Author's note: Okay, so this didn't quite turn out the same way as Rachel's POV, only because ...that was Rachel. This is the Quinn sequel so many of you requested. I hope that it meets your standards? Also, I kept an open mind at the end, just in case I get the same response as the last chapter.

This is ten pages of smut in just over 5,000 words. Forgive me for any mistakes, there's only so many times I can read it over!

Enjoy :)

There she is with that skirt again. Who the hell lied and said it was okay for you to wear a skirt? I start to wonder if she's thinking the same about me with my own dress. Who lied to me and said I am straight? This girl is sure making me want to be a born again lesbian, especially after what happened two weeks ago. Damn, was it really that long ago?

After our little rendezvous in the choir room, we tried to sneak out and pretend we didn't lock ourselves in there in the first place. It obviously didn't work out, seeing as we are stuck in detention today. Personally, I think it's stupid that we are here now, two weeks later. All day, all week, I kept playing out how it all began in my head, still trying to figure out how exactly I became entranced by the annoying miss know-it-all.

It had been a typical argument, something about singing and nationals and song picking or duets or the other. It was seriously disgusting how the giraffe was still pinning a duet with her, and after the meeting, I waited until we were alone. I had decided that I wanted to give her a piece of my mind.

"Why do you keep letting him drag you around like a puppy? Are you dense?"

"Wait, are you protecting me or insulting me?"

"I was going for the latter, but whatever."

"As generous a gesture as this is on your behalf, I'm going to have to stop you right there. I don't need your help, nor do I need your advice. I can take care of myself, thank you."

I scoff, "yeah, right. I can see it happening now: you drooling over him after he sings with you on that stage at nationals in New York. You are going to get everything you ever wanted, aren't you?"

"That's not true. How dare you assume things about me?"

"I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm the head bitch in this place, if you haven't noticed."

She sighs, "I don't want to argue any further, so, fine, have it your way; but when I make it big out there, don't come begging for my autograph."

"Oh, please, you don't faze me."

"I beg to differ."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Maybe I will."

Then she just stared at me. It was one of those slow motion moments when you realize that something is about to go down. Well, flawless choice of words there. And at that moment I really wanted to say something, but I shut my mouth. I guess part of me wanted to know what's in store.

And then she took three steps closer to me.

Fuck, why am I such an instigator? If I hadn't stayed in that room, none of this would be happening. Although, come to think of it, the way she was moving that day, the way she was acting was a bit…different. Did you intend on this to happen, Ms. Berry? Hmm, there's something else to ponder at. In the meantime, I have her looking hotter, my hormones losing their shit, and my eyes curiously falling on certain parts of her body, which they really, really shouldn't. Either way, I am not happy. And since when am I so weak? I wasn't even intoxicated, for crying out loud!

Anyway, so we're now in detention, ironically enough we are in the room where the celibacy club gathers for meetings. The desks are facing each other, in the shape of a square, and I am sitting directly across from her. The teacher filling the detention duties for today is an idiot, but he's strict and all he demands is silence. Although right now, I'm not sure if he's sleeping or reading; his head is slumped and there is a book open on the desk. I turn back to face her.

It is kind of flustering, sitting in a room just us, and that slob. No noise. No nothing. This is material to write a damn psycho serial killer book. She leans over to her bag to take something out. I follow her hand with my eyes as it reaches her mouth and then rests on the desk as it was before. What are you doing? As I ask myself that, and other things, she locks eyes with me. I am almost terrified when I see her part her delicious lips and reveal what she had put in her mouth: a tic-tac. You have got to be kidding me. Nope. She was most definitely not kidding. Son of a bitch is going to seduce me with a tic-tac, isn't she?

Her tongue circles the candy and envelopes it, taking it from my sight. Her lips close and curl into a scheming smile. I hate you so much right now. Her tongue peers out and traces her lips with a wink. Something tells me that she's not only winking because of the actions taking place on her face, and I am proven right as I look down beneath the desk.

My eyes melt like butter as they roll up her perfect legs and I forget about the candy in her mouth. She's got her ankles crossed like a proper lady; knees glued, but wait… Oh, no. Her right hand has slipped under the desk. Her ankles unhook and part but then stop. Of course, I would be the one to choke aloud. My head jerks to the man sitting on his throne and he glares at me for disrupting him. The blood rushes to my cheeks and I feel myself get hot. His eyes fall back on the book in front of him and I turn back to her with a scowl. Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you.

