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.

3. Naked and Falling Into My Arms

Part III: Naked and Falling Into My Arms

At thirty-four weeks and two days, Rachel groans.

It's the first Sunday in November, and the Halloween season is officially behind them. Technically, Thanksgiving is the next holiday on the calendar, but in reality, the first hints of Christmas are already making an appearance around the city. The Winter Village is up and running at Bryant Park, all the skating rinks are opening this weekend, and advertisements for the premiere of the Rockettes Christmas Spectacular and the Nutcracker are already beginning to play on every television and radio station.

It's always been a magical time of the year for Quinn, and she's only grown to love it more now that she has a family of her own to celebrate with. This year, however, it's even more magical—and exciting and nerve-wracking and stressful and incredibly exhausting—because their little bunny is due to arrive just ten days before Christmas and nine days before Hanukkah. It's barreling towards them faster than Quinn would like with all of the little details that they still need to take care of before they'll be fully ready to bring their daughter home, and that's not even considering the Christmukkuh decorations that will need to be placed around the apartment by Quinn and Quinn alone. She's not allowing Rachel to lift anything heavier than five pounds, and even that seems like too much to allow. Her wife and their baby bunny are too precious for her to take any chances with them.

She really feels like she needs just a little more time to prepare for it all, though Rachel would definitely disagree. At eight months, she's so ready to be done with this pregnancy.

Sometime in the last week or so, she'd hit the tipping point where her general irritation with the weight gain, back pain, fatigue, and mild cramping is overshadowing her enthusiasm for the whole experience. Quinn can certainly sympathize. She hasn't forgotten any of the aches or pains (or insecurities) that she'd experienced during the last couple months of her own pregnancies, so she's doing everything in her power to ease her wife's discomfort through these last six weeks.

That's assuming Rachel makes it the entire six weeks. They're both fully conscious of the fact that neither one of Quinn's pregnancies had gone completely to term. They're also aware that this pregnancy is completely different because it's happening inside Rachel, but Celeste is still very much a Fabray. According to Shelby and Hiram and Leroy, Rachel had arrived pretty much right on schedule, just one day early, so it's kind of a toss-up just whose genes are going to win the delivery date race.

There's also the little matter of Rachel's too-close-to-high blood pressure to consider. She's never quite crossed the line that Doctor Barnes said they'd need to worry about but she's been dancing along the edge of it often enough to make Quinn's own blood pressure sky rocket too. It's yet another reason Rachel is just so done with this, because Quinn keeps checking it and so does Doctor Barnes, who also orders a blood test and checks a urine sample at every prenatal appointment now to make sure there aren't any extra proteins to signal a problem. Rachel always points out that she has exactly no other symptoms of preeclampsia except for the swollen ankles that Quinn had contended with too, but Quinn can't help worrying about her wife and unborn daughter, and really, she thinks she's far more within her rights to worry than Rachel had been over her.

She's so attuned to Rachel's every little shuffle and sigh and grunt that she barely even sleeps anymore. Rachel thinks it's only fair since she's not having the best time getting comfortable either these days, and even when she can manage it, she has to get up every few hours to pee anyway.

"I barely slept either that last month before Calliope was born," she's reminded Quinn on numerous occasions.

It's a relatively sleepless night that's led them to this moment, at barely four-thirty in the morning in the darkness of their bedroom. Rachel's groans right now border on pornographic, though the cause is anything but. She's lying on her side in their bed with one pillow under her head and a second between her legs while Quinn kneels behind her, kneading at the aching muscles of her lower back. In fact, the only thing unchaste about the scene is Rachel's naked body because she'd stripped her shirt and underwear off an hour ago in response to a particularly potent hot flash after waddling back from the bathroom.

And okay, in all honesty, Quinn's thoughts are also not entirely chaste at the moment. Even heavily pregnant, her wife is incredibly sexy without her clothes, especially when she's making those noises. But Callie is asleep in the room next door, and her mothers really should be as well because they're actually supposed to meet Santana and Teresa and Sofie for brunch today before heading to the Winter Village if Rachel is still up for it. Indulging any urges that Quinn might be having right now will do neither of them any favors.

