All This Longing For Beauty Unnamed

by poetzproblem

She's actually enjoying a number of things about her pregnancy. Yes, it's disconcerting that her body isn't entirely her own anymore, but it's also miraculous and fascinating. She's no less riveted by the experience than she had been when it was all happening inside of Quinn. Less energetic, obviously, but still emotionally exhilarated to be growing a little person. Don't Blink 46.

2. Waiting for Something to Shake Me

Part II: Waiting for Something to Shake Me and Life to Begin

At twenty-six weeks and four days, Rachel frowns.

It's mid September and late on a Tuesday night, and she's trying to put the finishing touches on the original song that she's agreed to write for the second Wishing Stone film. The movie is headed into post-production now, and she needs to get into a recording studio by the end of the month if this song is going to make it onto the soundtrack, and more importantly, the end credits. It's mostly finished, but some of the lyrics at the bridge before the second chorus just don't flow the way she wants them to, so she's reworking them. Quinn thinks she's obsessing over it too much, but Rachel is obsessing just the right amount. She needs to get this right. The series is Quinn's baby, after all—well, the metaphorical one anyway—and she obsesses over everything related to it too. All of those contracts that she'd signed in order to release the rights to the movie studio have allowed her to retain veto power over the screenplays, after all, and this song will be Rachel's tiny little contribution to her wife's successful career.

Thankfully, she's not too pregnant to sing, and she's damn well going to sing this song spectacularly.

If this film is as big a success as the first one had been, they'll pretty much be financially set to buy that house with several extra bedrooms next year.

Rachel is in their current bedroom right now, propped against the headboard of their bed and frowning down at her wife, who's currently occupying the space on what remains of her lap where her laptop had been only a moment ago. She still generally prefers the satisfaction of paper sheet music to the virtual kind, and she'd used her trusty paper and pencil in the early stages of composing, but now that she's mostly done with the song, it's been transcribed into her audio software. She'd been fiddling with the lyrics until Quinn had decided that she should be done for the night and had unceremoniously set her laptop aside right in the middle of a keystroke.

Had it been with the intent of actually sleeping, Rachel might understand. Quinn is proving to be increasingly overprotective of her and their little angel, and it has been something of a long day. Rachel's baby bump is—well, it's more of a substantial hill than a bump these days. She'd call it a mountain, but she's all too aware that she still has three more months to reach that unenviable achievement.

If she's being honest, the weight gain does bother her in the sense that she feels increasingly awkward and clumsy pretty much all of the time now. She isn't used to her new body, and it keeps changing week by week, and she can admit that she's not always the most graceful person anyway, even at the peak of physical fitness. She's a triple threat on stage, of course, but dancing is her weakest skill. She always has to work extra hard to perfect the choreography and she's still been known to fake a step or two. Rachel is also more than a little worried about getting back to that peak of physical fitness after the baby is born, but she's witnessed her wife do it twice, even if Quinn does still complain about the extra curves from her last pregnancy that refuse to go flat. She's still gorgeous and incredibly fit, so Rachel likes to believe that she will get back there too.

But beyond that, she's actually enjoying a number of things about her pregnancy. Yes, it's disconcerting that her body isn't entirely her own anymore, but it's also miraculous and fascinating. She's no less riveted by the experience than she had been when it was all happening inside of Quinn. Less energetic, obviously, but still emotionally exhilarated to be growing a little person.

She's also been enjoying certain enhanced sensations. Of course, they aren't all pleasurable, but the ones that are—well, they can be downright orgasmic. Quinn is very adept at amplifying those ones in particular.

Her wife doesn't seem at all put off by the changes to Rachel's body. In fact, she seems completely enamored with them, especially now that she can feel their daughter move. Bunny had been a little more reticent than her big sister, playing hide and seek (but mostly hide) with her mommy for quite some time, well past the point when Rachel was able to definitely, without question, recognize every single roll and kick. But their daughter had finally made her presence known to Quinn twelve days ago, and if her wife's hand could be permanently attached to Rachel's belly, it undoubtedly would be. In fact, it's there right now, next to her head, which is also pressed up against Rachel's belly.