God, she really does not care. Her perfectly smooth calves rub against each other as she runs one leg up the other. I swear my head just got heavier because I lower it and continue to stare (involuntarily, I promise). My breathing shallows. The freaking power she has over me is overwhelming. I am willing myself to look up at her face, but I'm not so sure if that's even a good idea.

I knew it. My eyes scour up her face but only to land back down upon her lips. Her tongue slithers over her lips and I can't help but mirror her actions. She lets them part but keeps her tongue lingering on her top lip as the corner of her mouth curls up into an evil, evil smirk once again.

My eyes narrow at her and I mouth out a 'fuck you'. Her eyebrows rise in challenge. My stomach sinks; what have I done? My eyes widen when they fall back again but onto her hand underneath the desk. It starts to tip toe higher and higher. Oh, I thank God that her legs are still closed or I would have fallen over, probably causing me to get a week's worth detention. Her fingers caress her thigh, up and down, her eyes not even moving from me. I can feel her burn holes through my body, but I can't seem to look up from her fingertips. My hand grips the pencil on my desk for moral support.

I suck in air and hold my breath. There's no possible way I can keep quiet for much longer. It's literally taking all my strength to keep from moaning, and apparently, I've resorted to taking out all my sexual frustration on this pencil. My knees are like magnets, rubbing off each other to keep any kind of draft from slipping up my skirt. I don't know why it doesn't occur to me to tease her back right now, but I just concentrate on letting go of the air I am holding captive in my poor little lungs.

Her knees part and my eyes fixate on that sorry excuse for a pair of panties. I can hardly call that underwear. How is that underwear? Why am I contemplating the underwear when she is dragging her fingers up her thigh again? I don't know, maybe to keep myself from withering away. I swear I'm starting to sweat as her hand creeps closer and closer. Her eyes are burning into me again and I am tempted to look at her face once she is about to reach between her thighs.

I do. Not my brightest idea. It takes one lip bite and I know she's touching herself. I shut my eyes so fast and so hard. I don't want to know what happens next, not when I can't open my mouth to release the rock of sexual tension in my chest without a care.

The sudden screech of the chair at the end of the room startles me awake. I sigh with ease; finally he comes to my rescue. I almost swallow my relief when he says, "I'm going to be back in 30 minutes, you girls better not do anything stupid while I'm gone."

He eyes us both suspiciously and pivots and walks out the door. Oh, wow, how very convenient. Asshole. I really need to cut down on the cursing. I look over to her. I can almost hear the sinister chuckle echoing through her mind. The door clicks shut.

Great. Now, she's got me.

There is a few seconds of silence. I'm not sure if it is considered awkward now that we're actually alone. I'd say this silence is dripping with sexual tension if anything. I grip my pencil again. She sees my gesture and takes it as a sign to break the peace.

"Did you like the show?"

"Show?" I scoff, "You call that a show?" That's right. Keep your dignity.

She frowns, "Oh, please," she shuts her legs, and before standing, "That poor pencil of yours doesn't stand a chance, does it?" She asks sweetly.

Of course, I would stutter, "I-umm."

"You, what?" She coos and turns her back toward me. Her hands grip the edge of the desk to slide that beautiful behind of hers on it and props herself up. Fanning her legs over it, she is now facing me again.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Step one.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

Step two.

"Are you out of your—"

"Mind? No."

Step three.

"N-no?" The timorous tone of my voice is getting ridiculous. I can hardly think straight. Oh, Jesus, no pun intended.

Step four.

"No."

Her palms settle on my desk. I look up at her through wide eyes, practically at the edge of my seat. She smiles with her eyes. This cannot end well.

My knuckles must have been white, because she places her hand on mine and, it is like pressing an off button; I automatically released the pencil and the breath I seemingly confined along with it.

She smirks. God, I hate you. She leans forward just a bit and licks her lips. I lean into her as if she were a magnet and I made of metal. I couldn't help it. I want to figure her out. I want in her head. I want to know what makes her tick. I want to know it all. What am I thinking? This is Rachel Berry! Rachel Barbra at-least-I-didn't-fall-and-break-my-talent Berry!

