension and half from discomfort with this sort of contact. "So you want me to like, kiss you for an hour to get you wet?"
Angela laughs and pulls her toward the bed, then reclines on it, "Well, kissing helps. Touch me, too. Touch my tits. You can pin my wrists, too, I like that."
So Santana does. Maybe it's being on top, being in control, and the fact that kissing all over Angela like this feels less like they're in some flowery romance novel. She kisses harder than Angela kissed her, and palms her breasts with more force, but Angela seems to like it, if the way she's bucking her hips up and giving encouraging little "yeah"s is any indication. Santana moves her own hips away, and grins wickedly at the groan of frustration this earns her.
She reflects that, with Brittany, there was never much need or even much time to warm up like this. They learned about sex from each other, they knew Freshman year how to get each other off. And so much of it was in secret, with the terror of being discovered, that it was quick and dirty, and something they anticipated so much that they were both dripping the moment they were alone together.
They just had some connection, where just words or a look were enough foreplay for them, to the point that Santana never even thought about the ways they'd kiss and play before sex to be foreplay at all, just affection. But, Santana reflects, that isn't what she has with Angela. They have to learn each other. And topping her like this…yeah, it's doing it for Santana. She's getting so horny she's practically on fire.
When she goes to remove Angela's clothes, this time, she lets her, and when they're down to their panties, they're grinding together, Santana circling her hips down into Angela's. Angela moves and shifts, but can't seem to find a comfortable way to grind back, so she flips them, and tosses Santana onto her back, and asks, "Tell me what you like."
Santana shrugs awkwardly. It's surprisingly difficult to talk about, with someone who isn't Brittany.
Angela watches her face, "Let's just stick with hands, for tonight?"
"Sure," Santana shrugs.
"How do you like to be touched?"
Santana squirms, "Well, touch me and I'll tell you."
Angela is pulling down her panties, and touching, gently, with two fingers, rubbing and circling, watching Santana's face, searching for a reaction.
Santana isn't really sure what to do but breathe as she waits for a touch to feel right, but for the first several moments, it's just awkward, being touched by someone who doesn't know just the right amount of pressure, the right pattern of strokes.
"Do you like to be touched inside?" Angela asks.
"Sure," Santana croaks, and hears herself moan as fingers slip inside. And then there's a thumb on her clit, and Angela is leaning over her, kissing her harshly—perhaps taking the hint from the way Santana kissed her before—and nibbling and sucking on her lips and neck and breasts.
It's takes a bit of time, before Angela's hand does something Santana's has never quite felt before. Something about the way her fingers twist and press inside, the way her thumb presses rapidly, makes Santana's eyes bulge and a desperate noise escape her.
"Is that okay?" Angela asks.
Santana moans affirmatively, and Angela smirks and repeats the action, lowering her mouth again onto Santana's nipple. Santana lifts a hand to grip Angela's hair, and the orgasm builds so quickly that Santana's really doesn't even have the foresight to try to be quiet as she erupts with moans.
"Holy fuck," she murmurs, vision clearing.
Angela chuckles, "Are you okay there?"
"Yeah, I…how did you…?"
"Trial and error," Angela shrugs, "You're not very talkative, you know."
It's playful, but it makes Santana feel a bit sheepish. "Yeah. Sorry. It's weird, I guess, figuring out how to do this with somebody new."
"Here I thought you were gonna rock my socks off," Angela smirks.
Santana sits up, "You haven't seen anything yet." She wrestles her onto her back, pinning her hands, "You sure seemed to like it when I was in charge," she rolls her hips down, pressing her thigh between Angela's legs.
Angela stifles a gasp, "Yeah. I do like it. And I like to be finger fucked, hard and fast and deep. If you're good enough, you'll probably just barely need to touch my clit."
Heat rises on Santana's face, but she's not blushing, it's arousal. "Is that a challenge?"
"You up for it?" Angela smirks.
"Fuck yeah," Santana promises, and, keeping one arm pinned, starts peeling Angela's underpants off her legs.
She guesses there might be something to be said for straight up saying what you want, because she gets Angela off in two minutes. And she barely touches her clit.
As they lay next to each other, not cuddling, just comfortably catching their breath together, Santana reflects that she's had sex without feelings before, back when she was having sex with men. There were different motivations then, different objectives. This is sex purely for the pleasure of having it with someone she enjoys and is attracted to, but is not connected with intimately.
And she wants to do it again. It was different. It was fun. It was surprisingly easy, and she realizes gradually that even if she is in no way over Brittany, she doesn't feel guilty or hurt that the woman she just had sex with wasn't her.
If nothing else, she's acquiring new skills to bring to the bedroom to wow Brittany when they are back together.
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Play the game, namely love, play it like you have nothing to lose
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She goes home after a few grateful kisses with Angela and promises to do this again sometime soon. Quinn and Rachel are both sitting in the bedroom on Rachel's bed, which is weird because they're not in pajamas yet, so she goes back out to the living room to watch what she wants on TV. Their loss. Still, she actually manages to fall asleep before dawn. The excitement of all the sex must've worn her out a bit.
So she wakes up around noon, quite early for her, and ambles out into the kitchen to get some coffee started. It probably takes a full minute before she realizes Quinn is sitting on the armchair, reading a book.
"Hey. Where's Rachel?" she asks sleepily, because so far this week they really haven't been apart.
"She works at the clothing store today," Quinn reports, "I figured I'd head downtown to meet her a little later this afternoon.
"Ah. Kurt?"
"I'm pretty sure Rachel said he had a fashion shoot to work on today."