Not that Rachel would be in the mood anyway.

"God, can you just do this forever?" she moans between the press of Quinn's knuckles against a particular tight spot above her hip.

"I could try, but then I'd never be able to use my hands for anything else."

Rachel moans again. "You think you're funny, but I could happily sacrifice sex for this."

Quinn chuckles, shaking her head even though her wife can't see her with her eyes closed in blissful contentment. "I was actually referring to the cooking and cleaning and getting our daughter ready for school, but it's good to know where your mind is at right now." Unsurprisingly close to where her own is.

Rachel opens one eye, glancing back over her shoulder at Quinn. "My mind can be there even if my body is too achy and exhausted to follow it right now."

Smiling tenderly, Quinn pauses her ministrations to bend forward and place a soft kiss on her wife's shoulder. "I can call Santana and cancel if you'd rather stay home and sleep."

Rachel sighs and shakes her head against the pillow. "Calliope will be disappointed."

"We can take her next weekend." It's true that their daughter is just as excited to see her aunts and Sofie as she is for the Winter Village, but Quinn is sure that Santana and Teresa would understand the need to reschedule. Brunch can happen anytime Santana has a day free from the hospital. "Callie will probably be bored by the second stall at the market anyway." The Winter Village sounds like the coolest thing in the world to a Christmas-crazed child but the reality of it is just a giant outdoor shopping mall with a lot of niche vendors selling their crafts.

"She wants the hot chocolate, Quinn," Rachel reminds her. "And to watch the skaters. I don't want to take that away from her just because I've had another sleepless night, and I doubt Celeste will let me rest any better if I stay home." She runs a palm over the side of her belly. "She's been protesting her increasingly cramped living conditions all night long."

Quinn shifts on the bed, sliding down to lie behind Rachel before reaching out with her own hand to touch the warm skin of her wife's distended abdomen. It takes a few seconds of siding her palm around before she feels the sharp taps from her daughter, and she begins to rub gentle circles over what she thinks is a foot. "Come on, Bunny. Let your mama get some rest," she encourages, chasing those little taps with soothing fingers.

Snorting, Rachel rolls her shoulder back into Quinn's chest. "She takes instructions about as well as you do."

"Hey," Quinn protests, taking offense. "I am very accommodating, thank you very much." Santana constantly accuses her of being whipped by her wife, as if she doesn't melt into a big puddle of goo anytime Teresa bats her big, blue eyes.

"Now, perhaps," Rachel allows, idly racing her fingertips over the back of Quinn's hand. "But you can't really deny that younger you really liked getting your own way."

Quinn playfully bites at her wife's shoulder. "Pot and kettle, sweetheart."

Rachel laughs, nodding. "Yeah. You see why it's a hopeless case."

Celeste's persistent jabs would seem to agree, and Quinn huffs. "I don't accept that."

Suddenly enlivened by a new sense of purpose, she releases her loose hold on Rachel and pushes off the mattress, gracefully catapulting her body over her wife without disturbing her position much, but the sudden movement startles Rachel enough to have her gasping out a worried, "Quinn," and instinctively reaching out to touch her arm as she resettles in front of her.

Quinn shuffles down the mattress until she's eye level with Rachel's belly and cups it with both palms, one of them curving over the still restless movements of their daughter. "Hey there, Bunny Boo. It's Mommy."

Rachel gives a sharp tug to her hair at the nickname. "Don't you dare start calling her that," she warns, but there's enough amusement in her tone for Quinn to ignore her. She hasn't yet let slip the little bunny CeCe that she sometimes calls their baby girl in the safety of her own mind. Rachel remains willfully oblivious to the many nicknames that Celeste will likely get from everyone around her—Cee and CeCe and Celie and Este and Essie and God only knows what else. She'd wager a bet with Rachel that Santana will just use Cee like she's so fond of using Q, but Quinn is honestly a little frightened to bring it up and risk spiking her wife's blood pressure even more. Their friend has been irritating Rachel enough with all of the other nicknames that she already has for their unborn daughter.