The rest of my body tells my mind to shut up. Indeed, she is Rachel Berry, but Lord above me knows just how good Rachel Berry can be. Or at least I'm about to find out by the look she's giving me. How long was I arguing with myself for?

"You alright there?" She whispered onto my lips, her eyes shifting up and down to my lips, then side to side from eye to eye.

Like the sunset, she lowers her body and disappears underneath the desk. I can feel her fingertips dance over my ankles, slowly making their way up my calves, and up to my knees. She stops. I whimper. Be quiet, Quinn. Be. Quiet. Her lips begin to graze my kneecaps and I think I might melt. The heat between my legs is getting stronger and I don't know how much longer I can keep my legs closed. I don't want to look weak. I don't want her to know just how fucking bad I want her tongue cleaning up the mess she's making between my legs.

Open-mouth kisses line up my legs alternately. I pick up the pencil.

"Drop it," she growled.

My hand snapped agape and the pencil clinked on the desk, "how the fu—"

"Your hands are either in my hair or gripping the chair. Got it?"

I place my hands on either side of the chair angrily. "Happy?" I huff.

Suddenly, with two sweet strides from underneath my dress toward my knees, she opened my legs and places two equally sweet kisses on opposing sides of my inner thighs.

"Happy?"

I can barely nod. A cracked 'mhm' escapes through my nose. I kick myself in my head. I can picture her face; her 'like taking candy from a baby' face. I don't like that face.

"Well, well, well. Someone was expecting something," she says in a song voice. It might be because I am wearing what I like to call my 'sinful' underwear. Somehow, deep inside, I guess I thought today would be payday.

"Mmm, just for you," I decide to flirt back, stroking her ego as she strokes my thighs.

"Is that so?" she purrs from below the desk. Her hands are creeping up my thighs and I'm beginning to think I might lose control, and fast.

I bite my lip before I whimper out another cracked 'mhm'. Her lips are now dragging openly across my legs. Rachel Berry takes foreplay to another dimension.

"Mmm," she breathes on my skin, "red lace? A little much for a good Christian girl, don't you think?"

"G-good Christian girl?" I stutter. Damn it, Quinn, keep it together! "I don't recall my behavior two weeks ago very Christian. Or have you forgotten?" I try my hardest to flirt back without losing my cool.

"Oh, trust me, babe," She says between open-mouth kisses over the hot skin of my thighs, "I haven't forgotten…"

She sure is working her way up. My breathing becomes sporadic and I tighten my grip on the chair. God, I want her to shove that marvelously talented tongue right in—another whimper escapes my mouth as her fingers hint over the lace somewhere below my bellybutton. I attempt at looking down. I cannot see her face but I can see her bent knees. The thought occurs to me that this is actually happening. I feel like a boy receiving a blowjob, and somehow, the thought is turning me on even more. We are alone again, it hits me, and we are alone in detention for Christ's sake. Rachel Berry and I, Quinn Fabray, are alone in detention and she is on her knees, underneath my dress. She is underneath my dress and I can see her not so man-ish hands lifting the fabric as they glide over the brim of my underwear. I sigh heavily and unintentionally twitch my leg. Damn it, Quinn, I swear to—

"Someone is getting impatient," her singsong voice on again.

"Well, if someone were to stop teasing me…"

She removes herself from her comforting shelter and her beady eyes look at me from across my desk. I can't say I'm not slightly frightened.

"Don't even get me started on teasing, Quinn Fabray," she says slowly through narrowed eyes. I gulp. "Or you'll be very, very sorry."

I nod mindlessly. What the fu—QUINN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I ignore the scolding voice in my head. My ridiculous, almost-comparable-to-a-13-year-old-boy's, needs must be satisfied a million times more than my dignity needs to stay in place.

That smirk plays on her lips once more, and again, she dips beneath the desk and my head drops back against the chair. This is happening. I prepare myself. The grip on the chair tightens and my knuckles hint white. I feel nervous. I feel anxious. I want this right? I—

"Mmm," She purrs from beneath my dress.

My thoughts stop dead in their tracks, but then tumble out my mouth, "Rachel are those your te—Oh, God, those are your teeth," I murmur.