Rachel doesn't begrudge her the mother-daughter bonding time. She is, however, mildly annoyed that her work had been thoughtlessly shoved to the side in order for it to occur in this particular instance.

"I was in the middle of something," she points out irritably, though her traitorous fingers still find their way into silky blonde hair in order to gently play with the strands. She can't help it if she finds it soothing; kind of like petting a cat.

"Mmm, you were," Quinn agrees, gazing up at her with a grin, "and now you're doing this instead."

"Being your pillow?" Rachel questions cheekily as she strokes her wife's hair.

Quinn shakes her head, still grinning. "Of course not. You're being my pregnant wife who is so lovingly carrying our baby bunny and letting me feel her hop."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I could be doing that while I work on my song."

"Nope," Quinn denies, shifting around so that Rachel is less of a pillow and more of a teddy bear to be hugged. Rachel's hand is dislodged from its position, but Quinn's remains steadfast over the spot where their unborn daughter is, in fact, kicking lightly. "We have more important things to do. We're not even halfway through all the cee names yet."

"It doesn't necessarily have to start with a cee," Rachel reminds her. They've mostly been jumping around the alphabet whenever they're inspired, but it's true that they're really no closer to settling on the perfect name. "And we don't need to work on the list tonight."

"Rachel Berry Fabray," Quinn gasps with mock indignation, "I know you are not implying that messing around with your song, which is already brilliant, by the way," she interjects chidingly, "is more important than our bunny's name."

That is certainly not what Rachel is implying at all, and she opens her mouth to say exactly that, but promptly closes it again when she sees that familiar eyebrow inch up in challenge. She's all too aware that she has employed similar tactics on Quinn to win numerous baby-centric discussions on various occasions. To successfully advocate the counterpointe now would potentially undermine her own interests in the future. "Well, played," she begrudgingly concedes.

Smirking, Quinn settles comfortably beside her, rubbing warm circles over her cotton covered belly. "So we still like Cleo, Caitlin, Cara, Emily, Ava, and Felicity?"

"Well, you like Felicity more than I do." In theory, Rachel loves the meaning, and Felicity Fabray does have a certain je ne sais quoi, but she'd seen that old television show with the same name, so she'd just rather not go there. She very clearly recalls the teasing they'd endured from Santana for inadvertently naming Calliope after a character from Grey's Anatomy. She has no desire to repeat the experience, and—well, her own name had borne the same unfortunate pop-culture beginnings. She'd rather avoid doing that to this baby if at all possible.

"I also like Cordelia, but you won't let me have it," Quinn grumbles with a (too cute) pout..

"You won't let me have Cadence," Rachel counters, fully believing that name to be so much better than yet another tragic character who'd ultimately ended in death.

Quinn scrunches up in her nose in distaste. "I told you it reminds me too much of our wedding planner." Which is not untrue. Poor Candance. They hadn't run her nearly as ragged as Santana did. "Besides, you know we'd all shorten it to Cady, and you'd hate that."

Rachel sighs, knowing that's true as well, but, "I'm accepting the same possibility with Caitlin." Though that name isn't at the top of the list for either one of them, and if they choose it, she'd hope that her friends and family would agree to respectfully distinguish her from any old Cate or Catie or Cat.

"What do you think Bunny?" Quinn directs to her belly. "You want to be a Caitlin or a Cleo?"

Their bunny does not hop in response, going momentarily still, and Rachel chuckles. "I'm not sure she wants to be either." She chews on her lower lip for a moment before voicing her concern. "None of them feel quite right."

Quinn tilts her head thoughtfully. "Not even Cleo?"

