A/N: So yeah I had this idea and it ended up in M rating territory, so be warned the rating of this has now changed to M. It's all Quinn's POV.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I'm just having fun with these lovely Glee characters and acknowledge the title of this chapter comes from the classic 'I touch myself' by divinyls.
I touch myself
You shouldn't be doing this.
That is the thought that keeps running through your head as you lay in bed. Rachel Berry is dangerous, every millimetre and inch that she gains into your life creates further impulsivity and imbalance, traits that aren't you. They aren't you because they breed fear, and you don't do fear. You create fear, you rule by fear, you do not feel it. But Rachel . . . Rachel has got you all kinds of scared. It lingers and hangs over you like an executioner, like a guillotine, because you're just waiting. Waiting for people to notice, to point and stare and reject you, rejection, that's what you're scared of most.
You shouldn't be doing this.
What is really frustrating is the fear of what other people think isn't the only and worst fear any more. It used to be. The thought of disappointing people, of not being what they thought you should be, what they wanted you to be, that used to drive you to be better, be perfect. But now . . . now the overriding fear is that you're waiting for her to reject you. To say this isn't worth the effort, that she can't stay hidden in the shadows, in the public ambiguity you've created around the two of you so you can have her that little bit closer but still try and keep the two of you safe from every one, that your efforts aren't enough, aren't quick enough, that you are not enough.
You're trying though. God are you trying, because you know people are talking. Every time the two of you sit together at lunch you can sense their eyes and whispers, every hug in the hallway brings a quizzical look. But every day you care that little bit less because you want this so much, and that's another thing that scares you.
God, has there ever been a time when you weren't scared, when there wasn't the constant threat of your world turning upside down and things just being normal. You can feel yourself sneer at the thought because as much as you try and project and create this illusion of normal it's not you, it's always been just a perception, an act. It's like there's an inside you and an outside you and so how do you know which is normal? The outside you acts how people expect, and it feels so unreal and disconnected from everything. It's calculations, thinking through the repercussions and making precise decisions, finding ways to bend and please people, to keep them at the necessary distance. Then you keep having these moments with Rachel and inside everything feels so real and free, even when the two of you are just sat at the Berry's dining table doing your homework you've never felt so in a place and moment. But it's all so exposed and vulnerable, it's like a tidal wave, once the reality of these moments starts it gains momentum and swells and you're precariously placed at the top waiting to crash or be propelled forwards, inside outside and closer, always wanting to be closer to her.
Trying to meet the expectations of others might not be normal but neither is throwing yourself into a situation that you can't quite comprehend and contain. Regardless of how amazingly real and wonderful it is you can't quite let go. No matter how unreal or shaky your popularity, your family, your control, it's safe, you understand and know how to get it, how it works. What you can't quite understand is this feeling, this desire to want. To want someone in this way, a girl no less, something that just brings further conflict to the delicate balance of demands and expectations you are trying to juggle.
You shouldn't be doing this.
As if you hadn't already committed your share of sin in your short life, you can't even contain your desires, show some self-control. Instead you're laying here in bed debating this because you couldn't stop thinking about Rachel. She's a constant distraction. You'll be watching a film and little things like the weight of her head on your shoulder and scent of her hair will catch your attention. At lunchtime you'll become entranced by the movement of her jaw and throat as she eats, during Glee you'll close your eyes and become lost in her voice, and not just when she sings but the passion with which she'll argue with Mr Schue, her voice full of indignation and resolve.
You'd been so careful, been so in control of it all, but now you have all these stupid little impulses and you've started giving into them. Like the look of surprise on her face the other week when you hugged her goodbye after she'd walked you to your car. She caught you staring at her while you were sat together in AP English and her questioning look was so cute you just couldn't resist reaching over and caressing her cheek before tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, and the other day she surprised you at your locker with this book you've been after for ages and it must have cost her a fortune but you were so overwhelm you kissed her on the cheek in the middle of the hallway in front of everyone.
There are so many things and it's consuming, it feels like the more time you spend together the more she encompasses and the less energy you have to care. Less energy to care about what other people think and say, about what they expect, about further disappointment and rejection, you just do what makes you happy, you just want to make her happy.