Grinning, Quinn cranes her neck forward and presses a kiss to her wife's belly. "Celeste," she amends amiably. "My little moonbeam. You really need to calm down and let your mama get some much needed rest." She strokes her fingers back and forth over the smooth skin of Rachel's belly, rhythmically tapping back against her baby girl's kicks. "She's working so hard to keep you safe and comfortable until you can be out here with us." Rachel's hand settles in her hair then, fingers gently combing through the tangles. "It won't be much longer now," she promises, closing her eyes as she imagines being able to hold their daughter in her arms for the very first time. "There are so many things we'll get to do together. You're gonna see so many amazing things." The kicks under her hand are beginning to slow a bit, growing less intense as if she's actually listening to Quinn talk. "There'll be snow and twinkling lights and candles and music, and you don't know what any of that is yet, but Mama and I and your big sister, Calliope, are gonna teach you everything." She presses another kiss to Rachel's taut skin. "Don't worry. You can call her Cal," she whispers.

There's a weak tug at her hair again. "Don't tell her that." Quinn smiles at the expected rebuke. She can tell before she glances up at her wife's face, even through the hazy darkness, that Rachel is crying, but she isn't worried. She knows they're happy tears.

"You know she won't be able to say Callie's full name until she's, like, ten," she teases.

Rachel stubbornly shakes her head around her sniffles. "Five, maybe. She's obviously extremely intelligent." She lovingly sifts her fingers through Quinn's hair. "She just heard every word you said and took it to heart."

It's true. Their daughter is finally calm inside of Rachel's womb. The corner of Quinn's mouth quirks into a self-deprecating smile. "Or I bored her to sleep."

"Never," Rachel denies. "She's her mommy's little girl already."

"Making your life difficult and causing you pain?" Quinn jokes—well, mostly. "That tracks."

"It does not," Rachel chastises, stroking her cheek. "You've made my life so much better, Quinn. You gave me Calliope, and you gave me this baby," she touches two fingers to her belly before covering Quinn's hand with her own. "And most importantly, you gave me you. I wouldn't trade a single moment of our life for anything. "

Quinn knows this, of course. She feels exactly the same way. She doesn't know why she's being so self-disparaging all of a sudden except that she's feeling increasingly inept in the face of Rachel's restless discomfort. "Not even a whole night of uninterrupted sleep?"

Rachel smiles down at her. "Nothing, Quinn. Even if I am counting down the days until Celeste is here and I finally get my body back, I wouldn't wish away a single moment of this pregnancy. You know that."

Quinn nods. "I know. And I love you for it." She leans forward to kiss the back of Rachel's hand where it still rests on her belly over her own. "More everyday."

"If you dare say it's because there's more of me to love, I will be very annoyed with you," Rachel threatens with absolutely no menace whatsoever.

"I would never," Quinn assures her, smothering a grin.

"You're thinking it though," her wife accuses with a frown. "I can tell."

"I'm thinking," Quinn drawls before pressing her lips to a spot just above Rachel's navel, which fully transitioned from an innie to an outie last month, "that you are so very beautiful." Her hands slide a little higher on Rachel's body, and she shimmies closer but no higher on the mattress. "You've always been beautiful, of course." Not just physically, though her inner beauty had sometimes in their youth been well disguised by ego. (Quinn's had been disguised by vanity and avarice.) Another kiss is placed reverently to the top of her wife's belly. "But now your beauty is incandescent." Her fingers glide over every curve that marks their daughter's miraculous growth. "It shines from the inside out." Her gaze travels up from the baby bump, briefly skittering over the magnificent breasts that will soon nourish their daughter, to catch Rachel's eyes, which are clearly glistening in the low light.