"It's close," Rachel acknowledges with a slight nod. It feels like it would suit their little one better than Felicity or Ava or Emily. "I just…I thought we'd find something else that screams this is it. This is our little angel," she exclaims with a frown. They still have several months to go, of course, but nothing on their list feels quite as perfect for this baby as Calliope had for their firstborn.

"You know, you keep calling her that," Quinn muses with a faint smile. "But I hope you're aware that she'll probably be anything but angelic." Her smile turns self-deprecating. "I mean, I faked it pretty well once upon a time, but with my genes, she's probably gonna be a handful in an entirely different way than Callie."

The thought of that should probably terrify Rachel. She is, after all, very well acquainted with Quinn's not-at-all-angelic tendencies, especially the more (self) destructive ones from their youth, but since she's fully convinced that her wife's less than altruistic teen years were a product of nurture rather than nature, she's confident that this baby won't follow in those particular footsteps. After all, Beth had turned out wonderfully, even with Noah Puckerman's genes mixed in there.

"She's still our angel, Quinn." She places both hands on her belly protectively. "I still feel incredibly blessed to be carrying her, even if I can barely see my feet anymore and have to take my blood pressure six times a day."

"Twice," Quinn corrects with a frown. "We have to take it twice a day and only as a precaution."

In point of fact, Doctor Barnes had only advised them to check it daily thanks to the persistently higher than normal reading she'd had again at her last prenatal exam. Quinn is the one who insists on doing it every morning and again in the evening, and since she also insists on taking two or three readings each time, it is six times a day. But it's never too high when they're at home.

"You worry too much," Rachel gently accuses.

Quinn's frown deepens. "I worry just the right amount, Rachel. You're still on the high side of normal."

"The high side of normal is normal for me, baby. You know that. I'm fine," she vows, lifting a hand to cup her wife's cheek in an attempt to soothe away her worry. "We're fine." Her free hand covers Quinn's where it still rests over her belly, pressing it down more firmly against their daughter, who's gently moving once again. "Tired, ungainly, and craving all manners of foods that I really shouldn't be craving, but fine."

Quinn releases a stuttering breath, eyelids fluttering shut as she tips her head further into Rachel's hand. "I can't believe I used to tease you about this."

Rachel feels her mouth twitch into a smirk. "Oh, you mean my perfectly reasonable concern for my pregnant wife that wasn't overprotective at all?"

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn mutters, lifting her head to meet Rachel's eyes. Rachel is relieved to see a faint smile on her lips once again. "I know. You told me so."

Rachel does have to concede that Quinn is a bit less obvious about her protective streak. She's certainly nowhere near as manic about it as Rachel had been on occasion. No, Quinn just channels that no-nonsense, head cheerleader energy of hers in Rachel's direction whenever she thinks Rachel is overdoing it. That, or she strategically distracts her into more restful activities—oh, for example, by putting aside her laptop to stop her from working and engaging her with another discussion about baby names instead. It's not always immediately obvious, but it is predictable, especially when one has caught on to her methods. Rachel has also caught on to the subtle way Quinn has taken to shepherding Calliope's more rambunctious endeavors into safer outlets. Honestly, that had started before they'd even been certain that Rachel was pregnant. It's a battle for her just to pick her daughter up these days without Quinn trying to usurp her.

(Rachel rues to admit that she's fighting that particular battle less now that heaving her own body into an upright position is taking more effort than she'd like.)

"I love that you're overprotective. I mean, yes, obviously, I can get a little grumpy about it sometimes, but I do generally enjoy you fussing over me."

Quinn laughs at that, eyes twinkling with merriment. "It's the diva in you."

"Probably." Rachel can admit that she adores being pampered and catered to. It's not like that's a thing that Quinn normally objects to either. Grinning, she pats her belly. "Also, the Fabray in me."

Her wife bites back more laughter, looking all too pleased with that. She gives Rachel's belly a little pat too. "Little Bunny Cleo Felicity Fabray."

Rachel grimaces at the moniker. "Cleo Lucy Fabray, if anything." It still holds the top spot for her, right above Ava.

