Thank you for your patience. My laptop sucks and life is busy, but hopefully the next chapter will be up more quickly.

Chapter Twenty-Two: What do I do? . . . What have I done?

Over half of the pizza's had already been devoured and nobody was apologetic about it. The fire was lit, making the room cosy and warm and the big decision of which DVD they were going to watch first was underway when Rachel ravenously sank to her knees beside the untouched Vegetable Supreme.

"No way."

"I look good," she said automatically, catching the attention out the corner of her eye.

"You look like a fucking nursery rhyme character."

"I do. I'm Wee Willie Winkie." She turned her flashlight on and off as a selling point. "It doesn't change the fact that I look good."

"No, I look good," Santana said; and she did. Her pajamas were red silk, slinky on her slim form and definitely hot. If Rachel was into she-devils . . . correction, if she was into she-devils not called Quinn . . . she would definitely see Santana's appeal. "You look like . . ."

"The Sandman," Mercedes said for her.

Rachel smiled, happy that she could fill two roles with one outfit. "Thank you, Mercedes. Your bedroom attire is adorable, if I may say."

Mercedes looked down at her tan pajamas with the little fishes and fries on them and wisely decided to cut her losses. "Yeah, thanks."

"Whatever. I look awesome," Brittany said and hit play on the DVD before anyone could agree or disagree.

Rachel watched the movie but try as she might she couldn't really follow it. Not when Quinn was sitting just there and her brain was all fuzzy and it seemed way more important to eat as many slices of Vegetarian Supreme as she could.

She was vaguely aware that she'd just been sucking on the crust of her fifth slice for several minutes while staring at the ceiling when she heard Quinn say, "Someone take that away from her before she chokes on it."

"You do it; she's your pet," Santana muttered.

Tina pulled it gently from her mouth. "Are you okay, Rachel?"

"Yes thank you, Tina, just sleepy." She watched Bruce Willis run around in a wifebeater for a few minutes before her head lolled back on the edge of the couch again.

The last thing she heard was Quinn saying, "Britt, can you lift Ra-uh-paul onto the couch before she ends up in my lap."

"Noooo," she wanted to say, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate.

She didn't know how long she'd slept for but a different movie was playing, the pizza boxes had been cleared away and everyone positions had shifted by the time her heavy eyelids edged open again. The most notable of which was Quinn's who was now topping and tailing with her on the couch. A blanket was covering them, well Rachel mostly because she'd pulled it up to her chin. When Quinn saw that she was awake she scooped a bottle of mineral water from the floor and threw it over.

What were they were watching? She didn't really care, but she figured it would only be polite to sit up and pay attention. Oops, how long had her legs been so thoroughly entwined with Quinn's? She pulled her legs back and just as quickly Quinn pulled her knees up to her chin, obviously eager to get away. Rachel twisted at her flattened nightcap to make it comfortable again and drank some more of the water. Why was her mouth so dry!

When she lowered the bottle Quinn was looking over her knees and mouthed, "You okay?"

She nodded and played out some of the blanket. Quinn read the message and gripped the end to pull it over her. For another few minutes she tried to get into the movie but it wasn't happening. She turned back to Quinn and after a minute the attention was felt.

"Are you okay?" she mouthed.

It was Quinn's turn to nod but after a moment she shrugged.

"What's up?"

"My fetus."

"The baby?"

Quinn frowned, "Uh, probably."

"How does it hurt?" Should she be worried? She really wished she could remember the number for 911 right now.

"They just really ache. Swollen ankles."

"How does that hurt your baby?"

Quinn frowned more. "It doesn't. It hurts me."

"I'm confused. Is your fetus in trouble or not?"

Quinn stared at her blankly for a moment before she started laughing. When everyone else turned to look at her in surprise she gestured at the TV, "What? No one else found that funny?"

"That dude just got beheaded, Q!" And when Santana sounded that repulsed it was clear laughter was inappropriate.

"Well, I thought it was funny." Quinn gave it a minute, letting everyone get back into the film, before she looked at Rachel again. "Feet sore!" her silent lips enunciated perfectly. Pointing at her feet so there could be no mistake this time. "Not fetus."

