A/N #1: So, because some of you wanted more chapters and because jupitor01 had no school or work today… If you feel so moved, click the little Review button at the bottom of the page. If not, so be it! Enjoy…
A/N #2: I do not own these characters or Funny Girl. Sadly, all I own are the mistakes.
Chapter 3: Funny Girl – Night Two…
Bonus (for all the nice reviews)… the morning of "My Man"
I cracked one eye open groggily at the introduction of light into Rachel's room. There was my girlfriend, throwing curtains open wide in all her cheery, morning glory, humming like some damn Disney princess.
"Ah, Quinn, good morning!" she spoke melodiously and I had to fight back the urge to want to punch her.
I glanced to the alarm clock at my left and blinked my eyes to focus on the digital display—7:04.
"Ugh! Seriously, Rach?"
I closed my eyes once more and groaned petulantly at the thought of being awake at this time on a Saturday morning. But then again, that's what you get for dating a Berry. There wasn't anyone in this household who slept in past 6:45…every day. Is it too much to ask for a girl who was aching deliciously to get a few more hours of sleep? The answer is, "Yes, yes it is."
"Enough of that. There's no need to be grumpy on this glorious morning. I have big plans for our day, and I need you to rise and shine if we hope to accomplish them."
I sighed in surrender and threw the covers off to the right of me, draping my arm heavily over my eyes and willing my sore and used ass to move. Feeling no more motivation than I did a moment ago, I let out a soft "hmph" hoping to gain a bit of compassion from my girlfriend who technically is responsible for my well spent state. Clearly, I was delusional…
My edge of the bed sank gently and I felt Rachel's breath roll over my forearm still covering my face. My backside clenched due to its conditioning from the previous evening's activities, and then her voice travelled straight to the pit of my stomach, a deliberate and authoritative tone.
"Now, Quinnie," she said calmly, "I thought I made it perfectly clear last that I like for you to follow directions. I'd hate to have to spoil our plans for today and this evening because my girlfriend needs to be taught that lesson again." My body broke into an involuntary tremor, and she continued, "So be a good girl, roll that sexy ass out of bed, and go shower, would you?"
I forced the dryness from mouth at how she said 'ass' (I knew she was tormenting me...) and swallowed quickly before I responded, "Yes, Rachel."
She moved my arm away from my eyes still shut tightly and placed feather-light kisses on both of them before kissing down my nose and finally landing on my lips. I kissed back sweetly, taking the time to savor the taste of her lips. I couldn't ever get enough of them—soft, plump, smooth, and willing. My eyes fluttered open, and I fell in love with her all over again. The morning sunlight traced the curves of her face and highlighted the light brown found in her mostly dark locks. Her eyes held a glossy sheen as the glow illuminated them from the side. Feeling a bubbling over of intense emotion, I had to tell her how I felt about her.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous, Rachel. How is it that you…love me?"
She told me all the time that she loved me, but I did honestly question why she chose me when the truth was that she could do so much better. I was stubborn and could be a complete bitch on cue. I still wasn't very nice to people and I had no outstanding talents of which I was aware. I was working on being more open about my feelings, but I had no redeeming qualities to keep me afloat on the "worthy" river other than being an outstanding lover, if I could be so bold, and that fueled my insecurity. Knowing this, however, I worried that my relationship with Rachel was only about sex—that we somehow confused and misinterpreted our lust and sexual tension as love.
"Oh, Quinn, sweetie, I wish you could see yourself how I see you. If you could, you'd know why I love you."
I smiled shyly and turned my head toward the alarm clock, trying to avoid the intimacy that her gaze ignited—7:12. If I'm honest with myself, soft and sweet intimacy stoked a fear inside me that I could not bite back or get a handle on. I fell easily into a submissive role because if somebody told me what to do, I didn't have to act on my own feelings. I told Rachel all the time how much I loved her and that she had my heart, but she didn't know how much I truly needed her and how I felt like I couldn't breathe when I wasn't around her. She had no idea that she was my entire world and that what I felt for her far surpassed teenage puppy love. But being stubborn as I was, I had to hold onto that chip until I knew I had a hand I couldn't lose. And until then, submissive, it was.
"Okay, so, I'm off to the shower, and you're off to fix me breakfast, right?" I changed the subject and deflected like I always did. As soon as I said it, I noticed the slightest change in Rachel's eyes. An untrained eye wouldn't have caught it, but when you've spent the last six months drowning in those chocolate spheres, it was easy to spot. I couldn't quite place the exact emotion but it seemed a cross between sadness and want. I could dwell on it in the shower. I lightly shook my conscience and decided to follow Rachel's directions because at the moment, my ass could not take another "lesson."
"You're terrible, Quinn, but because I love you so much, I will make you breakfast. What would you like?"
The way she said 'love you' calmed my raging insecurities and I was thankful that she didn't press our previous conversation.
"Um, dare I ask if you have any bacon in that vegan fridge of yours?"
She giggled and nodded. I playfully nudged her off of the bed and she turned to leave, throwing a "You're a mess!" over her shoulder as she headed through the door and down the stairs.
Using every amount of strength I had, I willed my body out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. Letting the shower get nice and steamy, (the hotter, the better, I always say…) I observed myself in the mirror and took in the appearance of Rachel Berry's official Sex Toy. Not too shabby, Fabray. With that fleeting thought, I turned toward the shower and glanced sideways at my form.