Quinn hums quietly, her expression growing contemplative as she gazes at Rachel with the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. That little habit of hers always does things to Rachel—things that may not be wholly appropriate for whatever her wife might be thinking about right now; things that are exponentially amplified by Rachel's raging pregnancy hormones. She has come to understand in these last few months exactly how formidable those can be. She likes to believe that she hasn't been as demanding of her wife's intimate attention as Quinn had been of hers, but she knows for a fact that it's only because they have to work around Calliope's schedule.

Their daughter happens to be in bed right now, sound asleep, and her schedule now involves kindergarten from eight-twenty in the morning until two-forty in the afternoon. It's close enough to her former pre-K schedule to not cause any major meltdowns beyond the typical back-to-school one that comes with not wanting the summer to be over, but it had still been a struggle to get her there for the first time last week. Calliope had insisted that both of her mothers walk her there and pick her up. Rachel had been all for it on the first day because, of course, first days of school, especially at new schools, are monumental. But she's not been quite as eager to repeat the five block walk on subsequent days, even though their daughter is still very strongly requesting that she do so.

Rachel misses her daughter when she's at school, of course, but there are certain benefits that she's able to enjoy much more frequently now that their apartment is partially childfree during the day. She would not be opposed to enjoying those benefits right now, but it seems Quinn's thoughts are not running in the same direction. She's still very much thinking about their unborn daughter.

"What about Angelica, since you're already kind of calling her that?"

Now that Quinn is no longer doing that distracting thing with her mouth, Rachel valiantly refocuses her wayward thoughts on the current subject. The baby. Angelica,she silently considers. "See, but I don't like it as an actual name," she quickly decides, shaking her head. "It's more of a cute endearment kind of thing."

"I like how they're cute when you use them," Quinn teases.

"Yours are acceptable too," she allows with a grin. "It's everyone else's that are questionable." Every single one of their friends and family seem to have a different one for Calliope, and where there isn't some odd pet name, there's the shortened Callie or Cal. In fact, the only other person that seems to use Calliope's full given name with any regularity is Sarah. Rachel doesn't know whether to be annoyed about that or pleased. (She's pleased, of course)

"I knew bunny would grow on you," Quinn crows, obviously pleased with that.

"I was actually referring to sunshine and moonbeam." Rachel is quite fond of baby bear too. And little star, of course. Okay, fine—the nicknames are cute when they use them.

"Selene," Quinn suddenly exclaims with a bright smile overtaking her face.

"Huh?"

"Selene," she repeats. "Goddess of the moon. For my little moonbeam," she explains before shrugging sheepishly. "Or, you know, we could spell it like the singer if you'd rather go with a cee name."

Rahel's eyes widen in surprise."You'd actually be open to naming our daughter after Celine Dion?"

"Not really," Quinn admits. "I'm mostly just grasping at straws now."

Something about the suggestion strikes Rachel as odd—well, beyond the fact that Quinn had been generally resistant everytime Rachel had suggested naming Calliope after one of the many iconic singers and actresses that she idolizes, so much so that Rachel hasn't made any similar suggestions this time around. While Rachel does appreciate many of Celine's stellar vocal contributions to the world of adult contemporary music, she doesn't hold her in quite the same esteem as Barbra, Patti. Judy, Liza, and Bernadette.

"Doesn't Celine with a cee actually mean heaven in French, not moon?" Rachel asks once she realizes why the alternative had seemed odd.

"Mmhm. Heavenly," Quinn affirms with a nod. "It's a nice meaning too. Works for our little angel," she teases with a fond smile. "I guess either spelling kind of has that celestial connotation going on."

Rachel feels her heart flutter in time with her wife's words. "Quinn," she says slowly, searching her face with growing anticipation, "doesn't Celeste mean heavenly too?"