"Good for him," she responds without much emphasis.
It isn't until she's sitting down on the couch with her breakfast that she realizes that she can finally talk to Quinn alone, tell her about Brittany.
"So. We've got to talk."
Quinn casts her a dangerous glance and says quickly, "No we don't."
Santana is hurt, "Um, why the fuck not? What did I do to you?"
"Nothing."
Santana tries to think, "Did…did she talk to you already?"
"Well we are obviously talking," Quinn responds with an eye roll.
Santana's not sure how it's at all obvious that Quinn and Brittany have been talking, "Listen, if it's about last night—"
"There's nothing to talk about," Quinn snaps.
"If you have been talking, you'd know it's obviously not a problem. I have every right to do what I did last night." She wonders if Quinn is really going to judge her so hard for doing what Brittany would have okayed even if they were still together. Is Quinn that hostile to open relationships?
"I…" Quinn stops. She looks at Santana. "Wait. What are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?" Santana asks, baffled. "I'm here trying to tell you something important and you're getting all defensive about god knows what."
Quinn rubs at her face and sighs, "I'm sorry. I thought…never mind. Tell me what's going on."
"Well," Santana swallows and looks down into her cup of coffee. "Brittany and I broke up."
Quinn stares at her, speechless, for a long moment, "What?"
Santana shrugs, "It's…a thing. It's supposed to be a break, because she's still planning to come up here after high school, and we'll get back together then. But for now…we're broken up."
Quinn is shaking her head, "That's…I never thought that would happen. I'm so sorry, San."
Her eyes feel teary, then, and perhaps it's because it's the nickname that mostly Brittany uses for her. She shrugs again, because she doesn't know what else to do with her body language. "It's okay. I mean, at least I know it's not forever. And in the meantime, yeah, I'm absolutely going to have sex with other women."
"Well. That's good," Quinn is abruptly prudish, even her posture is different.
They sit in silence for a few moments, while Santana eats, then Quinn ventures a question, "So does this change your mind? About how you need to start preparing for your own future and not just rely on Brittany's?"
"Fuck off," Santana responds, "Nothing has changed. Our futures are still together."
"I just think—"
Santana interrupts, "No, we're not talking about this. Instead, we're going to talk about what you thought I was talking about at the beginning of this conversation. What happened last night that you are freaking out about?"
Quinn's mouth snaps shut. "Nothing," she grits out.
Santana scowls, "Well, it can't be seeing me in a bra, because that's nothing new. It can't be me getting laid, because like, I can only think you might be jealous, not pissed. It must be…something to do with Rachel." At Quinn's sour expression, she presses, "It is, isn't it? What's happening to you? Fuck, you're not getting yourself hurt, are you?"
"No," Quinn deflates a little.
"Then what?! Tell me, Quinn. Anything that gets you this defensive is something you have to talk about."
Quinn sits with her arms folded for almost a full minute. Santana just sits silently and resists the urge to even continue eating her cereal or drinking her coffee. She just looks past Quinn, non-threateningly, and waits.
Finally, Quinn speaks. "We…didn't think we were quite ready to tell anyone, but I think I do want to. Rachel and I are…together."
Santana stares, "Wait, together together!?" She blinks, "Damn, how did that happen?"
"She realized she had feelings for me, and of course, you know how I've been feeling…"
"But she…"
"Yeah," Quinn gnaws her lip, "I know. She thought she wasn't capable of romantic feeling for women. But the way she is with me…I mean, I can't read her mind, but it sure feels like there are romantic feelings…"
"Well, good," Santana frowns, "So what's got your panties in a twist?"
Quinn's mouth twists, "Other than being terrified she'll realize what she's feeling for me isn't romantic? I'm scared of screwing it up."
"Well, sure," Santana says reasonably, "I felt that way with Brittany, because she was the first person I was with that I really felt something for, you know?"
"Yeah," Quinn answers emphatically. "Yeah, that's exactly it." She looks at Santana, "I was going to ask how not to mess it up, but…"
Santana looks away, "We didn't really…fuck it up. Distance fucked it up. But hell, Quinn, this is obvious. What was the thing that nearly destroyed your friendship?"
"Finn?" Quinn asks, scowling.
Santana rolls her eyes, "Okay, sort of, but no. You guys weren't talking. Listen, I'm happy to be one of your best friends, and one of Rachel's. I'm happy to listen and help you both sort this shit out, that's what I'm here for. But what you really need to be doing is talking to Rachel about these fears, and how you're feeling. You two need to fucking communicate. Because not communicating nearly destroyed your friendship, and it sure as shit will destroy your relationship." She thinks, if she and Brittany hadn't been communicating, their relationship might have ended messily, without any promises to reconnect. There could have been many more hurt feelings.
Quinn thinks for a moment. "That's…actually pretty solid advice," she admits.
Santana spreads her hands, "What can I say, if there's one thing I know, it's bitches."
"Right," Quinn rolls her eyes affectionately.
Santana smirks, then her expression changes, "Wait, you were all defensive earlier, what have you been doing in my bedroom?!"
Quinn chuckles, "Calm down. Nothing. Kissing. That's it."
"That's it?!" Santana asks incredulously, "Damn, you move slow."
"It's been like literally two weeks, Santana."
"Still."
Santana shakes her head, "You're ridiculous."
"Rachel is planning to tell you and Kurt after I leave, so…you should pretend you don't know."
Santana raises an eyebrow, "The first thing you want me to do is lie to your girlfriend for you?"
Quinn looks away, "Fine. I'll tell her. But you should still act surprised for Kurt's sake. You know how he feels thinking he's the last to know something."