She's ruined you.
Since that moment in the auditorium you've been trying, small steps, scared in some ways of how much you want and need more. How you now daydream about a college near New York, corsages at prom, waking up in the morning with Rachel beside you. Then there's other thoughts and daydreams, about long toned legs, cascades of chocolate hair spread on a pillow, smooth skin and teeth and nails, soft lips and a hot wet tongue.
Those thoughts have you groaning in frustration. You want to simultaneously stop those thoughts and not stop them, because this feeling, this itch, is new and not new at the same time. It's not that you've never done this before, there was the time during your pregnancy, your hormones were all over the place and you couldn't take it, it was a functional action and it didn't take much, but this . . . this is driven by so much more. This burning and need that is driving you to this is new, you've never really thought and fantasised about anyone in this way and now these visions of animal sweaters on your bedroom floor, the feel of perfect cheeks in your hands, of an arching back and pitch perfect moans. She's so stuck and ingrained in your brain that you didn't even try to stop it when your hand travelled down your stomach and dipped inside your shorts a few minutes ago before you launched into this internal debate. You didn't try to suppress the gasp that followed when you discovered how wet you were, the way your back arched off your bed as your finger first circled your clit.
You shouldn't be doing this.
It's like a background mantra with every circle of your finger, because this isn't what good Christian girls do, but your heart is thumping in your chest and blood pounding in your ears. Your brain is consumed with Rachel and instead of providing you with any will power, any self-control, it's using all its energy to piece together every moment and sensory experience you've had with the other girl. Piecing it all together to give you a vivid image and fantasy about what it would be like, the weight of her body over yours, the feel of lips against your neck, a hand running under your shirt to cup a breast, squeezing it lightly before teasing and pinching a nipple. Your own free hand acts out the image, and it feels alien as you pinch a painfully erect peak, a moan catching in your throat at the sensation, at the feeling that this is Rachel's hand doing these things.
Rachel's hand is massaging your breast, occasionally pinching and twisting your nipple, in a similar pattern to the circular motions and rhythmic flicks on your clit. You've not seen each other fully naked yet but you know in your mind how well you'd fit together, how well you move together, and that knowledge along with the thought of Rachel's naked body pressed against yours has everything speeding up. In your imagination Rachel's lips move up your neck and nip at your earlobe. She's obsessed with the little piece of flesh after discovering the effect toying with it has on you, and she takes advantage of every opportunity the two of you are alone to test your resolve. You've never simultaneously been thankful and cursed Coach Sylvester so much for her restrictive dress-code that keeps you from obstructing that bit of flesh. Rachel had taken full advantage after one Cheerio's practice, pulling you into an empty classroom as you made your way fresh from the locker room and crushed your lips together. You're gasping for breath as that talented mouth moves along your jaw before teeth and lips attach themselves, teasing and suckling on your earlobe. A lightness in your head and limbs causes you to stumble a half step back and lean against the desk behind you. Rachel's hand grasp and squeeze your hips in an effort to steady and support you but all the touch does it set your body further on fire. A sharp tug and you can feel her lips and breath ghost words across your ear, words that have you struggling for air again.
You can hear them now inside your head and each whispered expression drives you further out of control and your head thrashing side to side on your pillow. You're so close now and all you want is for those lips to find their way to yours, to swallow the inevitable moans and screams you won't be able to contain. Biting your lip and turning your head into the pillow is all you can do as your orgasm hits, the head rush and tension throughout your body has you shaking under your own hands.
The hand in your shorts keeps circling, drawing everything out as you slowly feel the tension dissipate and a relaxed contentment wash over you. In your mind Rachel's lips haven't stopped as they lightly work back along your jaw and pepper along your neck before you're met with clear brown eyes and the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. She nudges and strokes her nose against yours and the thought and feeling makes you smile sleepily as you turn onto your side. Pulling the blanket over you, you are sure you can feel an arm tightening around your waist before sleep encompasses you.
A/N2: Comments, reviews and general words of feedback and thoughts are welcomed with parades and hugs : -)