"Oh." That did make more sense.. "I can help with that." She made a come hither gesture and Quinn frowned and shook her head no. Rachel rolled her eyes and mouthed, "Not you, your feet."

"Why?"

Rachel gave her a 'trust me!' look – complete with waggling fingers. Quinn frowned and nodded her own head to indicate their companions spaced out around the room.

She couldn't see the problem, everybody was facing the television after all. Santana was mostly obscured by a large throw cushion and Brittany was using Santana's lap as a pillow. Mercedes was curled up in the armchair while only Tina's stretched-out legs were visible to Rachel.

Judging it would take too long and be too complicated to mouth all of that to Quinn she went for a visual demonstration instead, waving her arms around as if she was trying to attract their attention. When no one told her to stop acting like an idiot she turned back to Quinn with a wide smile.

Quinn still looked uncertain. Was she concerned that her offer was less than altruistic and that she was really planning to perform some kind of sexual deviance on her feet! Rachel wasn't sure such a thing was even possible but then with Quinn's extreme ear fetish who knew what other unexpected body parts turned her on . . .

"Fine," she murmured as an end to the matter and then pulled the blanket back up to her shoulders, tucking her arms beneath it and folding her hands comfortably between her thighs. She turned back to the movie everyone else seemed to be enjoying so much. Maybe if she gave it a longer chance she would too.

She was vaguely aware of the blanket moving a few minutes later as a big toe gingerly edged up to the back of her knuckles. She looked sharply to Quinn, who wasn't looking back because her eyes were darting nervously around the room. Only when she moved her knuckle, nudging the toe curiously, did Quinn meet her gaze.

"Keep it friendly!" was mouthed to her and she wanted to point out that they weren't friends, on Quinn's insistence, but then she remembered how Quinn had given her refuge for the night so that she didn't have to face her parents while intoxicated on cannabis and how Quinn had even written her a script so she could call her Dads about the impromptu Glee sleepover without giving herself away and how Quinn had leant her a bikini and and a night shirt and had ordered her a Vegetable Supreme without needing to be prompted and then hadn't gotten that mad when Rachel had eaten some of hers instead . . .

So instead she rolled her eyes and picked up Quinn's right foot and . . . okay, now what did she do? She'd never given a foot massage before. She used to massage her Daddy's broad shoulders when she was little, but it had only ever made him laugh because her small hands had tickled.

How hard could it be?

The foot was soft and warm and not much bigger than her size fives, easy to cradle in her hands as she experimentally ran her thumbs up the sole. Quinn flinched, pulling her foot back as it tickled, glaring and biting her lip to stop herself from swearing out loud. Rachel just about managed to hold on to the appendage and offered a silent yet sincere apology.

It was five minutes before her thumbs finally managed to start working the magic she'd been hoping to produce and Quinn's glare faded away. She was getting the hang of it now, rolling her thumbs around the ball of the foot where the skin was slightly tougher – probably from years of cheerleading (the pads of her toes were the same from a decade of ballet classes). She must have been hitting something just right because Quinn's eyes slipped closed and her foot was pushing eagerly into Rachel's touch. She had to admit that while she didn't feel like she was about to develop any kinky foot fetishes, as friendly gestures went this one felt good.

She wasn't watching Quinn's face the whole time, as much as she wanted to. Every few minutes her eyes went around the room to make sure nobody was looking back and Quinn was doing the same. Nobody ever was and even if they did the movement under the blanket would have been all but impossible to detect in the darkened room. It was silly really, considering Quinn could have just ordered her out loud to massage her feet and everyone would just assume she was taking advantage of having Rachel crushing on her and then they wouldn't have this nervousness that was stopping them both from really enjoying themselves.

Quinn was practically purring and literally arching her back in pleasure when Rachel's apparently quite skillful fingers began experimenting, travelling up and over her heel and smoothing over the top of her foot until she was running firm hands over her ankle, massaging the flesh below and above the joint in an effort to reduce the minor puffiness. Quinn certainly seemed to be enjoying that too, stretching her leg out more until her toes tented the blanket between Rachel's thighs.