"Uh huh," Santana responds, not entirely trusting that Quinn will tell Rachel. But, she supposes, it will be hard to teach Quinn to open up, when she's spent her whole life closely policing who knows what about her.
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If I were a salad, I know I'd be splashing my dressing
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There have been times in her life when opening up to Rachel Berry was easy.
But maybe because she's also simultaneously been keeping a giant secret from her for so long, it's also hard right now. Now that her feelings have been in the open, she feels like a dam in her mind has opened, and more secrets are struggling to spill out. But she's trying to control them, trying to assess which ones she should tell, and when.
Because all of a sudden, Rachel has more power over her than ever before. She has the power to break Quinn's heart intentionally, and it's the most terrifying power of all.
But Santana's right. Honesty is important.
Still, it isn't until a week later, the Saturday night before she is supposed to head back to Yale, that she finally gets up the courage to talk about some things.
They've had a good week. They've spent time in the city and in the apartment. Rachel took her to the Strand bookstore, a place in which Quinn lost about three hours of her life. They walked almost the entire length of Manhattan, visited the Natural History museum, explored Williamsburg, a place Quinn wanted to dislike but was oddly drawn to. And then in the evenings, they would make dinner, watch TV, and then make out for a long while before turning in, their bodies still humming with arousal.
Despite all this, they haven't talked a whole lot about their feelings, except when they kiss and Rachel will murmur against her lips, "Sometimes I still can't believe this is happening, you're so amazing," but Quinn isn't entirely sure if this is commentary on her kissing skills or Rachel trying to communicate how she's feeling.
So while Santana is at work, and she and Rachel are kissing on Rachel's bed, Quinn stops to say, "I want to talk about some things."
"Me, too," Rachel smiles, "These weeks have been so incredible."
"I agree," Quinn grins, too. "I just…I want to tell you some things."
Rachel sits up and regards her seriously, "Of course, Quinn. Tell me."
Quinn takes a deep breath. "Well. For one thing, I need to tell you that I made out with Stephanie."
Rachel's eyebrows rise, "Your roommate?"
"Yes, a couple months ago. There was a period of several days that we were just…kissing. A lot."
Rachel inhales deeply and seems to process this. "Okay. Okay, I guess I can understand how that would happen." Her mouth is barely moving.
Quinn is terrified that she's already ruined everything, but she knows she needs to tell. "It ended when Stephanie…masturbated in front of me. I wasn't really aware of what she was doing until she was coming, but it was too much, too soon. I wasn't ready. Things were tense between us for awhile, but they've calmed down. We're friendly again. She maintains that she is straight, and she knows that I am gay, and I don't think either of us want to repeat what occurred."
"Well I should hope not," Rachel responds haughtily, "Quinn, I want you to make sure she knows you have a girlfriend when you go back to Yale."
Quinn shakes her head, "I was planning to, but Rachel, I am telling you this because I want you to trust me. I can't control who I live with, and she's part of my friend group, so I will be spending time with her. Just like you'll inevitably be spending time with the classmate you fooled around with."
Rachel seems to subside a little. "I understand. I just haven't wanted to think about how once you leave tomorrow, we're long distance. I know we won't even be able to spend every weekend together…"
"Which is all the more reason we need to be able to trust each other."
"I do trust you," Rachel says simply. "I just hope you can trust me. I know that…me only recently realizing that I have romantic feelings for women probably isn't very comforting for you, when my romances with men have been well-documented."
Quinn nods awkwardly, "But I also get how this is scary for you, because it's scary for us both, and I tell myself you wouldn't be trying to do this with me if you weren't serious about it."
"Right." Rachel breathes out, "We can keep working on building trust together."
"Yeah," Quinn agrees, "I want to be honest with how I'm feeling about all this, okay? I think it will help."
"Sure," Rachel turns her body so that she's facing Quinn even more. But for Quinn, this is almost too much, so she rolls onto her back to look at the ceiling.
"I've…had feelings for you for a long time," she confesses. She knows this isn't exactly news, but still, from her periphery, she can see Rachel beaming and turning a little pink. "So in some ways, this is a dream come true for me. In other ways, it's absolutely petrifying, because this is an aspect of my life that I dread my family finding out about."
Rachel nods, still listening.
"And because…I'm scared that we'll get hurt. I'm scared you'll discover that you're just…hot for me or something, that this isn't a romantic thing for you."
Rachel interrupts, "I don't know how else to express to you—"
"I know," Quinn interrupts right back, "I know, and every minute I spend with you convinces me more. It's nothing you're doing. It's my own stupid insecurity, my own tendency to always wait for the other shoe to drop, that is causing this right now. It's me. It's not you at all." This seems to placate Rachel, so Quinn continues with the other thing that's been bothering her for, well, years. "And I'm also still dealing with how to process the fact that despite the fact that I've wanted this for such a long time, I know that I never would have chosen this." She shakes her head, "If I'd had a choice, it would be men. But I don't, and I'm finding my happiness with women, with you, but it's still so hard to just let myself enjoy this happiness."
Rachel is quiet for a long moment and then says softly, "Quinn, no one would ever choose to be gay, or to fall for someone of the same sex. That's why it's so hard."
"I know," Quinn answers, "But I just need you to know that as much as I'm on cloud nine finally being able to kiss you, inside I'm still petrified and struggling."
"So am I," Rachel answers softly, "About how I can be out. About how it might make me seem to potential directors. Which is why…I don't want to dwell on this stuff the last night you're here with me. I just want to…" she leans over, tentatively, to connect their lips.