"Shit!"
I retreated from the shower edge to get a close-up in the mirror of my clearly abused ass cheeks. I hiked up on my tiptoes and bent my waist away from the mirror to get a better look at my backside when Rachel burst through the door, the surprise catching me off balance.
"What is it, Quinn? What's the matter?"
I flapped my arms comically like a children's cartoon character before I finally steadied myself with my hands against the edge of the bathtub. Rachel's smug chuckle brought me out of my post near-traumatic anxiety. I joined her soon after when I realized the position I was in—spread legs, bent over at the waist, gripping the side of the tub, looking over my right shoulder. I looked like a goddamn Internet porn ad.
Rachel laughed even harder as she called me out on the spot. "Why, Ms. Fabray, are you propositioning me?"
We chuckled again and then Rachel went silent. Before I could pull myself into a standing position to see what the problem was, I glanced over my shoulder again. Only this time, she wasn't laughing. Her eyes were trained on my reddish purple flesh that was raked with teeth marks. My breaths quickened as I saw her chest begin to rise and fall dramatically. Holy Fuck, Rachel. Again? I knew where this was leading, so I braced myself and shut my eyes tightly hoping to barter with my brain to give me the strength for another go-round. If I could handle Sue Sylvester three-a-days, I could handle Rachel Berry's. Although, I'd like to point out that Coach never saw over my physical exertion while she was naked, thank Cheesus. I summoned all of my reserved energy because the look of desire in her eyes made me want her again. Using my prowess from last night, I called to her.
"Rachel, please."
I looked at her with my best 'fuck me' eyes and her resolve snapped instantly. She moved to me and pressed her cotton shorts-clad hips snugly against my ass. I sighed heavily at the comfort her warm body was giving to my aching skin. She moved her hands tenderly but firmly in circles as they traveled up the length of my back. From there, her left hand curled over my adjacent shoulder as her right tangled in my messy short locks. Her hands were currently working their magic as fingertips were ghosting over the skin of my naked shoulder and gently massaging my scalp. This was yet another reason for me to give her my heart. Every touch was so complex. I knew she wanted me and I knew she wanted to make every minute good for me.
"Mmm, Rachel, that feels so good."
At the close of my statement, her fingers formed a grip on my shoulder. We were rocking back and forth slowly now as her right hand still worked the skin of my scalp. Our hips were reaching a pleasant (and slightly painful for me) pace that provided some friction for my very wet center. Rachel changed the game again when I felt the fingers in my hair tug lightly. They released and continued massaging, then grasped again, tighter this time. A few moments of this tugging game ended when the strong hand gripped my hair tightly against my scalp and Rachel turned my head slightly. The action caused a sudden outburst.
"Aah!"
She didn't let go until she guided me back into a standing position. Keeping my head still with her grip, her other hand reached between her clothed body and my bare one. The warmth of her hand sent some much needed soothing to my aching behind, and her breathy words trickled over the place where my ear met my jaw.
"Fuck, Quinnie, let me make it better."
She kissed my cheek chastely and released my hair as she brought her lips to my shoulder, dusted her tongue over the base of my neck, and slowly pulled her hands over the skin on my upper arms. Steadying herself with a light grip on my arms, she lowered herself to her knees, dragging her lips down the center of back. She released her hold on my shoulders, and her hands found refuge on my hips. As Rachel spoiled my much-deserving rear end, I couldn't help but find the irony among my current pleasure in the all-too-appropriate, hermetically sealed Funny Girl poster mocking me from its place of honor over the "throne." Gee, thanks for the inspiration, Barbra! Leave it to my musical-obsessed girlfriend to have an airtight poster frame in her bathroom—"Quinn, it's signed! And I can't very well let Barbra fall victim to evil mildew!"
Not wanting Barbra to see me in this state, I glanced sideways at the mirror that had a steamy fog misted over its top and sides, perfectly framing the incredibly hot picture of my girlfriend on her knees behind me licking at my wounded ass. The sight was enough to make my knees buckle slightly and my core gush heavily. Rachel noticed. She turned her attention to the mirror and what she saw apparently made her want to drastically change the tempo. There I was staring at her with determined, lustful eyes, a blush creeping up from my chest, my mouth just ajar, and my tongue pulsing behind flushed lips. I wet them when her eyes met mine, and no sooner than when my tongue was to withdraw back into my mouth, Rachel stood, about faced on me, and sucked the willing muscle into hers. Her tongue made long, languid strokes across mine as a delicious suction formed between her mouth and mine.
"Nnnnh…" I moaned wantonly.
My sound instigated her release of my lavished muscle and I drew back, so that our noses were barely touching.
"Rachel," I panted, "you make me want you so damn much. Let me show you how much."
She dipped her hand down to the apex of my thighs and growled at the ocean she had discovered between my folds. Fucking Ferdinand Magellan. Her middle finger swirled in the evidence of my want and she slowly brought it to my mouth. She ran the tip over my bottom lip, leaving a glossy sheen on the paralyzed skin, and moaned as she took the tip between her lips to taste me, releasing it with a pop.
"You'll have to wait your turn, Quinnie," she husked. "I, unfortunately, have other business downstairs in which to attend. Enjoy your shower…"
She licked a hot stripe over my bottom lip and shut the door to the bathroom behind her.
"Fuck!" Fuck. My. Life.
A/N #3: COME AT ME, BRO!