Encouraged she continued upwards, thinking of nothing more than making Quinn feel better, and only when the foot was snatched away did Rachel realize she had been slowly working her massaging skills up a shapely calf!

Quinn raised an eyebrow and it was hard to tell whether she was being remonstrative or simply questioning. Playing safe Rachel shrugged and mouthed "What's wrong?"

Giving her a wry smile, Quinn set her eyes back on the television.

After another minute or so had passed, she took Quinn's left foot delicately between her hands, no longer so worried that her covert actions would be noticed. Besides, everyone's attention seemed to be fully focused on the gripping on screen drama. Well, not quite everyone's, Rachel didn't miss Quinn's grateful sigh and small smile as her thumbs began to firmly circle the ball of her left foot.

Really she didn't know why she hadn't thought of this before. Tonight wasn't the first time Quinn had complained her feet were aching and with the ever-more demanding dance routines they were practicing for Sectionals she really needed to take better care of them. The entire team would be let down if Quinn couldn't compete due to swollen ankles.

Did Finn do this kind of thing for her? Rachel couldn't imagine the thought would ever cross his mind. What sixteen year old boy would think to offer his girlfriend a foot rub. She made a mental note to mention it to him in passing, confident that once the idea was in his head he would follow through on it. For now though . . .

For now she was thoroughly enjoying the fact that she was the one giving Quinn a foot rub, discreetly, under a blanket and completely hidden from the other female members of Glee club that they were sharing their evening with. She felt high again but on something far more powerful than Noah Puckerman's special ingredient or Mrs Schuester's over-the-counter prescription drugs. She was high on the secrecy and the risk and the seductive allure of Quinn's eyebrows. The combination was thrilling and she was almost throbbing with it.

No, she was actually throbbing with it and it was becoming a struggle to keep her breathing even and her eyes on the television. She wanted to watch Quinn to see if there was even an iota of the current rush of emotions on her face as must have been showing on her own. She couldn't look though, to look would be to give herself away and as soon as Quinn knew this had gone beyond a friendly gesture it would be snatched away again.

She admittedly felt like a pervert as she grew increasingly and evidently excited at the simple act of giving an oblivious Quinn a foot massage, but she couldn't deny that she was a happy pervert.

So she concentrated on the softness of the shapely foot held between her palms, both thumbs rubbing circles up and down the length of her sole while her eyes remained glued to whatever might be happening in the movie – there was a lot of gunfire at the moment, keeping everyone else riveted.

She had to stop at some point though, just to catch her breath. On the outside she was sure she looked perfectly composed, on the inside she felt like she'd just done a triathlon – a three-legged triathlon. She took her hands away for a moment and balled them at her sides, willing herself back under control. Was this what boys felt like just before . . .? No wonder Finn always looked so red in the face and flustered after making out with the girl opposite her. If Rachel was making out with her right now she could fully believe she would die from the overload of this feeling.

Oh Barbra, don't think about making out with her now!

After a minute had passed since she'd stopped Quinn's toes tapped against the inside of her thigh. Not sure that it was a good idea Rachel looked down the length of the couch to meet her eyes anyway. Quinn's expression was clearly questioning. That didn't help either! Another few seconds passed before Quinn tapped her thigh again. She couldn't. She wanted to but she just couldn't give Quinn what she wanted knowing that if she did she would completely embarrass herself in one way or another.

Rachel would gladly give her a foot massage another day, when they weren't sat in semi-darkness together on a couch under the same blanket and, side note,how could a film that had been all about shooting people five minutes before suddenly be in the middle of a highly enthusiastic scene of a sexual nature. There was only one thing she could do if she wanted to keep her sanity and some small measure of dignity in this situation, and that was instigate her own 'No Touching' rule.