Quinn's mind is firing off even more fears at that revelation, of Rachel's fear of how to be out professionally. It's both flattering, that Rachel is thinking so long-term about this, and terrifying, that she's thinking so long-term and that Quinn realizes that she could hold Rachel back someday.
Truthfully, it's easy enough to push all these fears away when Rachel moves to straddle Quinn, still kissing her. Quinn plays with her hair and runs her hands over Rachel's back as Rachel presses their bodies together, kissing all over Quinn's face and neck and lips.
And soon, Rachel is grabbing one of Quinn's hands, and lifting her body just enough that she can place Quinn's hand directly onto her breast, over her blouse.
Quinn's breathing stops, absolutely stops. She hasn't been able to bring herself to touch Rachel here yet, has been too terrified. Of what, she has no idea, but terrified nonetheless. But here's Rachel, her eyes both excited and worried, her head lifted now so that she can watch Quinn's face.
"Ohmygod," Quinn breathes. Her heart is hammering, her entire body feels hot, there's a tingling between her legs.
Rachel just watches her for a long time. "I want you to touch me," she whispers.
"I…" Quinn can barely breathe, let alone speak.
"Unbutton my shirt, Quinn," Rachel commands.
Quinn whimpers, but then her hands are moving, clumsily unbuttoning, until the blouse is just hanging there. Rachel slides it off her shoulders, and is there, straddling Quinn in her bra and skirt. Her eyes are expectant.
Quinn raises a tentative hand and touches Rachel's breasts, over her bra. Rachel's breath stutters, her eyelids flutter, and she looks at Quinn with very dark, almost feral eyes.
Her hand is moving, massaging the soft flesh. Rachel's breasts are much smaller than Stephanie's, but somehow better. They fit exactly into Quinn's palm, and the more she touches them, the more she begins to note the feeling of Rachel's nipples stiffening beneath her hands.
"You should remove my bra," Rachel murmurs. As far as dirty talk goes, it really doesn't qualify, but the effect it has on Quinn's arousal is profound, and she reaches both hands back. She struggles with the clasp for several long moments, feeling herself blush harder with every moment that goes by that the bra clasp bests her, until finally, the bra is falling away from a pair of gorgeous, perky breasts with dark, erect nipples.
Quinn can't stop staring at Rachel's bare upper body. She doesn't even want to touch the breasts at first, because then she wouldn't be able to see them, and all she wants to do is look and feel herself get wetter.
When it starts making Rachel self-conscious, Quinn raises a hand to stroke a thumb across one of her nipples. Rachel gasps and arches her back. "Oh, Quinn," she murmurs.
The words pound through Quinn's skull and she just touches gently for several long moments until she finally whispers, "Do you want to touch mine?"
Rachel's eyes widen and her mouth parts. She gives a few vigorous little nods and moves back off of Quinn a little so she can sit up some.
Unlike Rachel, Quinn had worn jeans today. She'd noticed the way Rachel's eyes lingered over her hips and backside when she did, and had decided that on their final day together this break, she would give Rachel something to remember. She surmises Rachel had a similar idea and had worn a skirt today to give Quinn plenty of thoughts about her long legs.
But still, it's fortunate, because it means she can actually be topless for Rachel without revealing too much; this would have been awkward if she'd been wearing a dress. And she doesn't make Rachel start touching over the shirt, she's too eager for that, she just sits up and takes off her shirt.
Rachel is simply staring, her mouth still parted. She wets her lips and closes them, swallows, and then reaches tentative hands over to touch Quinn's breasts over her bra. Quinn's breath hitches, and she watches Rachel's enthralled expression as she cups and presses them gently.
Quinn's body is humming, her brain is buzzing and all she wants is that bra out of the way. "Take it off," she breathes.
"Yes," Rachel murmurs, and moves her hands to remove the bra immediately. She actually does a little better than Quinn, and it's off quickly, and Quinn drops it beside the bed and leans back on her elbows, giving Rachel full access.
There's something in Rachel's awed expression that reminds her of Sam, of all people, of the way Sam would react the times they made out pretty vigorously back when they were dating. His expression was different than Finn's or Puck's. Finn always looked half-baffled, as though nothing about touching her body or the reactions of his own was comprehensible to him in those moments. Puck had disguised his actual expressions behind smirks, or he looked like he was concentrating—which he probably was. But Sam, like Rachel, didn't need bravado; he had just enough confidence to let his true expressions show, and they were often like the one Rachel wears now—completely entranced, completely gracious, as if she can't believe that something this good could happen to her.
Rachel lowers her hands to Quinn's bare breasts, and Quinn nearly hisses because of just how good it feels to be vulnerable in that moment. She's really never let anyone do this, get on top of her and touch a naked part of her body with tenderness and intimacy. Sex with Puck really didn't count, because there really wasn't much tender or intimate about that, but it comes closest. Even with Stephanie, the intimacy came from Stephanie touching herself, not Quinn.
Regardless, it's the first time Quinn really feels comfortable with this kind of experience, and, in that moment, letting go of the tight control she keeps over her body and its interactions with others feels exhilarating.
It emboldens her, and she shifts to lift one hand to bring back to Rachel's breasts. She's gentle at first, and then she pinches a nipple slightly. Rachel moans, and stifles it quickly.
"Oh my God. Do that again," Rachel breathlessly demands. So Quinn switches to the other nipple and does, and Rachel's entire body squirms on top of her, then lowers so that it covers her, and Rachel is kissing her, tongue gently parting her mouth, her bare breasts pressed against Quinn's own. Rachel shifts her body so that her hard nipples trace over Quinn's, and Quinn is squirming and breathless beneath her.