"Yeah," Quinn breathes out, nodding. "Did we…did we skip over that one?" she murmurs, looking genuinely perplexed that they somehow haven't already mentioned it.

"I think we did. I don't remember discussing it." She's certain that she would have. It feels too—perfect.

"You like it," Quinn realizes, her own lips curving into a beatific smile. It isn't phrased as a question. It's a statement of fact.

"I do," Rachel confirms with an eager nod. Celeste is even a little bit musical too—well, celesta actually, but it's close enough. "Do you?"

Quinn's smile grows brighter. "Yeah." Her palm unerringly finds the spot where the baby is kicking again. "Celeste Fabray."

And oh, it sounds even more perfect when Quinn says it. "Celeste Lucy Fabray," Rachel proclaims reverently, eyes suddenly misty. Their heavenly light. How very fitting. "And it can't be shortened."

Quinn bites her lip, doing a very poor job of disguising her amusement. "Actually..."

"No," Rachel cuts her off sternly. "It can't be shortened." What could they—they being Santana—possibly even shorten it to? It's two syllables of elegance and grace.

"If you say so," Quinn agrees with a smirk that says otherwise.

Rachel chooses to ignore that look right along with any potentially undesirable nicknames for their angel. "Did we just name our little girl?"

"I think we did." Happiness radiates from Quinn like a halo. "I mean, unless we see her and think…nah, she's a Cleo."

"I suppose that's possible," Rachel recognizes, albeit somewhat reluctantly. She still is quite fond of the name Cleo too. "It didn't happen with Calliope though."

"No, she was definitely a Calliope from the get-go," Quinn agrees with a grin. "And our little star, sunshine, and baby bear."

Rachel laughs. "And I suppose Celeste will be forever stuck with baby bunny?" Had their baby been a boy, he might have shaken that particular fate sooner rather than later—Quinn seems the type who might have transitioned into something like buddy instead—but now it's pretty much a foregone conclusion that Quinn will continue to call their daughter her bunny in perpetuity. Honestly, the nickname has grown on Rachel, especially the way Quinn's says it, but she'll still refuse to use it once Celeste is born, purely on principle. (She's fully settled on that name now. She's certain that Celeste will look exactly like a Celeste when she arrives.)

"Or bunny boo," Quinn considers playfully. "She won't be a baby forever."

"Please don't call her that," Rachel begs. "Just stick with bunny."

"And moonbeam," her wife adds, though they both pretty much know that bunny will be the predominant endearment from Quinn. "And…I guess she'll be angel for you?"

Rachel frowns thoughtfully, touching her belly. "I'm actually not sure. I think of her that way now, obviously, but…I'm not sure I can hear myself calling her that the same way I call Calliope little star."

"You're gonna call her bunny too," Quinn laughingly accuses, snuggling closer. "Just you wait." She then proceeds to press a dozen little kisses to Rachel's cheek.

"Never," Rachel denies, but she's laughing when she says it.

Turning her head, she catches her wife's smiling lips with her own and kisses her in earnest. The playfulness of the moment slowly transforms into tenderness, and their kiss grows languid. It could very easily transform into something far more ardent if given half a chance—once again, Rachel would not be opposed to this—but Quinn leans away before it can progress. Her beautiful hazel eyes are still dancing with playfulness that has nothing to do with sex. "I think I'll get Teresa to paint bunnies on the nursery wall."

Rachel groans, both at the suggestion and the unfortunate loss of Quinn's lips against her own. "Your choice of artwork aside, maybe we shouldn't bother her to do that this time."

Quinn's brows furrow. "Why not? You know she'd agree to it."

"I know." Teresa had painted an elaborate mural on her own nursery wall and credited them with the idea to even do it. She'd promised them then that she'd be at their disposal should they ever decide to have another baby. She'd even offered to repaint Calliope's room if their daughter ever wants something different on her walls. "But we're planning on looking for a house next year. We'll probably be moving out of here sooner rather than later."