I can feel her glide her teeth over my center over the fabric and I am pretty sure I have stopped breathing. Her hot sticky breath hovers over my wetness and I want more. I want so much more. Her fingers waltz over my thighs and I feel them approach the brim of my underwear again. Slowly she peels it off my legs, one ankle after the next. I can hear her giggle coyly. What's so funny, Berry?

I nudge her with my knee and a meek 'sorry' escapes from below. The bottom of my dress pulls up and I see her little face.

She looks embarrassed, "I'm sure I don't have to mention the fact that I've never done this before and I am in hopes that this will be just as good as how you did me two weeks ago."

My heart almost warms at the sight of her blunt humility. What an oxymoron. In a way it fills me with confidence. I scoot the chair back enough to give her space to kneel up. I gently wrap my fingers around her neck and bring her up as I bend down, meeting her halfway. I look into her eyes, which are currently bouncing from one of mine to the other. I bring my lips to hers softly.

"You'll be perfect."

She beams. Her smile can actually be blinding, given enough darkness. She nips at my lips one more time and lowers herself back down.

Have I conquered Rachel Berry? Give her a boost and she's putty in my hands. Part of me smirks at the idea of yet again having the better hand. The other part of me falls right back to reality as she resumes her actions below the desk. I look down at the hill her head is causing beneath my dress. Curiosity starts to arouse me. I cannot see a thing she is doing under there, but oh, boy, can I feel it.

Her open palms drag over my inner thighs. I can nearly see her eyes sparkle with wonderment through the fabric. She takes what I can only assume are her index and middle fingers and traces a line down my center. I flinch. My hands grip the chair. I feel her hesitant fingers glide over my sides, circling my sex. I flinch. My hands grip the chair.

Rachel, stop beating around the bush. Again, flawless choice of words. I swear if we get cauuu—

I feel a hint of her hot breath on me and I shut my eyes firmly, my mouth hanging open. The anticipation is absolutely killing me. I want to see what she's doing but I cannot seem to move until she goes first. My chest begins to rise and fall at a quicker pace. This almost feels like a panic attack. Do something. Do something. DO SOMETHING. My mind wanders into self-conscious thoughts. Is she scared? More importantly, is she scared of me? Does she not like what she sees? What's wrong? Is there something wrong with me? I will myself to shut up. It feels as if a million years have slowly dragged by, when in fact, it's probably been 10 seconds.

I can feel the heat emanating from her. I think she's moved closer. Then I sense her hands wrap around my outer thighs as if propping herself up. Okay… I wait. And then, yes, I hear a sigh and the room starts to spin. Once more, I shut my eyes. I cannot open them or else the florescent bulbs above me will somehow turn into elephants and dance around me, Dumbo style. Her tongue, wet, slimy, tender, swift… God where is there a dictionary when you need one? It slid out of that glorious mouth of hers and made contact with my clit. She took a long stride starting from the bottom right to the tip and my breath hitched; my grip tightened; my eyes squeezed.

A moan; a solitary moan is all that seeped through the neatly knitted threads on my floral dress, floated across the air, and landed tenderly on my ears. My head greets the lovely sound by tilting far to the right and rests on my shoulder. Her tongue takes another drag, this time lingering, making me take air in as slowly as she is moving. My shoulders rise with every ounce of air and my eyebrows furrow. I whimper as she reaches my clit once again. Please, Rachel, please don't tease me.

Just then, I feel them again, her teeth. Without my consent, my hand wanders slowly over my dress and starts to tug. My head comes crashing down as I feel her teeth graze me one more time and I whimper a little more audibly. I pull. She lets her tongue dart and wisp at my clit. I clench. My toes curl. My head rolls to the left and my eyes open slightly. I pull. Her tongue glides over my folds so lightly I can barely feel it, but good God, I do. I hold my breath. I pull.

I can finally see her. Her chocolate locks gracefully lay along her shoulders and her back; her back arched, palms around my outer thighs. I clench. She brings up one hand and spreads me. I take in a deep breath. Then she does something I am not expecting her to do: she looks at me. She looks at me square in the eye. Her lips curl tightly to the right, revealing a terrifying smirk. I only say terrifying because I'm afraid I'll scream at what she'll do next. When Rachel Berry smirks, something is about to happen.