So when Quinn quirked an impatient eyebrow, Rachel shook her head, balled her fists even tighter and slumped further down against the arm of the couch. Pouting, Quinn crossed her arms over her chest and mirrored her slump; eyes going back to the screen. She tried to do the same but was suddenly hyper-aware of how her refusal and Quinn's petulant response had pushed them even more intimately together. There were feet up her night shirt! Why did Quinn have to have such long legs? Why had she chosen this position to sit in while giving her a foot massage? Why had she ever thought it was sensible to give her a foot massage in the first place? Why had she chosen to be Wee Willie Winkie and not Tigger tonight?

She didn't have an answer to any of those questions. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was doomed to remain in this position until Quinn chose to change it, because she couldn't move or shift her legs closer together now without entangling a pair of feet in the night shirt and the idea of mentioning her discomfort to Quinn just made her even more uncomfortable, especially as the other girl didn't seem to be aware that she was driving Rachel to the brink of her first nervous breakdown.

Quinn crossed her ankles and Rachel jumped as a big toe brushed across her thigh. Actually, was it accurate to call that her thigh? It was very close to her thigh but technically a little too high up to be anatomically correct. She squeezed her eyes shut, fingernails digging crescents into her palm, willing this torture to be over at once and also wishing it would go on forever. Quinn was still completely oblivious, laughing along with the other girls at some witty dialogue that Rachel had no chance of hearing through the rush of blood in her ears. She was surprised she had any blood left up there to impair her hearing; from what she had learned in Biology only a few weeks ago it should have all been rushing south by now to where she was tingling or buzzing or something like she never had before.

She was no stranger to being aroused by Quinn these days, but she wasn't used to having her so near to the centre of her arousal. It was best to block it out, focus on the movie and wait for it to pass.

A fast song – probably the one hit of the soundtrack – began playing as the action cut between a club scene and a fast paced car chase across the desert. Santana and Tina both began singing along while Brittany waved her arms in the air, apparently too comfortable to dance properly, and Mercedes informed them that she had to have that car. The normalcy of the moment cut through some of Rachel's haziness and she was about to remind Mercedes that she didn't even have her driver license yet when Quinn started tapping her damn foot to the music.

Rachel tensed, gave a strangled squeak, untensed, mellowed, gave in, bit her lip and . . . did something stupid.

"Rachel!"

So much for not embarrassing herself.

Quinn's attention was suddenly shocked from the movie and her head whipped around to stare at the girl opposite her with wide eyes. "Rachel!"

Rachel's eyes were wide full of something . . . full of something Quinn didn't want to be able to name. Had she really just . . . What had she done exactly? Brushing was too subtle a word and implied accidental contact and that had definitely not been an accident, but she hadn't exactly been dry humping her foot either. It was more as if as she'd tapped her foot against Rachel's hand, Rachel's hand had rubbed back against her . . . firmly, insistently and, horrifyingly, suddenly feeling absolutely nothing like the back of somebody's hand.

And there was very little dry about the humping too! Oh God! She belatedly snatched her foot back, heart hammering, not quite sure whether she was going to freak out over this or not yet. Surely there had to be an explanation other than the one that was staring her in the face. Although, the explanation that was staring her in the face – eyes still huge and dark with emotion, lower lip trembling just enough to be noticeable and deeply flushed skin – was pretty hard to disbelieve.

Rachel was turned on; turned on so hard that if she was Finn she'd be chanting about postal workers immediately prior to making a mess in her underwear.

"What did she do?"

Registering Mercedes voice, Quinn slowly turned her head to find all four of the other girls looking at her.

"Whatever it was, I told you so," Santana said easily.

"How can you have told her so if you don't even know what it was yet?" Tina asked.

"I said inviting her over was a mistake," Santana shrugged. "That covers everything since she walked in the door."

"What did you do, Rachel?" Brittany asked. "How did you make Quinn use her President's voice?"

While Rachel gaped, Mercedes asked, "President's voice?"

"Yeah, Quinn's President of the Celibacy Club and that's the voice she uses when she wants to get celibate with someone."

"And seeing who she's all cuddled up with tonight it's no wonder she's getting her president on," Santana said with idle malice.