Neither one of them wants to disrupt Calliope's schooling more than they'll already need to if they intend to find a new home with an actual yard and a measure of separation from their closest neighbors beyond a shared wall. It will be difficult enough to take their daughter away from whatever new friends she'll make this year. She's still stubbornly shy about meeting new people. They've been lucky that her friend Jemma from Pre-K has also been enrolled in the Anderson School, but Rachel doubts that the Johnsons will agree to move to whatever neighborhood she and Quinn ultimately decide on so that their children can continue to be in the same class. Ideally, they'll be able to find a suitable house and be moved into it before the next school year begins so that Calliope won't be uprooted mid-term, but since they'll probably be focusing their real estate search on neighborhoods in the Bronx (or potentially Queens), there's really no avoiding the probability that their daughter will need to start at yet another new school where she'll need to make even more new friends.

In any case, they'll be saying goodbye to the only home that Calliope has ever known.

"I'm not sure how worthwhile a nursery mural will be this time," Rachel relays sadly. "Whoever rents this apartment after us will probably just paint over it." Her heart twists at the thought of it. Thankfully, they won't have to do it themselves this time like they had with their apartment in Murray Hill. Leo had informed them when they'd signed the lease that whatever decorating choices they make will be up to the next tenants to keep or discard, much like the marble countertop they'd inherited with the kitchen (that they'd kept) or the peach walls in the laundry room (that they'd eventually repainted after Calliope had been born.)

Quinn's frown deepens. "I don't care about the next tenants, and neither do you," she points out unapologetically. "Bunny deserves something special in her nursery for as long as we're here. She's already getting the smaller room with less sunlight."

The corner of Rachel's lips quirk up at the reminder of exactly why Quinn had decided against making that room into the nursery for Calliope. They'd briefly considered putting the baby in with her big sister, but it seems silly when they have a guest bedroom that they can convert. Judy certainly won't be living with them for any extended period of time when Celeste is born.

"But she'll probably be spending most of her time in a bassinet in our bedroom, just like Calliope did."

Her wife studies her for a long, silent moment before shaking her head slightly. "I can't even believe that you, of all people, would be opposed to going all out on our baby girl's nursery."

"I'm not," Rachel denies, waving her hand haphazardly in the direction of the room in question. "Of course I want to decorate it. We already have so many things picked out for her and a crib for you to build." They'd found one functionally similar to the one they'd bought for Calliope, but in a rich (completely non-toxic) natural pine finish rather than white. She's very much looking forward to watching Quinn put it together. "And you are absolutely repainting the walls a warm, lovely yellow."

"But no mural," Quinn pushes sulkily.

Rachel heaves out a sigh, feeling the sting of unshed tears at the corners of her eyes. "It's just…it was hard enough to leave behind that silly infinity sign at our first apartment. Now we have the stars and kitten on Calliope's wall, and if we add bunnies for Celeste," she lets her sentence go unfinished, swiping irritably at the stray tears slipping over her cheeks and silently cursing her tumultuous pregnancy hormones. "I know we'll need a bigger space, but there are so many precious memories here, some of them in tangible form, and bunnies on our angel's wall is just one more thing we'll have to leave behind." She's outright crying now and feeling a little ridiculous for it, sniffling pathetically.

"Oh, sweetheart," Quinn coos, looking a little misty-eyed herself as she pulls Rachel into a sideways hug, and Rachel curls into it gratefully. "We'll be taking all our memories with us and making so many more with our girls. We can paint new, better walls in whatever house we make a home in."

Rachel laughs wetly. "You mean we can pay Teresa to paint better walls."

"Whatever it takes," Quinn promises, stroking a hand through her hair. Rachel feels the ghost of her wife's lips at her temple, bestowing a soft kiss there. "And we'll make Sarah build us an elaborate playset for the backyard, and Kurt will sew our curtains." Rachel smiles at that, imagining designer curtains in every room and a swingset and slide built to resemble a castle. "Josie will put together our kids bicycles, and Santana can help us pick out a few more cats to keep Ollie company."