Slow motion. I swear. Her lips part just a bit and she kisses my clit, not one flinch in her gaze. I am butter. I am butter on a hot slice of bread, fresh out of the toaster.

"Fu—"

My head rolls back. She takes a hint. She begins to nibble and suck on my clit while her fingers explore my opening. Teasing. Plain teasing. Fingertips padding my folds, moving carefully, making me tingle all over my body. My mouth hangs open to let out a strong sigh. Her teeth take a hold of my clit again. My hand slithers through her hair and pushes her into me.

"Oh, God, Ra-Rachel," I moan. I'm so very past embarrassment. I—Sweet Jesus, do that again, do that again—need her now. "Oh, keep doi…" you can do it, Quinn, "ng that, keep that—yes, that."

That, oh so talented tongue is now flicking my clit and her fingers have found an in. I bite my lip hard to keep from screaming, and I only grunt. I'm sure I've drawn blood again. What am I, a vampire? My walls begin to massage her fingers within me and I hear her groan. I tighten my grip on her hair and another moan from her reverberates onto my center.

My head, however light or heavy as it is, rolls down and I scoop up my confidence, "l-look at me."

Without hesitation, her eyes dart to mine. I lick my lips. She returns the gesture on me. My teeth find my bottom lip once more and sink. She mimics my actions but uses my clit instead. I whimper loudly. She sucks hard. I tighten my grip. Her fingers pump harder and deeper.

I-I'm so, "s-so close."

I'm so overwhelmed I want to cry. The pleasure is so intense that I don't know what to do with myself. Now both my hands grip those chocolate locks as if holding on to dear life. I can feel my legs begin to quiver. My thoughts race the same track they have all afternoon; we are alone. We are in detention. We are in the Celibacy Club room! Rachel is on her knees. Rachel Berry is between my legs. There's a girl between my legs! Everything is so wrong, so sinful, so bad, but oh, so very good. The more wrong I think it is the more thrilling it becomes; the more my body reacts to Rachel's doing below me. Her tongue, her teeth, her lips, her fingers; harder, faster, deeper…

"R-Rachel…I-I," I sigh, "Rachel!"

And at that moment, I take my last breath; so to speak. I freeze. My legs turn to stone. My whole body turns to stone. I've never felt so alive and dead at the same time. With each stroke of her tongue, I feel like I'm coming undone beneath her touch. The soft kneading of her fingertips on my thighs, the long and lingering caress of her tongue on my folds, cleaning me up, there is no clear-cut way to describe the feeling. Maybe flying would fit it best; yes, I feel as if I am flying.

I am stiff, but loose. I am here, but not here. I am free, but trapped. I am flying, but my feet are on the ground. I feel as if at any moment I could come crashing back down to reality, but I want to hold on to this moment for a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer…

My world is running in slow motion again. I feel like the night I spent with Puckerman, the night I got pregnant; but you know, better, excellent. Everything is hazy. My head feels heavy, but the rest of my body is like a batch of noodles. I release a sigh and all the tension disappears. I feel her pull out of me ever so slowly. It causes my entire body to shudder.

I make an effort to look at her. Just as my eyes reach her, she pulls out her fingers from her mouth. Sweet Jesus on the cross.

Somehow, finding strength, I grab her by the collar and bring her lips to mine. I tilt my head to the right and part my lips. Her tongue slithers to my own like a magnet. My juices mix in with our saliva and I am in heaven. I hear angels singing. I see the light. My left hand snakes around her neck and brings her closer to me. Our tongues battle and my grip only tightens more, most likely wrinkling her outfit.

We moan onto one another. My nails rake her neck, her nails digging into my bare thighs. I could do this forever. I could do you forever. I could do THAT forever.

She parts the kiss. Our foreheads land against each other. Pants. Groans. Heat. Hearts pounding.

"You should, umm," I begin, "get back over there."

"Mmm, but I want between your legs forever," she whispers.

Did I fall over? I think I've lost my balance.

"I'd rather the next time we do this to be in the comfort of a bed and not in detention."

"Next time?" she breathes, her eyes almost shut.

"Baby, with you, there's always a next time."

Her lips brush mine, "good," I feel her hand reach for something on the floor, "because I'm gonna keep these as collateral."