Rachel lowers her mouth in a line of kisses from Quinn's jaw and down her neck and collarbone. She trails her tongue lightly down the collarbone and sternum and then stops, her face between Quinn's breasts, and glances up at her. Quinn feels like her entire body is on fire, and she nods once, and then Rachel moves her mouth over to slip a nipple between her lips.
Quinn arches up off the bed at this, because this is new, this is incredible, and it feels like her entire body is being engulfed in a tingling wave of pleasure. Not like an orgasm, but simply the most powerful wave of arousal she's ever experienced. Her hand is fisted in Rachel's hair before she's really aware of it, her hips are rising. And she becomes aware of her clit throbbing, aching to be touched. "Rachel," she moans, trying to stifle it. Just saying it makes her blush harder.
Rachel lifts her head and grins. "Wow."
Quinn's entire body feels hot and she can't form any more words, she just releases a whimpery moan. Rachel leans down and kisses her face several times, "I can back off, if you need me to."
Quinn finds her voice, "It's really not that I want you to stop, but…yeah."
Rachel sits back on her heels and Quinn sits up across from her, breathing hard. She can't believe anything physical with another person can feel so good. It's like her body is waking up, like nerves she never knew existed are forging new paths to the pleasure centers of her brain.
And she wants Rachel to feel the same, so she reaches out a hand to gently grasp Rachel's breast. Rachel watches with eager eyes as Quinn slowly lowers her own head to flick her tongue lightly over the pert little nipple.
Rachel's back arches and her head falls back, "Oh my God, Quinn," she gasps, and Quinn just keeps moving her tongue over Rachel's nipple. Her other hand circles around Rachel's body, gently holding her in place, while Quinn moves her mouth over Rachel's nipples, kissing and licking and once gently grazing her teeth over them (which makes Rachel keen). When she stops, Rachel looks flushed and sweaty and looks at her with glazed eyes, and then they're kissing, messily and hungrily, until Rachel finally pulls herself away.
"Maybe we should…" she's breathing heavily.
"Yeah," Quinn agrees, "We should probably stop before this gets too intense."
"Yeah. I'm going to go take a shower, and then we should probably get some sleep. You have to go home tomorrow," she pouts.
"Yeah," Quinn feels her mood falling already.
When it's her turn to shower, she lets her hand fall between her legs. She's still so wet from everything that happened between them. She looks down, and sees what might be a little hickey on the upper swell of her left breast. She lets herself fall back against the wall of the shower as her hand moves between her legs. Images of Rachel's face, so open and aroused, flicker in her mind, as well as the feeling of Rachel's mouth on her breasts. For the first time, she dares to imagine what that mouth might feel like against her…but she stops herself, because those thoughts are still really petrifying. Instead, she thinks more about Rachel's breasts, Rachel's lips, and less about her hands and between her legs, and before too long, she's arching against the shower wall, holding her breath to keep from moaning aloud.
Her knees are shaking so hard it's difficult for her to wash up after she comes. It's really only the second time she's successfully had an orgasm, and this time…there is absolutely no guilt or shame to think about Rachel Berry as she comes.
She feels a lot calmer as she comes back to the bedroom, and abruptly wonders if Rachel had done the same thing in the shower, because she flashes Quinn a shy grin from the bed, an expression devoid of lingering uncontrollable passion. Quinn slips into bed next to her and they kiss, gently, for a long moment.
"I'm so sad you have to leave," Rachel whispers, burrowing against her neck.
"Me, too. But we'll be okay," Quinn replies, kissing her forehead.
"I know," Rachel responds, "And I just…I'm so glad you're my girlfriend, Quinn. I'm…almost excited to tell our friends."
Quinn hesitates, weighing her desire to be honest with Rachel with her desire to avoid disappointing her by defying their previous agreement. "About that. I actually told Santana. She was getting suspicious."
"Oh," Rachel's brow furrows, and she shrugs, "That's okay. I get it. She's one of your closest friends, this wasn't just my secret to keep from her."
"Yeah," Quinn whispers, "She's agreed to pretend she doesn't know, for Kurt's sake."
"Okay," Rachel sounds sleepy now, and nuzzles Quinn's neck.
Quinn holds her, and her heart feels like it might burst. As she falls asleep, she tries to remind herself that somehow, this is now a part of her life.
She is Rachel Berry's girlfriend, and tonight, she got to touch her boobs. Under the shirt, under the bra.
.
May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast
.
Quinn heads home the next day, in the late morning. Rachel accompanies her to Grand Central, and gives her a long, tight hug before she boards her train.
She tries not to feel devastated as she heads back to her apartment alone.
If she's honest, Quinn being there when she was had been exactly what she needed those past two weeks. She didn't particularly feel like her Amahl callback had gone that well, and having Quinn there meant that she didn't have to dwell on whether or not she'd totally bombed it. Now, she's expecting to hear back any day, and she can't help dwelling on it.
She also can't help dwelling on what she's going to say if she does get the part, because the more she thinks about Quinn's advice when she was first trying out, the more she thinks there might be some truth to it. She doesn't want the part itself so badly. It's not a great fit for her. Maybe she does just want a starring role Freshman year…
As she rides the train home, she thinks about it. It's not as though doing an opera is going to spoil her voice. If anything, it will just give her more practice. But it's hard for her. It doesn't feel like her singing when she sings in that style. She wonders if it would dull her voice if she did it a lot, rather than hone it. Maybe she should just stick to what she knows.