Rachel snorts at that. "I can't see that ever happening." Santana still has a grudge against Oliver that is fully mutual.

Quinn grins wickedly. "We'll just adopt the ones that try to bite her."

Laughing outright, Rachel wipes away the last of her tears as she sits back against the headboard. Turning toward her wife, she rests a palm against her cheek. "You've got it all figured out."

"I may have picked up a thing or two about creating elaborate plans and gently persuading everyone we know to go along with them," Quinn boasts with a teasing grin.

"Whoever could have taught you that?" Rachel fondly teases back.

"The most wonderful, excitable, mildly obsessive…"

"Hey," Rachel interjects, lightly tapping Quinn's cheek with the hand still resting there.

Quinn only continues on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Talented, gorgeous…"

"That's better."

"Devoted woman who was kind enough to marry me and mother our beautiful, brilliant babies." Her hand once again seeks out the curve under which Celeste currency resides. "One of whom will be getting bunnies painted on her nursery wall."

Laughing again, Rachel slips her hand to the back of Quinn's neck and pulls her close enough to kiss. "One bunny," she relents, already knowing that there very probably won't be only one. "In the corner." And she cuts off Quinn's retort with her lips, kissing her wonderful, beautiful, ridiculous wife.

In truth, Rachel would love nothing more than to paint their daughters' walls with bunnies and kittens and angels and stars and take all of it with them into a large house with more than enough space to grow. Not that she's planning on having any more children after Celeste. She's fully invested in this experience and doesn't exactly hate every moment of being pregnant, but she highly doubts that she'll ever want to do it again, and she's fully aware that she hasn't even gotten to the really uncomfortable (not to mention painful) part yet.

And she still stands by her vow to never ask Quinn to do this again. She's even more adamant about it now that she's experiencing a pregnancy for herself.

No, the room to grow will be for the countless awards that they've all yet to win, the musical instruments their daughters will insist on learning to play, the dance practices, the soccer balls or softballs or whatever other athletic things their girls might attempt. It will be for sleepovers and study sessions and completely supervised parties with absolutely no alcohol allowed. It will be for holiday decorating and pool days and the gathering of countless friends and family.

And damn it, she's crying again.

"Hey," Quinn whispers, pulling back in concern after undoubtedly tasting the salt from Rachel's traitorous tears. "What's this about?" she asks, brushing a thumb over Rachel's cheek.

Rachel shakes her head a bit, laughing at herself. "I'm just really happy." She sifts her fingers through the silky hair at Quinn's nape. "And I love you so very much."

"I love you too," Quinn replies sweetly as she continues to gently dry the lingering traces of Rachel's tears. "Also very much."

Rachel hums in contentment, closing her eyes and smiling dreamily. "I don't suppose you'd care to demonstrate exactly how much." Those pregnancy hormones are still buzzing a bit from earlier, but now they're all mixed up with boundless love and happiness. It's a potent combination.

Quinn chuckles. "Have I not been doing an adequate job of that?"

Opening her eyes, she dares her wife. "Why settle for mere adequacy when you can strive for excellence?"

"I think I should feel insulted," Quinn drawls, looking anything but.

"You should feel challenged," Rachel corrects, tugging her closer to nip at the smiling curve of her lower lip.

"You're definitely a challenge, sweetie," Quinn murmurs impishly.

Huffing indignantly, Rachel lightly scratches her nails against her wife's scalp in gentle reprimand. "That is not the correct response, Quinn."

Quinn laughs throatily and presses closer, slipping her hand beneath the hem of Rachel's oversized Broadway Baby t-shirt to dance warm fingers over her taut skin. "If you want me to satisfy any pregnancy cravings you might be having," she husks, fingers straying high enough to brush against Rachel's sensitive breasts and send a rush of heat straight through her, "all you need to do is ask."

"I did," Rachel points out breathlessly.