"You glow, Rach, and it's not a line or a cliché to quote just because you're pregnant," Quinn dismisses, knowing that some people probably do say it just because of that. But not her. "It's like," she pauses, biting at her lip as she considers how best to phrase what she sees every time she looks at Rachel now. "It's like…all the love you've always had inside your heart is radiating out for the world to see." She lifts a hand to trace two fingers across her wife's cheek, catching the swiftly growing moisture there. "Even when you're grumpy or exhausted or uncomfortable, there's this look in your eyes…like…like you know this is exactly what you're meant to be doing and you're just…content." Quinn can't even be sure that she'd had that specific look about her when she'd been pregnant with Calliope. (She's sadly certain that she hadn't with Beth.) She closes her eyes and exhales in gratitude. "And I'm so fucking lucky that I get to be the one to share this with you."

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel rasps out between her tears. "You…you are…" She shakes her head, trying to regain her composure. "I just…" She inhales shakily, pressing Quinn's hand to her cheek with trembling fingers. "I'm so in love with you."

"As I am with you," Quinn vows, tears slipping down over her own cheeks.

"Come up here," Rachel demands wetly, weakly tugging at Quinn's arm. "I really need to kiss you properly right now."

With a soggy smile, Quinn does exactly as she's told, inching up the mattress in a clumsy shuffle until she can wrap her arm around Rachel and bring their lips together for a sweet—well, salty actually; very salty—kiss. Rachel's mouth opens beneath hers, and her fingers thread into Quinn's hair, but their kiss remains unhurried, silently communicating their mutual devotion.

She doesn't fully take notice of the subtle shift, the way the languorous meeting of lips and tongues turns slightly more demanding. Their hands stay in unassuming places, seemingly content to trace idle shapes of adulation across one another's skin, but the pillow between Rachel's knees eventually gets kicked away, and Quinn finds her own leg there instead while the hot press of her wife's hard belly nudges tighter against hers. Before long, something even hotter nudges against her thigh, and Rachel's kisses grow a little more frantic. Miraculously, their baby bunny is still asleep, or at least resting, but it's becoming increasingly obvious that her mama is very much more awake than she was a few moments ago.

Quinn reluctantly pulls back, a teasing smile curving her lips. "Think you can get some sleep now?" she murmurs, despite her own body being very much awake now as well.

Rachel's hand tightens in her hair, and her eyes flash. "Don't you dare be a tease right now."

"I'm not the one who started this, sweetie," Quinn counters, pressing her leg up in a wicked demonstration of the this that she's referring to. It pulls a sharp hiss from her wife.

"I'd disagree," Rachel argues breathlessly. "You clearly seduced me with your words." Her eyes flutter closed, and she moans quietly. "God, Quinn. Your words," she repeats like a benediction before kissing her again, slow and sensual. "They were poetry," she whispers when she finally pulls away.

"And we know what poetry does to you." This, Quinn thinks with a rush of pride. Exactly this.

"Exactly," Rachel agrees, lips brushing hers again. Lower, her hips rock against Quinn's thigh as much as they can with the hindrance of her belly between them.

Quinn finds herself trying to get impossibly closer even though she shouldn't. "I thought your body was too tired and achy to go there," she says around her wife's insistent lips.

"You clearly woke it up."

Quinn laughs lightly. "You and Bunny really need to coordinate."

Rachel nips at her chin, using her teeth. "That would most likely mean Celeste waking up, not me falling asleep."

"You don't know that." Rachel could still fall asleep if they cool this down now and just cuddle instead. "We still have a good two hours before Callie will be up." Maybe even longer if her little sunshine decides to stay in bed for once.

"Yes, Quinn. We have two hours," Rachel reiterates, scratching lightly at her scalp. "You should do something productive with them."

God, she really wants to, even though it's probably a bad idea. They'll be sleepwalking through the rest of the day. Then again, they'll probably be doing that anyway. They both had maybe five hours of sleep between them last night. And if Rachel is in the mood? Well, Quinn really needs to pounce on these opportunities when they present themselves nowadays.