Or would it be impressive, to be able to perform in both musicals and operas?
She just doesn't know what would be the best move for her career, and a part of her wants to choose based on what would make her happy now rather than based on what would impress future directors. Would it help to pad her resume?
Without deciding, she goes home and works on some of the assignments she's neglected all break, which helps distract her. Although it's frustrating, too, because Passover begins the next night, and for the first time, she won't be with family for the seder. She's found a Jewish community seder to attend instead, at least for Monday night, and if it isn't too depressing, maybe Tuesday, too, but she's pretty sure she won't do very much observing otherwise, other than avoiding chametz. It's going to be a lonely Passover. She'll be in school all week.
In the evening, when Santana is awake and Kurt is home from his restaurant job, she sits down in the living room with them and clears her throat. "I would like to have a discussion with you both."
Kurt raises his eyebrows at her and shifts his attention away from the box of carryout he took home from work, while Santana reaches over to hit pause on the Wii.
"Do continue," Kurt instructs.
She smoothes her skirt and sits on the couch next to Santana, aware that she already knows and interested in how she will play it. "Well, I simply have some news. I feel it's only right to tell you that I am seeing someone."
She pauses for dramatic effect, and watches the faces of her friends. Santana is merely raising her eyebrows, her expression largely neutral. Kurt's eyes are wide. "Oh my god, who?!"
"For the past three weeks, I have been dating, unofficially and then officially, Quinn Fabray."
Kurt's mouth drops open, and he covers it with his hands. Santana looks at him, takes in his obvious shock, and rolls her eyes, "So basically, you're telling us you had your girlfriend here for two weeks without us knowing?"
Rachel scowls. She wasn't expecting Santana to play it this bitchy. "Well…yes, I suppose so."
"Well, that kind of sucks. What if I'd walked in on you?" Santana gripes.
"Well, you didn't."
"Yeah, but I could have."
"Santana, hush," Kurt instructs, "I'm just…" he fans his face, "I so wanted this to happen!" he squeals.
"You did?" Rachel asks in surprise..
"Once I realized she had feelings for you, a part of me hoped you'd find your way to each other."
Rachel raises her hands. "Wait. You knew?"
Kurt waves his, "Please, it was obvious once I found out she was gay."
Rachel sits stunned for a few moments, while Santana just puts her head in her hands and shakes it.
"It was?" she asks.
"Oh, sweetie," Kurt replies, "It's never obvious to the object of one's affections. Don't even worry about it."
"It's just…I don't know. We're both struggling with this and what it means and to hear that we've somehow been so transparent is…a little alarming."
"You're not," Santana assures, "It's just that we've seen the way Quinn acts around you for almost four years now. We were bound to put some pieces together."
"You knew, too?" Rachel sounds crestfallen.
"Oh my god, calm down," Santana scowls.
Kurt looks thoughtful, "So, I assume you're dating because you realized you have feelings for her, too?"
"Yeah," Rachel smiles, a little, "It was weird to realize, but…yes. I very much do." She frowns again, "It's just…I don't know. I just know I really, really like her. I don't know what to do with this fact, and who to tell, and how open to be."
"Take it at your own pace," Kurt advises, "We won't tell anyone," he adds.
"Of course not," Santana agrees.
"Not even Brittany or Blaine?" Rachel presses, noting the way Kurt's eyes gleam, as they always do when he knows something juicy.
Santana looks away as she says, "No way."
"Absolutely not," Kurt agrees at the same time, sounding solemn.
Rachel nods. It's still something really scary. It was nice to be out together in the city, which was so big they were essentially anonymous, and it didn't matter who saw them hold hands. Not that she still didn't feel hyper-aware of her surroundings anytime they did hold hands, especially when they were even remotely close to NYADA. Quinn felt the same way, she could tell. The way she looked around, Rachel could tell she felt exposed.
She's still also troubled by Quinn's struggle, and Quinn's assertion that she would never have chosen this. Even though she knows Quinn didn't mean any harm by it, it still felt like a knife in her heart, like some kind of judgment on the choice Rachel made, to acknowledge her attraction to women. Even though she is sure her life would have been less rich and pleasurable if she'd chosen to ignore the part of her that liked girls, there was still the illusion of choice in her identity. There was still the idea that she could have chosen to only date men for the rest of her life, which makes Quinn's false choice of men over women hurt even more.
But she knows she didn't choose to fall for Quinn, and she knows Quinn is just struggling with the reality of her identity. A part of her wishes she could talk it over with Santana and Kurt, but…she can't air Quinn's struggles to them in good faith. She just locks that little painful piece away in her heart, and tries to forgive.
She's gotten good at forgiving Quinn, over the years.
.
I can be your boyfriend, so you can stay with your girlfriend
.
She expected to feel more hurt about the breakup. Instead, Brittany mostly feels free, and relieved.
She misses Santana, absolutely. She wishes they were in the same place, because she would be in her arms in a heartbeat.
But right now, apart? She doesn't miss the feeling that she has to act a certain way to make someone else happy when they're too far away to stop her from being sad.
She didn't exactly have someone in mind to mess around with now that she's technically single. But the possibilities opening up are exciting.
It's been confusing, because a part of her wants to keep texting Santana. She's just gotten out of musical rehearsal for the evening and she's heading for the mall to find a present for her sister's birthday. She wants to text Santana to tell her this, ask her what she thinks she should buy, but…it doesn't feel okay yet.
That's actually the worst part. The feeling of waiting for Santana to text her first. She knows she hurt her, and she knows Santana needs time. But when Brittany temporarily broke up with her girlfriend, she wasn't intending to break up with her best friend, too.