"I don't have a presidential voice, in fact I'm not even president any more. I was impeached, remember, for grave misconduct." Her hand rested briefly on the small swell of her stomach above the blanket. "And Rachel's hand just accidentally brushed my foot and and it made me jump. Really not a big deal." Quinn fell silent, eyes going back to Rachel, until another thought occurred to her. "And this is not cuddling. We're at opposite ends of the couch. There is no contact between us. She's not even within arm's reach. How is that cuddling? That's cuddling!"

She pointed down to where Santana lay propped up on a squishy floor cushion with Brittany's head resting contentedly on her stomach. Santana scowled and half sat up, planning to switch positions to something less over-familiar, but Brittany murmured disapproval at that and refused to be moved until Santana eventually lay back down and settled for just shooting a vicious glare at Quinn.

Once she was confident she'd stopped disaster dead in its tracks she turned her attention to the culprit, ready to deliver a silent verbal attack but the harsh words were scorched away by the unmitigated heat in Rachel's eyes.

To be the cause of this effect was exhilarating. Not that Quinn was a stranger to making guys weak in the knees - before she'd told Finn she was pregnant he'd usually looked like he needed a cold shower just from holding her hand in the halls, but she'd always found Finn's horny look kind of hilarious . . . and unfortunately Rachel's horny look was nothing like Finn's.

Damn, she hated that she'd ever found out what Rachel-freaking-Berry's horny look looked like. It had been plaguing her for weeks. And now it was right there; staring at her from just feet away, fuelling her silent power trip and making her squirm with a curiosity she might never be comfortable with. She – they – had flirted with it a few times now but she always backed away. But what would it actually be like to give in to such a feeling?

How did Rachel feel right now? Maybe it wasn't actually that good, because she did sort of look like she was about to hyperventilate, and there was at least as much panic on her face as want.

Rachel threw the blanket to the side, muttering, "I should probably go."

Quinn knew she should let her, it would be better all round, she should never have invited her in the first place, but her curiosity was outweighing her common sense. Her foot shot out, colliding with Rachel just above her knee before she could swing herself off of the couch.

Rachel's body froze, looking down startled at the foot pressing into her leg firmly enough that she was pinned in place. As she looked up Quinn cocked an eyebrow and nodded to the blanket. A second later Rachel pulled it back over her, right up to her shoulders with her arms buried beneath again.

"But I still don't know why the alien woman came to earth in the first place?" Brittany said as the movie came to an end.

"There ain't no aliens in Die Hard." Mercedes told her, confused.

Tina was already in a crouch. "Should I get the lights?"

Quinn was about to say yes when delicate hands encased her foot and thumbs began pressing firm circles under her toes. She bit her bottom lip and blurted out instead, "How about we watch another movie?"

Santana handed Tina a DVD case. "Right, Scream 2 it is then."

Rachel pushed herself up a little against the arm of the couch, "Ladies, I find myself compelled to ask, considering I was led to believe this was to be a girly sleepover, does no one else find it strange that all of our movie choices have been either science-fiction, action or horror?"

"It's not a girly-sleepover," Quinn corrected, amused. "It's just a sleepover for the girls."

"Which is still making me question why you're here," Santana said, never one to miss an opportunity.

"I believe I'm here because I consumed narcotic-laced cupcakes on Quinn's behalf."

"Yeah, you got stoned. You're fine now, so why are you still here? Isn't there a boy's sleepover somewhere you'd be more comfortable at?"

Rachel looked to her reproachfully. What, did she honestly think Quinn was going to stick up for her? She'd already used up her free pass this evening and besides, even if she was prepared to, it wouldn't help. Santana loved two things most in the world – well three but Brittany wasn't relevant to this – preying on the weak and trying to 'one up' her. If Quinn started sticking up for Rachel, Santana would just have twice as many reasons to target her and twice as much fun doing so.

"Are you just going to put up with that?" Quinn murmured as the movie began.

Rachel's mouth pressed into a firm line and she breathed in heavily through her nose.

"I'm here because I was invited, Santana, every bit as equally as you, and so I am sure Quinn would prefer it if you were to stop questioning her judgement and simply respect her decisions while you are in her home." Quinn's eyes slammed closed, she'd never wanted to be made the center of this argument.