"Are you sure you're really up for it?" she asks to be completely certain.

A guttural groan erupts from Rachel, and she hastily plucks Quinn's hand from its relatively innocent position on her lower back and directs it under her belly and between her legs. "Does that not feel like I'm up for it?" She demandingly presses Quinn's fingers into her slick folds, making it impossible for her to misunderstand her response.

The instant hot, wet coating on Quinn's fingertips more or less speaks for itself. "That does, yes."

"Well?" Rachel prompts impatiently.

Quinn's lips curl into a wicked grin, and she lazily drags her fingers in a tiny circle. "Well, it's definitely not a hardship to worship this gorgeous, fertile body of yours."

Rachel bites back an eager moan. "Then get to it, Quinn."

"So demanding," she teases before kissing her wife. Her fingers continue to play leisurely against Rachel's clit, drawing out the most wonderful little whimpers and whines. She knows that she could build her up really quickly, but she did promise to worship and—well, she loves this part.

She's always loved taking her time with Rachel, exploring every inch of her skin with eager hands and lips. She's memorized every crease and crevice and peak and valley on her body over the years only to rediscover them all again and again. She knows every little change in her wife wrought by time and life and has loved them all the more for their constant inconsistency.

That love is only more intense now for all the wondrous ways that her body has been reshaped in the last eight months. Every day brings a new change to explore, and Quinn has found ways to do it both subtly and unsubtly. She suspects that Rachel realized it months ago and indulges her every fleeting touch and caress even on the days when she isn't much in the mood for them.

But when Quinn is given free rein to explore, she does so with enthusiasm.

Her lips barely leave Rachel's skin as she slips down her body again. She doesn't doubt that Rachel would protest in some unignorable way if Quinn were to completely remove her hand from between her legs, but she really doesn't want this to be over too quickly, so she's careful to keep her touch light enough to draw out her wife's arousal but not push her over the edge just yet.

(Rachel would call it teasing, and Quinn won't deny it this time.)

It gives her time to slide the fingers of her other hand over Rachel's breasts, following the path with her eyes and then her lips. She traces over the faint veins that crisscross beneath her creamy skin, circling the darkened areolas. Rachel moans wantonly and presses at the back of Quinn's head, urging her closer. No one can say that Quinn Fabray hasn't learned to take a hint, so she gently laps at the engorged nipple with her tongue. She can taste the salty traces of the colostrum that Rachel is producing, and then she's the one moaning into her wife's skin. She'd once worried that this was gross when it had been her body and Rachel's insistent mouth, but now—now she understands the fascination.

Rachel's hips jerk hard in search of the friction Quinn keeps denying her, and she shifts restlessly, clearly trying to draw Quinn's fingers deeper. Her hand scrapes over Quinn's back, dragging at her sleepshirt, and Quinn chuckles against her breast because she still has her pajamas on and it seems like Rachel is just now noticing. It doesn't really matter anyway because all of this is solely about Rachel.

Of course, it being about Rachel is exactly why Quinn briefly pauses all her ministrations when her wife claws at her shirt again and breathlessly whines, "Off. Take it off."

Quinn pulls away to hastily tug her shirt over her head and toss it haphazardly behind her somewhere—it doesn't matter where. "Let's get you into a better position," she urges, reaching across her wife to snatch the pillow that she'd kicked away earlier and propping it up against the headboard.

Rachel is wholly uncooperative, too busy pawing at Quinn's newly exposed breasts. "You come back down here."

Quinn briefly complies, but only to kiss her wife, licking raunchily at her lower lip as she breaks away. "I want to taste you properly," she husks, trailing a hand over Rachel's thigh. "It'll be easier if you're sitting up."

"You're asking a lot right now," Rachel grumbles, hooking her fingers into Quinn's underwear and petulantly tugging at the waistband.

"I promise I'll make it worth your while," Quinn purrs, stroking Rachel's hip.