The Lima mall is a little bit sad. It had been sad for years, now, not really a place worth going unless you needed a place to perform a flash mob, she guesses. It wasn't even that fun to go to when they all first got their driver's licenses and wanted to enjoy their freedom.
But here she is, window shopping for a present for her sister. She should've asked Blaine or Merry or someone to join her.
"Brittany?" someone near her asks.
She turns and squints around for the owner of the voice. There's a vaguely familiar black guy grinning at her. Brittany knows she's really bad at remembering faces. "Do I know you?"
"It's me, Matt! You know, Matt Rutherford?"
"Matt? Oh my god, hi! I totally forgot you existed." Brittany reaches over to hug him, and he laughs and hugs her back. Now that he's identified himself, she sees him. He really doesn't look that different than he did three years ago, same broad grin, studded ear, closely-cropped hair.
"It's good to see you," he smiles again, "How are you?"
"I'm good!" Brittany answers, "Did you move back to Lima?"
He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm on my Spring Break. I'm at WVU these days. I'm spending Spring Break here helping out my grandma." He holds up a bag from J.C. Penney as if in explanation. "It was the best I could do to earn some money for just two weeks. What about you, are you on break from college, too?"
"No," Brittany answers, "I'm just finishing up high school." His brow furrows, but he doesn't seem to dwell on this. "How long are you here?"
"I actually just got into town two days ago. I'm here for another week and a half."
"Oh man. We should totally hang out."
"Definitely!" he agrees. "I wish I had kept more in touch with you guys. I had a great time in the Glee club. I think I'm still friended to most of you on Facebook, but I'm never on there. Mike and I used to text, but..." he shrugs, "We both got busy, I guess."
"Yeah, it happens" Brittany agrees, thinking about how she and Quinn don't talk so much anymore. Their friendship was always a little strange. They were protective of each other, but at the same time, they didn't often confide in each other. They were always better at doing things together, and now they can't. "Want to grab some dinner?"
"What, right now?" he hooks his thumb at the food court and frowns, "Wish I could, but I've got to get these things back to my grandma. But we could meet up in an hour or so?"
"Let's!" Brittany agrees, "Breadstix?"
"Absolutely. Let me give you my number." They exchange numbers.
An hour and a half later, Brittany has a present for her sister, and has met up with Matt at Breadstix. They catch up on some basics. Matt is undeclared at WVU, although he's considering mathematics or dance. The campus is crazy and he has done is fair share of partying, although he has been really careful not to get too caught up in it. He admits that's pretty easy to do in a little college town where there's nothing to do except drink and riot whether the football team wins or loses. Brittany fills him in briefly on repeating Senior year, on their Nationals win last year (Matt's second high school didn't have a Glee club, so he hadn't been keeping track of the show choir scene), and told him about Mr. Schue marrying Ms. Pillsbury.
"I remember you being a lot quieter," Brittany frowns at one point.
Matt chuckles a little, "I was so shy back then. I'm not sure why, except that McKinley was kind of a terrifying place. Like, I was constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing and getting targeted for a slushie or something. My next school wasn't perfect or anything, but it was less intimidating. I broke out of my shell a little bit."
"That's cool. You look good without a shell. Not like snails."
Matt laughs again, but then leans forward conspiratorially. "So, listen, I kinda looked you up on Facebook before I came here, and I wasn't sure, but…are you dating Santana?"
"No," Brittany tells him, "We were dating, but we actually just broke up recently. The long-distance thing wasn't working for us."
He sits back. "Wow."
"What?"
"I don't know. It's just funny, I guess, that we've both dated the same girl. Sort of. It's not like Santana and I were ever really serious or exclusive. We were just having fun."
"Even funnier now that we all know she's gay."
Matt laughs, "It explains a lot about what dating her was like, really."
Brittany reflects on that, and thinks back to when they were in early high school and had both started dating and having sex. She abruptly remembers, after Santana'd had sex with Matt for the first time and Brittany'd had sex with Mike, that Santana had asked her if it wasn't kind of boring. Brittany said she didn't think so. Santana had shrugged and started working on wrapping Puck around her little finger while still sleeping with Matt.
At the time, Brittany had assumed that maybe Matt just wasn't that great in bed, but when she thinks about Santana and Puck, especially knowing now what she knows about Santana, things start to make some sense.
For one thing, Puck was on of the only guys in school who was willing to go down on girls. It wasn't something he really advertised or offered to do, but once Santana figured out that he was pretty good at it because the cougar women he slept with sometimes demanded it, she would get it from him fairly often. The only downside to that was reciprocation, and she remembered Santana talking about how she didn't really like to give head. It was another thing Brittany thought was strange. She enjoyed blowjobs.
Still, she's curious. "What was sex with her like back then?"
Matt looks embarrassed, "Um. Well, I want to clarify that I definitely have more skills now…"
"Yeah, we all gained sex levels or something," Brittany waves a hand, "Go on."
"Well, it was…I don't know. Basic, I guess." He cringes, "I think back now, and man, we weren't even using condoms. It was just a lot of fucking. But we weren't together long. In only a couple months she was pretty much just screwing Puck."
It's funny the things that Brittany remembers, hearing this. How obvious everything is. Santana chose Puck because he did oral, and so could reliably get her off (Santana enjoyed penetrative sex, too, Brittany knew, but it was easier to close her eyes and pretend it was a woman going down on her). She also chose him because it wasn't often that he came just from fucking. He usually pulled out, because he often needed to finish himself off with his hand. Brittany remembers this was why she stopped sleeping with him. She didn't like that too much. Santana, however, had. Brittany remembered the way her lip had curled when she'd explained it was easier to clean up. Essentially, as far as high school males went, Puck was a good beard.