Even though her eyes were still closed she knew the second that Santana jack-knifed into a sitting position because she heard Brittany grunt as she was displaced and by the way her foot was suddenly being gripped so fearfully that she was worried her toes might pop with the pressure. She opened her eyes again.

"Oh you think that's what she'd prefer, do you?" Santana sneered

"I do."

"Tell me, Treasure Trail, what the hell makes you think you know Quinn better than I do? We've been best friends for three years and you've been, what? stalking her for three weeks and you think you know her? Give me a break. You are not her special friend, Frodo."

"I . . . I . . ."

As Rachel struggled to form a reply, Quinn heard Tina mutter, "I can't look away."

Followed by Mercedes saying, "Hell, I don't want to."

"I don't even know why she's bothering with you," Santana continued, "Unless, are you like her extra credit assignment for biology or something. Did they run out of frogs, Q?"

"And I don't know why she bothers with you!" Rachel shot back. She sounded suddenly fearless but it was all Quinn could do to not squeal as short, blunt nails dug into the back of her foot. "At least I bring something positive into her life. All you do is bitch and sneer and be mean to people all the time – who needs a friend like that?"

"Everyone should have a friend like that, keeps their lives interesting." Santana switched lanes. "And what are these 'positive things' you think you're enriching her life with anyway? 'Cause last I checked the need to get out a restraining order wasn't considered the highlight of anyone's day."

Tina and Mercedes shared another look, clearly growing uncomfortable as the argument escalated – they should try being in her shoes! – thankfully, before Rachel could respond and dig Quinn a deeper hole Brittany said,

"I wish guys would fight over me like this. It's super hot."

Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been so thankful for Brittany's interruption but at least it gave her a safe place to step in without it looking like she was taking one side over the other.

"They're not fighting over me, Britt, they're just using me like a ping pong ball to score points off of each other. And I do not appreciate it. And it was not hot. Now can we please watch the movie?"

As Santana flopped back down on the floor cushion Quinn settled back against the arm of the couch again, shifting her shoulders until she was comfortable. She'd lied about their altercation. Santana might have just been saying whatever she thought would get a rise out of the weaker girl but Rachel had meant every passionate word and that was hot. Her eyes were on the screen but she could feel Rachel still gazing at her and as thumbs began to knead the pads of her feet deliciously slowly once more she gave in.

"What?" she mouthed. Rachel shook her head. "Then stop looking at me." She enunciated every silent word so that they couldn't be mistaken.

Rachel ducked her head, embarrassed maybe, before forcing herself to watch the movie. Quinn took the opportunity to watch her. She was so attractive when she was all fired up like this – not that she was ever unattractive. The girl was ridiculously short though; her feet barely came up to either side of Quinn's knees on the long couch where as hers obviouslywent a great deal further than that. Quinn felt a flash of warmth at the memory and prayed she wasn't blushing. She tried to shake that thought away but it wouldn't be easily removed, especially with Rachel's hot hands rubbing her toes and bringing the previous sensation back with perfect clarity. Her foot twitched involuntarily and she cursed under her breath when it caused Rachel to turn back to her.

She gulped at being caught staring and Rachel gulped at catching her staring and then Quinn glared at her. She didn't want to, she didn't really feel like glaring but it was the only way she could think of to gain back the upper hand.

Rachel's eyes jerked to the movie to avoid her glare, but they couldn't resist the temptation to creep back. Quinn nodded slowly, ensuring Rachel didn't look away again. She wasn't looking overcome with desire any more though; apparently the balance had shifted on the score too. She wanted to tip the scales back the other way, get those dark eyes burning for her again.

She bent her left knee a little, before pushing her right foot slowly up until it contacted lightly with the inside of Rachel's knee again. She felt and saw the girl jump and smiled to herself. She didn't look away from the movie though. Quinn should probably watch it too, for appearances sake, but she didn't want to miss anything.