Rachel bites into her lower lip, visibly weighing her options, before she finally sighs out a huffy. "Fine," and heaves her body up into a sitting position.

Quinn finds her freaking adorable, all peevish and needy, but she bites back the words, instead reaching out to help Rachel scoot up the mattress. She quickly stacks another two pillows up to support her hips and back, and once she's settled, Quinn pats her leg. "Spread 'em, sweetheart. Heels down, knees apart."

Rachel smothers a smile, shaking her head. "So romantic." But she draws her legs up as instructed, and then she trails her own hand over a breast while the other drifts down over her belly, heading further south.

Quinn catches that hand with an arch expression. "That's my job," she reminds her, twining their fingers as she kneels in front of her wife. She braces her free hand on the headboard and leans in to kiss Rachel suggestively. Rachel kisses her back with enthusiasm, moving the hand not otherwise immobilized from her own breast to Quinn's where she proceeds to brush her thumb across the nipple.

Quinn gentles the kiss slowly before pulling back to grin at her wife. She lets go of her hand to give herself more leverage so she can fully resume her mission of worship. All too aware of where Rachel most needs her to be, she slips lower on the bed, mapping her wife's body with her mouth as she goes while her left hand slips back between her wife's legs.

Rachel's hands fidget between her hair and back and breasts, seemingly unable to decide where to settle until Quinn's thumb finds her clit and strokes lightly. Then both of her hands grip Quinn's shoulders, pushing her down. "Please," she gasps, bucking her hips impatiently.

Taking the hint—because again, she's gotten very good at that, especially when it comes to Rachel—she settles down on the bed between her wife's legs. Quinn takes a moment to appreciate the vision before her. Rachel Berry Fabray, beautifully pregnant with their baby, spread out before her and glistening with arousal. "Beautiful," she breathes out, watching her own thumb tease the pulsing pink heart of her wife's pleasure.

Rachel groans, and this one is completely pornographic in every way. She reaches for Quinn with one hand, tangling greedy fingers into her hair, and cups her own breast with the other. "Quinn, baby, please," she begs again, and how can Quinn deny her?

She can't.

She won't.

Licking her own lips in anticipation, Quinn dips her head down and replaces her hand with her mouth. She's memorized this part of her wife in the same way that she's memorized every other part of her, and just like the rest of her body, her taste has changed with her pregnancy too. It's headier, sharp and salty, but no less addictive. She circles Rachel's clit with her tongue before diving in deeper, and Rachel responds predictably, moaning in pleasure and rocking her hips in shallow undulations.

Quinn strokes one hand along Rachel's thigh while the other brushes back and forth across the curve of her belly where their daughter is still miraculously sleeping. She worships her with her lips and tongue, setting a rhythm she knows will bring Rachel to orgasm in no time at all. The pregnancy has made her far too sensitive for any other outcome. Quinn remembers the feeling all too well; the needful ache that ignites hot and fast from practically nowhere at all, blooming wildly into an inferno that threatens to overtake your whole body if you don't find some kind of release. Rushing so quickly to the precipice where even the slightest touch could push you over.

She can hear it happening in Rachel's gasps and moans and curses, though she's trying valiantly to keep them as quiet as she can, all too aware of their daughter sleeping next door. Quinn can feel it happening in the tightening coil of the muscles beneath her fingertips, in her wife's movements growing choppier and hips stuttering in an uneven cadence.

"So close," Rachel whines, tugging desperately at Quinn's hair.

Quinn brings her left hand down, slipping it beneath her chin and into her wife's heated body. She curls two fingers inside, expertly finding that familiar sweet spot, and coaxes Rachel ever closer to her peak as she flicks her tongue back and forth over her clit. It doesn't take much more after that to send her wife over the edge. Rachel's back arches, and she muffles a cry of pleasure into her fist as she comes in shuddering waves. Quinn eases her through every last spasm until she finally collapses bonelessly against the headboard.