"Did you?" Quinn challenges, dragging her lips across Rachel's cheek at the same time her fingers travel down to tease at the edge of her panty-line. "Because all I heard was a defamation of my skills," she purrs hotly against her ear.

Rachel drags in a thready breath as all the blood in her body rushes down, down, down. "No defamation. You're very skilled," she vows urgently, tangling her fingers into Quinn's hair. "I was merely encouraging you to perfect those skills even more." She turns her face toward her wife, hoping to catch her lips again, but Quinn stubbornly deters the attempt.

"Ask me for it," she commands over a wolfish smirk.

Really, the things this woman can do with her face and her voice should be illegal. Rachel very definitely blames the baby for how rapidly her self-control implodes. "Please, baby. I need you to make love to me," she shamelessly begs, nipping at her wife's jaw. God damned pregnancy hormones! She was so certain she'd be less of a wanton than Quinn.

Grinning, Quinn allows her one kiss in reward—open-mouthed and dirty and nothing like the sweet, chaste kisses from earlier—before pulling back. Rachel groans in frustration, and Quinn's grin only grows more wicked, her fingertips still teasing just above where Rachel needs them to be. "Make love?" Quinn asks archly. "Or fuck?"

Rachel moans, grabbing at Quinn's wrist in an attempt to steer her hand lower. "Either. Both." Her hips begin to roll of their own accord, seeking some kind of friction.

"Ah, ah," Quinn tuts, lifting her hand, much to Rachel's displeasure. "Clarity matters." She gently touches the curve of her belly where it swells above her plain, pink underwear. "Especially when we're working around precious cargo."

"Fuck," Rachel growls quietly, scowling at her tease of a wife. The pointed mention of their unborn daughter does exactly nothing to cool her ardor. "Just fuck me," she demands, grabbing at Quinn's hand and shoving it down between her legs.

Sexy smirk still taunting her, Quinn shifts on the mattress so she can drag Rachel's t-shirt up with her free hand, exposing her entire belly, while the hand between her legs begins to explore unhurriedly. "I don't know," she muses nonchalantly, "maybe we should check your blood pressure first."

Rachel inhales sharply, slapping weakly at Quinn's shoulder. "I swear to Barbra, if you don't start pleasuring me in the next thirty seconds, I will divorce you," she threatens in a harsh whisper. The very last thing she needs right now is to wake up Calliope. (Celeste is already awake enough.)

"You would never," Quinn retorts, completely unconcerned.

She grabs a fistful of Quinn's sleep shirt, tugging in frustration. "Maybe not, but I will absolutely get the vibrator and take care of this myself."

Quinn bites her lip to smother her laughter, nodding. "Yeah, that you would do."

Rachel yanks at her wife's shirt again, practically pulling Quinn on top of her like a blanket. Distantly, she's impressed by the dexterity that keeps her from pressing her full weight down onto Rachel's belly. Immediately, however, she just wants her wife moving in some meaningful way to quench the fire that she started. "So do something about it." She wishes she could say it's issued as a challenge, but at this point, it just sounds desperate, even to her own ears.

Chuckling, Quinn shifts again to ease her shirt out of Rachel's grasp. "Don't worry, sweetie. I intend to," she promises seductively.

Her touch disappears from between Rachel's legs, earning a whine, but since it's only to relieve her of her shirt before shucking her own, Rachel lets the transgression pass. Then Quinn is easing her down into the middle of the mattress and sliding all of that glorious, naked skin against her own overheated body, careful to keep her weight off of Celeste while gifting Rachel with a kiss that fully communicates her intent to satisfy every single one of her needs.

(And if it's followed by a softer kiss to the top of her belly before those lips journey to far less innocent places, Rachel doesn't mind at all.)

It's possible that her blood pressure might climb ever so slightly after that, but only in the best imaginable way, and she's certain that the rush of endorphins that inevitably follows can only be good for both her and the baby.