But what Santana and Brittany liked in men was different. Because what Santana liked in men was the ability to close her eyes and feel basic sensation and pretend they weren't men. She liked the security of the closet. Brittany liked the sex. She liked the feeling of strong shoulders. She liked the feeling she got when they were bigger than her. She liked when they were strong enough to lift her. And she liked penises. They were funny, but also really fun. That was a basic difference. Santana only liked what penises could do for her. Brittany liked that, but also what she could do to them.
She likes a lot of different things about women, too. But right now, she misses men. And if Matt wasn't someone Santana had enjoyed sleeping with much…it occurs to Brittany, then, that he might be someone she'd enjoy sex with a lot.
"So, how did you get so many more skills? Do you have a girlfriend?"
Matt smiles a bit ruefully. "Not right now, no. I was seeing a girl through most of high school and into college, but we ended things over winter break. The distance." He makes a face. Brittany understands that face.
"Yeah. The distance."
Matt is looking at her with curiosity. "I'm not looking for anything serious right now, anyway. I've had some fun at school. Hooked up a few times. But I have to focus on school."
Brittany smiles, "Oh, me neither. I'm going to fix things with Santana in a few months. I just want freedom. And I've missed guys."
"Ah. So, you're bi?" He sounds unsurprised.
"Yep."
"Gotcha."
It's not a huge surprise that less than an hour later, they're in Brittany's room, on her bed, and clothes are steadily disappearing.
"I've got a condom," Matt gasps into her mouth.
"I'm on the pill, if…" she trails off.
Abruptly, she remembers over the summer, one time when Santana watched her taking a pill. The way her expression had darkened. It had upset Brittany at the time, because Santana was still on the pill to regulate her menstruation, and yet, when that they were preparing to part, she was suddenly grumpy about Brittany doing the same thing.
She tries to forget it. She doesn't want to feel bitter about Santana, doesn't want to think about how upset she'd be if she knew what was happening right now.
Matt looks uncertain, "I'd…rather not. I mean, people don't always know for sure they're clean. I just…fucked around without them way too much at McKinley, I've learned."
"Kay," though she realizes she misses the feeling of sex without condoms, back when she was younger and, in spite of her parents' explaining the risks of sex to her, felt invincible.
It was so scary, then, when Quinn got pregnant. Brittany hadn't honestly thought it could happen to someone she knows. She cringes a little, when she thinks about how she still didn't really use condoms, with anyone. She's been lucky.
She removes his boxers, and his erection springs free. The size excites her. She's not what Blaine would call a size queen (if girls could even be that, she wasn't clear on that part), but…a little bit above average, she does like that. Matt fits that definition.
Brittany gently puts her mouth on him, and takes him inside it. She's missed this. But before too long he's gently touching her face so that she lifts her head away and he's rolling the condom down his length.
She doesn't spend long down there after that; she's too excited, and the condom tastes weird. She's soon moving to straddle him, brushing off his invitation to sit on his face because she's not sure she can wait. And, balancing with one hand on his strong shoulder, the other hand moves to guide him inside.
She's always liked being on top, and it was rare in high school to find a guy who would let her. Matt is more than eager. She wonders if he was this eager to please women when Santana was sleeping with him, or if he gained that over time. She can just hear Santana scoffing at him for having sex like a woman, something she wouldn't want to let herself think of at that point in time…
She holds her breath as she lowers herself, until it's forced out in a sort of groan. It's been…it feels like it's been forever.
She begins to move slowly, and moves her hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling his muscles. He holds her hips, gently, letting her move them, letting her get comfortable.
But soon, she's leaning forward, kissing him sloppily, and his hips are moving more than hers, and soon moving faster, and they're breathing hard and sweating.
She meets his eager eyes then, so dark and almost familiar. They're not Santana's eyes, of course, but she realizes then why he felt like the right choice to fool around with. They've both been with Santana, they've both loved her in their own ways. They both lost their virginities to her, sort of, even if for Brittany, she's not sure she and Santana really knew it was sex at that point in time.
A part of her feels like Santana could forgive Matt, more than anyone. And someday, months and months and months from now, Brittany knows she and Santana will have to discuss all that they did during the break.
But maybe it's just hard to have sex now, without thinking of how much she loves Santana.
Matt holds out until she comes, and then he, too, is coming, thrusting deep into her. Brittany missed this. She missed the way it felt for someone to come from fucking her (strap-ons didn't do that for Santana). She even kind of missed the way that the orgasms were so short for men, and left them so adorably sleepy, how their entire bodies seemed to deflate afterwards.
She missed strong arms spooning her casually. The smell of masculine cologne and deodorant and sweat. Stubbly kisses.
Really, everything except loving them. Even now, dozing with Matt in her bed, she can't imagine falling into deeper love than with Santana.
But she totally wants to have good sex with him while he's in town. Maybe after that, she'll have scratched this itch, and can go to Santana in several months happy to be together and monogamous once again.
Additional A/N: Chapter titles from The Weeknd, "What You Need," Anoushka Shankar and Norah Jones, "Easy," Blonde Redhead, "The Dress," "If I Were A Bell" from Guys and Dolls, "Dido's Lament: When I Am Laid in Earth" from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas, and Jens Lekman, "A Postcard to Nina."
Still fighting some writer's block on this piece, but I will not be leaving it discontinued. I just don't know when I might be able to get the words down to update again.