A/n:I could pretend that this is a late faberry week entry for jealousy...but umm every fic i've ever written stars drunk jealous asshole!Quinn
"Please tell me this is our official greeting, heretofore."
"henthforf."
"What?"
"Hen sk forf"
"Quinn!"
"Think you meant henceforth." Quinn clarified, leaning up just enough so her chin was still resting evilly on Rachel's clitoris. "Still sounds weird though. God bless your wording of things."
Rachel blinked down at the girl with her face in her lap for a moment, trying to figure out how she was on about. After all, you don't wander into a girl's bedroom stinking of liquor and lime at 4:am, strip that sleepy girl, stick your face in her cunt, and then proceed to correct her grammar.
Quinn had upset all the rules of common decency in one fell swoop.
"Morning oral scrambles the brain. Sue me, if you must," Rachel said, pushing herself against that smart mouth; there was definitely something to be gained from Quinn's bad manners.
Quinn made a noncommittal sound and went back to her day job.
Rachel tried to contain her little mewls of pleasure out of habit. Doing it in every closet in the school brought out the paranoia full throttle. It wasn't just volume control that burdened her; the girl didn't go into a dark room without checking twice to see if she'd left a pair of panties there.
Because she was aware of Rachel's inhibition, Quinn chose that moment to stick her tongue inside and move it until thighs started trembling beside her ears. She grinned when she felt a foot dig into her back as those mewls turned into bitten off squeals and rambled swears.
Rachel grew louder and more uninhibited as they continued. That was really Quinn's favourite part, because anybody who was interested in a bridled Rachel Berry probably wasn't into Rachel Berry at all.
Rachel tilted her head down and then groaned out of exasperation and other reasons "How in god's earth do you manage to look smug right now? Just…how?"
Quinn just wiggled her brows in response and then unhinged her jaw— for all intents and purposes, Quinn fabray was part reptile— like her mission right now was to swallow Rachel whole. Rachel was the only one who truly understood why Quinn dressed up as reptar for Halloween, two years in a row. It felt good to be in on a joke for once.
Really, really…really good.
"Oh! Yes!"
Rachel spent a few semi-coherent moments watching the girl's jeans hang off her ass as she wiggled and grinded into the bed.
"You're going to leave a hole in my mattress if you don't stop that. Please, just come up here," Rachel said, not for Quinn's benefit alone.
"God, that's the last thing I want right now." Quinn said, making a duckface as she pressed little wet sucking kisses to Rachel's clit.
Rachel immediately took offense and pulled at short blonde hair until it hurt. Quinn tilted to meet her glare; which could actually pass for intimidating due to the shadows cast over the moonlit room. She even covered herself with her free hand so the blonde wouldn't be distracted.
"Me fucking you isn't something I'd ever get tired of, so relax. But a girl's gotta eat too," Quinn offered, thickly, not making any real effort to placate Rachel.
Satisfied with her own answer, Quinn then engaged in a slippery tug of war before she was able to pry Rachel's hand off, squeezing and pinching her as punishment afterwards.
She circled the hole with two fingers, then one, thoroughly enjoying Rachel's impatient squirming
"Look, I'm little Jack Horner," Quinn said, deciding to stick her thumb inside Rachel.
"You're not funny, Quinn. In fact, you're the antithesis of jokes—oh!" Rachel squealed, because, damn it, even her thumb was dexterous.
The instant she loosened the reins on blonde hair, Quinn was back to eye level with her slit. The way she'd look at her pussy with half lidded eyes and that smirk; Rachel just knew the two of them were sharing secrets that would lead to her undoing.
She let her head fall to the bed and then said, "If you think I'm returning the favor, you can stop now, because, because you were partying all night and you haven't showered and—"
"Oi.. stop that! I'm fresh fruit and sea salt down there. Like, all the time. So don't try to ruin anybody's fantasy with that train of thought. Rude," Quinn grumbled.
Rachel was obviously still prickly because Quinn had gone out with Santana and Puck the night before.
It was on Santana's insistence that the unholy trinity really needed to reach its superlative in unholiness every once in a while; which meant switching out the one remaining ounce of human decency for Puck.