As soon as she felt the girl relax, obviously assuming the contact was accidental, Quinn started to move her foot again. It had barely slid an inch before the tensing was back, even more so than before. She could feel the taut thigh muscle under her toes and see how Rachel was clenching her jaw. The girl had stamina though because she still didn't look away from the TV to see what was going on. By the time Quinn's toes inched under her stripey nightshirt the thigh was trembling and Rachel was biting her lip, hard.

That should have been enough, that should have been the place to stop. She'd proved her point; except she wanted to see it. She wanted to see what she had before – the flushed face, the hot dark eyes, the trembling look of desire – she didn't know why, but it was a compulsion and for the first time in her life – okay, the second time but this time was totally different – she wanted to let temptation lead her astray.

By the time the heel of her foot was under the hem Rachel eyelids were heavy, she was all but panting, her entire body was shaking and she kept alternating between gritting her teeth and licking her lips – and Quinn had honestly never been even a quarter as aroused before as she was right now from just watching Rachel's profile and knowing she was the cause. It was a heady, dangerous feeling – and Rachel still hadn't looked away from the TV!

Someone on screen got slashered and the four other girls jumped, Tina and Brittany both screaming too. Rachel jumped and yelped for an entirely different reason and Quinn smiled at her accidental but perfect timing as she flexed her toes against the warmth of a slightly moist bikini.

And now she had the girl's full attention.

"What . . .?" Rachel panted, dazed and confused.

"Quiet!" She mouthed, trying to keep her own face impassive.

Rachel tried to nod but had to bite her lip instead, pushing forward like she had before as Quinn flexed her toes again.

Okay, now was the time to stop, she had what she wanted. She wriggled her toes and Rachel's eyes fluttered closed as she slipped down further against the arm of the couch, pressing firmly against the ball of Quinn's foot. She had to stop this now, she was supposed to be teasing her not pleasing her!

Rachel's eyes opened again and it was the most captivating thing she had ever seen and then they were rocking together, a constant back and forth of dampish pressure, like they actually knew what they were doing. And then before she knew it Rachel was pressing harder, grinding against her foot and Quinn did nothing to stop it.

Seconds later Rachel's head was tipped back on the uncomfortably hard arm of the couch with her eyes closed and a secret smile playing on her lips. Even beneath the blanket she could see the rate at which her chest was rising and falling.

Fuck!

Quinn scooted backwards on the couch and pulled her knees up under her chin. Knowing, obviously, that it was as futile a gesture as closing the proverbial stable door after finding hoof prints across your rose beds. There was no way they'd gotten away with . . . with whatever that had been! She couldn't turn her head but she had to. She needed to meet the shocked and confused stares to plausibly discount the obvious. One . . . two . . . th . . . what the hell? Nobody was staring at her in disgust! Santana and Mercedes were busy calling each other out over jumping at the scarier bits and Brittany was shushing them so that she could concentrate. Meaning it must be Tina she could hearing snoring.

Hardly able to believe their moment of total insanity had gone unnoticed she looked incredulously back to Rachel; who was lounging bonelessly with a stupid, knowing smile. The lack of consideration infuriated Quinn, making her want to slap the look off of her face. And then came the guilt - or even more guilt - because smug smile aside Rachel's only crime here was being the willing victim of her crime.

Suddenly the blanket, Rachel's smile, the room closing in on her, the volume of the movie, Rachel's legs brushing her own, her friends' loud conversation, Rachel . . . it was all too much. She had to get out of there.

She was up on her shaky legs in a second. Naturally that caused every eye in the room to land on her.

"You okay, Q?"

"I've got a splitting headache." Even as she answered Santana she didn't know how she was forming a coherent sentence. "You guys enjoy the rest of the night. There's more popcorn in the cupboard, but I need to go to bed." Accidentally catching Rachel's eye she added, "Alone!"

Mercedes chuckled, "Who else are you going to go to bed with?"

Quinn realized her mistake, but had just enough reason left to reply. "Santana and Brittany usually stay in my room, but I need to sleep this migraine off. We have two spare rooms; you can sort out the sleeping arrangements between yourselves."

She caught Rachel's eye one last time before leaving. The girl didn't look upset or even confused, in fact she was still smiling as she watched her go.