Title: Don't Hide Your Love
Author: Frensayce
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Spoilers: Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU
Disclaimers: Not mine.
A/N: Halloween prompt from forever ago. From my livejournal, here for you. :)
She could kill them. She could really kill them. Years of friendship were not enough to pacify the present anger within Quinn Fabray. Tonight was supposed to be fun. Her two best friends convinced her to dress as a themed threesome for Halloween. It'd been Britt's idea and Quinn had been wary because she was not about to put on bellbottoms and be one of Charlie's clichéd Angels. When they told her their plan, though, she'd actually gotten excited.
Brittany loved The Princess Bride and wanted to be Buttercup. Santana called dibs on playing the swashbuckling hero, Westley, but her girlfriend shut her down. According to Britt, because San was "Hispanish", it made more sense for her to be Inigo Montoya. And since she'd do anything for Brittany, she agreed. That meant Quinn had to be Westley.
However, Britt was very clear that she couldn't dress as "farm boy Westley."
So, for Puck's Halloween party, Quinn Fabray would go as none other than the character's alter ego, the Dread Pirate Roberts. Because Brittany said so. And whatever Britt said or wanted became Lopez Law.
Adjusting the stage sword she "borrowed" from the drama club's prop closet, Quinn sipped from her blue plastic cup. She'd gotten to the party only to find her best friends abandoned their group plan and arrived in wholly different costumes. It didn't matter if they looked hot and wouldn't care if she spent most of the night covertly ogling them. She was put off from that unusually normal part of their trifecta because she was genuinely hurt at getting ditched. She thought about going home and changing, but she didn't have a backup costume, and if she left it was unlikely she'd come back. Instead, she was outside lazing against the wooden railing of the back deck and dressed as a pirate.
Quinn was a girl, a demure, picture-perfect, stereotypical example of the "pretty girl". She was feminine and loved her sundresses and doing her nails and going shoe shopping. But here she was, clothed from toe to top entirely in black: knee-high leather boots with a low heel, skin tight leggings, a poet's style shirt, and a sash-like belt tied around her midriff, complete with a rapier. The sword had a blunt tip, but she figured out a way to secure it to its sheath so nothing bad happened. She was dumb enough to trust her friends to show up as they promised, but there was no way she was chancing Puck taking the weapon and hurting himself, regardless if alcohol was involved or not. This Captain & Coke needed more rum and less cola if she was going to get through tonight. She was so aggravated she didn't even care that the Coke wasn't diet.
She tugged at the black cord lacing the V cut of her shirt. The leather gloves made her fumble a bit, but it was too cold to take them off. The black bandana keeping her head warm was a bonus, too. She needed to dye her hair again soon. The pink was long gone, but the golden blonde had faded and her original color was coming in. And by "coming in" she meant it had taken over and she'd had to get a shorter cut because the ends looked ridiculous with her mousy brown locks. Now, her hair was the teensiest bit shorter than Sam's had been, but girly. Girly-er, rather.
She was still bummed, though—she really went all out with this costume. The leggings and boots were women's so they fit nice and snug. However, the shirt was a men's and big at the shoulders. But it had a sort of narrowed waist to it so she guessed it wasn't all bad. She snorted into her drink. No, the bad part had been binding her breasts. There wasn't much of a chest to hide ever since the pregnancy was over, but Quinn Fabray didn't do anything half-assed. If that meant hiding the goods then buying Spirit Gum adhesive and a small fake mustache for authenticity's sake, so be it. That's as far as she went for realism, though. It wasn't like she drove out to that store Santana raved about and bought one of those, um, things. A thing she didn't like to think about Santana and Brittany using. The thing she sometimes thought about using with a certain olive skinned brunette who happened to have the greatest voice in the history of everything and invaded her dreams most nights.
Quinn bit her lip. She shouldn't be thinking about any of that because she wasn't supposed to like girls—at all. But they never failed to excite her, Rachel Berry more than any other. And Berry didn't have a clue because Quinn couldn't do anything about it.
"S'up, dude."
Quinn jumped at the voice coming from her right. Finn, wearing an old fashioned baseball uniform and cap, joined her against the railing. The pretend Yankee player had a can of Budweiser in one hand, a Louisville Slugger in the other, and a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. Moving away from the stench, she batted at the smoke. Cigarettes smelled so much better.
The large boy rested his beer on the deck rail and took the cigar from his mouth to let out the loudest, nastiest belch she'd ever heard before taking a puff of the "stogie" (as her grandfather called his treasured Havanas) and scratching himself.
She'd dated that. Twice.
His relieved grunt was really the icing on the cake. Men were disgusting. If she wasn't sure that her attraction to women was more than curiosity before, she was now. Santana was right: Quinn Fabray was gayer than gay.
"Gross, Finn."
"Umm, do I know you?"
She gaped at him. He really was that much of a moron. Quinn turned her head away in annoyance then caught her reflection in the darkened pane of glass of the sliding door to the house. The cherry on the end of Babe Ruth's cigar glowed orange and the former cheerleader saw exactly what Finn did.
Her curves were gone. The pants were tight, but the sash belted around her waist in such a way it actually distracted from the size of her hips while her flat chest under the billowy shirt gave nothing away. Then the mask… Damn, she forgot she was wearing it. It was just so frickin' comfortable, and covered more than the Zorro ones she always saw. This was leather and lined with a soft fabric, maybe velvet. It hid not only her eyes, but the span of her face from the tip of her nose and up to meet the bandana, too. She went as far as smearing black eye shadow across her lids to hide the minute amount of skin showing from the holes in her mask.
Quinn gave herself another once over. Her cropped hair added to the illusion, but it was the mustache that completed it. It would throw everyone off and they'd see a guy because they expected to see a guy. And she really did look like one.
A hot guy.
A hot, romantic, pirate guy.
A hot, romantic, pirate guy who could make any woman swoon.
Quinn smirked, an evil idea forming in her mind. This could work to her advantage if she played it just right. And the only people who knew the truth couldn't say anything because they were probably tongue deep in each other's throats by now.
The girl relaxed her stance, recalling the way Puck moved. Since he was here, she could have used Finn as a model, but…no.
"You're the quarterback," she mumbled, adopting a low voice she hoped was passable. "Everybody knows you."
The Sultan of Swat grinned stupidly. "Yeah, it's so cool." He chugged about half of his beer then burped again. No, he didn't recognize her, but was it because he was drinking or just that dumb? In all likelihood it was both.
For once, she really did have the chance to be someone other than Lucy Quinn Fabray. Someone who liked girls and wouldn't be condemned for it, or for acting on it.
"Later, Hudson." She had to get used to the grunting thing, boys did that a lot.
Grinning, the sort of brownish haired teen finished her drink and tossed the empty cup into the flower pot next to her. She brushed off her sleeves then grabbed the hilt of her sword like the badass she was. Quinn felt like misbehaving.