Quinn lifts her head, placing gentle kisses along Rachel's thigh and lower belly as she takes in the sight of her thoroughly ravaged wife. "Oh…wow," Rachel pants, eyes closed blissfully as she struggles to catch her breath. "That was…yeah." She weakly reaches out to pat Quinn's hair like she's some kind of puppy. "Give me…a minute…and I'll do you."

Quinn hums in amusement, knowing it's an empty promise. Rachel already looks like she's half asleep now that she's been expertly relaxed. She carefully shifts to her wife's side and slips her arms beneath her, guiding her back down to the middle of the mattress and receiving a sleepy grunt of protest for her efforts. "Come on, sweetie," she urges, softly patting Rachel's hip. "Turn on your side."

"M'kay," Rachel murmurs, obediently rolling to her side with her back to Quinn, and Quinn slips a pillow under her head, fluffing it as she does. Rachel instantly snuggles into it then blindly reaches behind her for Quinn. Laughing silently, Quinn catches her flailing hand and curls around her back before bringing their joined hands to rest over the mound of their sleeping daughter. "This is nice," Rachel slurs drowsily.

"We still have an hour, maybe two," Quinn murmurs behind her ear. "Why don't you and Bunny catch a nap?"

"No," Rachel protests stubbornly, eyes still closed. "Reciprocity."

Quinn kisses her shoulder with a fond smile. "Maybe later." And her body really hates her for the lie. Even though she'd known from the beginning that this was about satisfying Rachel's needs, she can't help being ridiculously turned on right now.

"Yeah," Rachel breathes out, rapidly succumbing to pull of post-sex sleep. "Love you."

"I love you too, Rach," she whispers into her wife's hair and then listens as her breathing evens out in a matter of moments.

Quinn lies there for a while, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex and the traces of Rachel's shampoo. Eventually, her body stops throbbing quite so insistently, but she still isn't able to drift back to sleep. When she squints at the clock, she sees that it's just after six o'clock, and she sighs. The apartment is silent except for Rachel's soft snores, and she wants to let her wife sleep for as long as possible. They aren't due to meet their friends until ten-thirty at Bluestone Lane on Amsterdam Avenue, which is a convenient five minute walk away—well, probably ten now with Rachel's current gait. There's still the option of rescheduling, but even if they don't, Rachel can sleep for another three hours and still have time to get ready.

Not wanting to disturb her wife with her own restlessness, Quinn slowly removes her arm from around Rachel and carefully shuffles to the edge of the bed. She pads over to the closet and quietly opens the door, just as quietly closing it behind her before she switches on the light. She's especially grateful that it's a walk-in right now because it means that she can grab an outfit for the day without waking up her wife and then sneak off to the second bathroom to shower and get dressed. She only hopes that she doesn't wake up Callie along the way.

She throws on a robe just in case, then tiptoes out of the closet and then out of the bedroom with her armful of clothes. Oliver skitters down the hallway from the living room the moment that he hears her, letting out a scratchy mewl before she shushes him. He isn't happy to be locked out of their bedroom again thanks to Rachel's pregnancy, and he's equally unhappy to be barred from the guest room now that it's been turned into a nursery, so he's mostly taken to napping on the chair in the living room when he can't sneak into Callie's bedroom. Quinn isn't surprised at all when he follows her into the bathroom, jumping up on the sink to bump his head insistently into her hand. Smiling, she scratches under his chin. He's getting up there in years now, having turned ten this year, but he still looks like a kitten, remaining forever on the small, lanky side due to his inauspicious start to life.

Quinn doesn't like to think about him getting older.

He stays with her, content to sit on the edge of the sink and watch her do her business. His green eyes go wide when she eventually turns on the shower, despite the number of times he's seen her do this over the years, and he jumps from the sink to the floor when she steps inside, standing sentinel outside the stall while she lathers her body with soap. (It briefly crosses her mind to take care of her earlier problem while she's at it, but Ollie's presence is very effective at dissipating the last remnants of her arousal.)