The fact that Mike Chang, Rachel and Brittany had gone swing dancing two days ago without inviting them hadn't factored in at all.
It hadn't even mattered that Brittany wouldn't shut up about the physical chemistry the three of them had(or her musings about the possible extent of that chemistry). Because neither Quinn nor Santana got jealous, especially over any girl they were already sleeping with. Quinn and Santana didn't even mind when Brittany birthed the clusterfuck portmanteaux 'piercedcherry'. They didn't mind at all, and it was totally beside the point that Santana argued the term out of existence because you can't add a letter to your port-whatever. It's just not done . Thems the rules, according to Santana.
Besides, they could dance too. They were fucking delightful on the dancefloor, if anyone asked Santana. Style and grace cleaved to them like a motherfucker, also according to Santana.
They could take the whiteness out of the chicken dance. Well, those were Quinn's word after two heinekens and a red stripe. Everyone was embarrassed on her behalf.
"Did you have a good time?" Rachel asked, frowning a little as she thought of all the sweaty little beach bodies that might have pushed up against Quinn hours ago.
"Uhuh" Quinn said, licking Rachel's folds, appreciating how they hugged her tongue, coating it with warmth and stickiness, as she moved. Her lips were raw from all the salt and vodka. It made her so sensitive that she even felt the string of spit and cum swaying between the tip of her tongue and Rachel's pussy when she pulled back. It tickled when it drooped to her bottom lip, she giggled, and then shushed herself (which spoke volumes about her sobriety).
"So, what did you three get up to?" Rachel asked, casually. Because nonchalant is definitely something you do when someone's going down on you.
"Went to this club—Santana and puck tried to grind me to death—Puck broke a jukebox—Santana broke the jello shots record then cryed all over her drinking buddy—I met a girl—did shots off her belly—refused her number— drank s' more—sobered up—then came here," Quinn summarized, absently, as she spread Rachel open and punctuated each phrase by flicking her clit with her tongue.
"You refused her number?"
Quinn rolled her eyes. Of course that would be the only thing Rachel picked up on.
"I did," Quinn said softly, and then carefully added. "Even though she told me I didn't really have a good excuse not to."
"I see," Rachel said to her no strings attached (some strings attached ( many fucking strings attached) non-girlfriend.
Some how Quinn's slightly addled brain saw that as an opening, because she decided to break the awkward silence with, "So how about it Rae? Can I have a real reason, a totally indisputable one, not to take numbers from girls in clubs? One I can tell our friends and family."
Rachel saw the smug little blonde brow settle down, taking on a meeker curve. She looked so innocent and genuine all of a sudden, despite the telltale glossiness on her lips.
"Oh, Quinn—"
And then it hit her mid-sentence.
"Wait a second," Rachel said, slowly gathering her wits about her…maybe so she could clobber Quinn with then.
"Huh."
"I said a fucking second, if you please!"
Quinn swallowed audibly.
"After two years of dancing around each other, this—THIS is how you want to ask me out. Officially?!" Rachel railed up something fierce, and Quinn suddenly feared for her safety. "Wasted opportunity after wasted opportunity to get it right." Rachel narrowed her eyes "Prom, duets, song dedication after song dedication, that food fight at daddy's office picnic last Tuesday when I unwittingly had crepe paper in my hair, and you had even bothered to wear a cardigan: all of which acceptable Rom Com moments to ask a girl to go steady. Half drunk and horny bootycall doesn't fit in the venn diagram, Quinn! How am I supposed to record that kind of proposal in my vlog, blog, or autobiography. For heaven's sake, what will I tell our grandchildren, or, or those kids in the av club that built some kind of ship for us? They don't even have an interest in nautical pursuits! I know. I asked them!"
"Rachel, I—" Quinn trailed off. Rachel even gave her a moment to redeem herself, and Quinn chose that moment to release the tiniest hiccup.
They just sort of gawked at each other for a while and then Rachel rolled her eyes.
"You know what," Rachel said, primly, as she pushed the idiot's head down. "Don't talk with your mouth full. Manners and such."
Quinn was suddenly even more eager to please. Her life sort of depended on it.