After washing her body and her hair, which is still too long for her liking, she turns off the water and steps out of the shower. Oliver predictably jumps inside to play in the small puddles left behind. He's the weirdest cat sometimes.

Quinn towels the moisture from her body and attempts to dry her hair as best she can before combing through it and leaving it damp. She'll have to do it later when her girls are up and she isn't so concerned about staying quiet. She dresses with the expectation of being outside for a few hours, designer jeans paired with a soft, blue sweater. The weather is still fairly mild, but there's a definite chill to the morning air, and the temperature later today is set to top out in the low sixties. She leaves her feet bare for the moment as she pads out of the bathroom and sees to Ollie's breakfast.

The apartment is still quiet, and Quinn contemplates what to do until her girls are awake. There's no need to start breakfast if they're going for brunch. Callie might want a bowl of cereal when she wakes up to tide her over, but that doesn't require any preparation. Quinn had finished writing the final book in her series early last month, and she's only waiting on Aileen to let her know if the last revisions have been approved. She has no plans to start anything new for another year at least, though she's been jotting down notes about several promising ideas. She wants to concentrate fully on her family for a while, especially after they bring their baby bunny home.

The nursery is as good as finished, only waiting for Celeste to make it complete, and Quinn finds herself wandering in there now. She feels the tell-tale prickle of happy tears behind her eyes when she switches on the light and gazes around the room. The walls are a pale yellow, painted by her own hand at the end of September after she'd kicked Rachel out of the apartment, sending her off for a pregnancy spa day with Kurt, and Rachel had been so relaxed when she came home that she didn't even attempt to sneak a peek at the color before the fumes had completely cleared. The color they'd chosen is a softer shade than the bright yellows that Rachel generally favors, and Quinn suspects her wife had agreed to the compromise only because they'll probably be moving sometime next year. She'd also agreed to the bunnies too, though Quinn can't take credit for those.

Teresa had shown up on a Tuesday morning in mid-October with Sofia slung in a carrier across her front and a backpack of paint supplies on her shoulder. Since she was only doing a small mural, Quinn and Rachel had both passed the two scant hours it had taken her to complete it by playing with Sofie in the living room. Watching Rachel with their friends' little girl and knowing that their own second daughter was growing beneath her heart had been such a joy for Quinn, made even more joyful when she and Rachel had seen the artwork in her nursery.

The crib had already been pieced together and positioned before Teresa arrived this time around. Quinn had done that too—well, mostly. She might have needed Rachel's help a little more directly than Rachel had needed hers, though Quinn hadn't allowed her wife to lift anything heavier than the screwdriver. Because of that, they'd walked in to see a wall with adorable little white bunnies looking up at the crib from both sides while another slept askew on a moon positioned above it, very similar to the cat in Calliope's room. There are even a few stars in a bolder, brighter gold hue scattered around the moon to tie their daughters' rooms together.

Quinn had cried. So had Rachel.

Callie had decided that she wanted bunnies in her room too when she got home from school, but they'd thankfully talked her out of the notion.

Quinn presses a hand to her heart and sighs in happiness as she takes in the room now, from the mural to the crib to the tiny, cowabunga bunnies dangling from the mobile that Santana had bought them. The baby shower this time around hadn't been a surprise. It was a small gathering of their friends and family at Shelby's house to celebrate their baby's impending arrival and resupply them with a few things that they'd given away after Callie had outgrown them.

Much like with Callie, Teresa had gifted them with a small painting to match the mural—something tangible that they can take with them when they inevitably leave this apartment behind. It's hanging on the opposite wall from the mural.

Rachel still grumbles good-naturedly about the bunny theme that Quinn had sparked with her impromptu nickname for their precious baby girl. Quinn still grumbles about the Lucy that she knows will be going on Celeste's birth certificate. Neither of them would change any of it.

Soon Celeste Lucy Fabray will be right here, living in this room and in their arms the way she's already living in their hearts.