I would like to thank you guys again for the interest in this story. Wasn't expecting it, but something told me to post it anyway. I apologize for the delay in updating. I am currently working two jobs :( I'm somewhat exhausted, but you should see me jotting down notes here and there at work lol.
Perplexed glances hit Quinn and Rachel from every which way as they, together, made their way from the parking lot towards the school, their hands swaying between them in that bold love-struck way.
Cars screeched to a halt, clumsy horns sounded; students stumbling over their own feet to get a second look at the unthinkable.
Quinn smirked, her stride gaining more strength and purpose. So far so good. Everyone seemed to be lapping it up, and as Finn's IQ was astronomically low, it was fair to say that he would eat it up too.
Now Santana, on the other hand, was most likely going to be more of a challenge...
She was Quinn's feared second in command; always the bridesmaid but never the bride, despite her punishing exotic beauty and the fact that her tongue knew neither forgiveness nor mercy. Nevertheless, the perpetually disgruntled Hispanic girl seemed to possess this impeccable gaydar, and although she and Quinn sometimes bantered and flirted - which was, at best, Quinn's discreet instrument for manipulating the Latina into falling in line - the Head Cheerleader was pretty sure that Santana knew that she was really all about the dick. She wouldn't buy an inch of the blonde's quasi romance with Rachel, 'Man Hands,' Berry.
Still, Quinn had decided that she would cross that bridge when she came to it. And, at all costs, she would cross it.
Something impossibly soft had taken to murmuring down the knife of her index finger. She let her eyes flicker in the direction of the small tan hand that snuggled her own, and saw that the murmur was in fact the pad of Rachel's thumb. It floated up and down, ever so gently.
If body heat were not a thing, Quinn might not have felt anything at all.
But she did feel it, fluttery in the depths of her toned stomach - dizzying at her smooth porcelain temples.
Oh, and it tickled too.
"Quit doing that," she gritted out through her teeth, cutting Rachel a look - though her light uppity tone of voice, and girlish giggle uttered nothing, to those watching, of just how uncomfortable – and irritated - she truly was.
Yep... the stroking continued.
In fact, Rachel had begun to hum a quirky little melody to the rhythm of the defiant strokes.
Beautifying her angry clenched teeth with a pageant-worthy grin, Quinn squeezed the hand that clasped her own with force, and tugged Rachel into her side. Hard.
That annoying whimsical hum was quick to cease, giving way to the dull thud of their shoulders colliding.
"Baby," Quinn emphasized with forced gentle patience, as she gazed feigned affection down at the now spluttering brunette, "I'm telling you to quit doing that! It tickles." She'd spoken ever so pleasantly, though her eyes had been narrowed, intent on communicating every malicious syllable that her lips couldn't.
At the last minute she threw a loud misleading giggle on the end, and watched a nearby peer dramatically fling himself back, fainting, into an unprepared and annoyed friend's arms. It was clear to see that he was definitely the Rachel Berry of that clique.
"Quinn, honey," Rachel broadcasted, before quieting down to hiss, "you were the one who did not want to practice in the car. If you had accepted my offer, maybe we would have been able to establish some guidelines. Now leave me alone to experiment with what works best."
"It's my hand!"
"No," Rachel drawled, slinging up a lone haughty finger as a precursor for the correction that she was getting ready to make. "It's our hand. I don't feel that I'm asking for too much here, Quinn. In an equal relationship, everything is to be shared. I happen to enjoy your hands. So surrender them to me, like a good girlfriend."
This was a nightmare.
An absolute nightmare.
No such frustration had ever festered this deeply within Quinn's heart. No power struggle had ever festered such anger. The toxic emotion pooled outwards, infecting more and more of her thoughts, with every feather-like stroke that her unwilling finger endured.
The slender pale digit twitched with an idea, and slyly skated the air away from the brunette's persistent thumb.
But to no avail.
Rachel's shoulders jerked gently under the pleasant duress of a giggle, as she victoriously pinned Quinn's squirming finger in place... beneath her thumb. "You know, sweetie, us dating is so much more fulfilling than I ever could have foreseen. I'm thrilled that I ever gave you a chance to begin with."
Quinn's nostrils flared. How dare RuPaul defy her this way?
And she wasn't her God damn sweetie!
"You give a deranged loser a bit of power, and they turn into whatever the hell it is that you are right now - on top of the goblin that you already are!" she spat from the corner of her smile. "I don't know who you think you –"
Chuckling, Rachel clicked her tongue and waved the blonde off as if to tell her to stop it. "I'm your girlfriend, silly." Her marble brown eyes playfully rolled of their own accord. "Seriously, I don't know why I'm even attracted to you sometimes," she chimed, bumping shoulders with Quinn's in the way that people who were actually fond of one another did.
The turbulence of the shoulder-check trudged through Quinn's frame like someone had slapped a forkful of her favourite bacon to the floor, just as she'd been lifting it to her lips.
She wasn't fond of Rachel. She wasn't fond of being one-upped and silenced into powerlessness. She wasn't fond of being shoulder-checked.
She hated it!
Her lips hungered to spew that which littered the dark recesses of her mind. But as they entered the hallways of McKinley High, surrounded by the keen ears and eyes of their dumb-struck peers, Quinn knew that she had no choice but to embrace this role fully... even if it meant that she was going to have to go along with the unpredictable rollercoaster that was Rachel Berry.
She could do it. She would do it.
It was time to go big or go home...
Hung up on the walls, like menacing war propaganda, were posters that boasted colorful utterings of the upcoming school dance. They resembled war propaganda to Quinn at least; she knew that she would have to take Rachel, parade her around, and dance close with her, all whilst trying not to dunk the brunette's aggravating face into the fruit punch and holding her there until the diva stopped flailing...
"Quinn," Rachel cooed softly, snuggling into the cheerleader's side as they approached her locker, "I want us to pick out our outfits for the dance. I'm worried that I won't look worthy standing next to you. I mean, and not that I don't really appreciate it - but why must you be so perfect?"
Quinn's gaze drifted down, falling upon Rachel's affectionate and content expression. Shining up at her, the procured attraction was staggeringly real. The way that those big brown doe eyes drooped at the corners, the dreamy smile - all of it! So authentic. But more than anything else it was disconcerting, because Quinn had never had anybody look at her in such a way.
Rachel was good!
Quinn would give her that, however begrudgingly.
"Rach," she cooed back, "don't be stupid. You'll look nice in whatever you wear. You know that." She smiled pools of warmth down at the suddenly shy brunette, and brought their clasped hands up to her lips so that she could brush them across the back of Rachel's hand. "Even if you wear what you're wearing today," Quinn murmured into the soft flesh.
Rachel's cheeks warmed a nice rouge. She ducked her head just so, and preened her over-the-top bow, whispering, "thank you, baby," just loud enough.
"You're more than welcome, Rach."
When they, soon after, reached Rachel's quirkily decorated locker, students began to gather in their usual cliques; eyes wide, mouths agape, cell phones recording.
Rachel wasn't ashamed to crack a merry dimple or two - to admit to herself that she was enjoying all of the attention. To finally be looked upon with stunned silence by people other than her fathers, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, was nice.
People seemed to be much too confused to toss a slushie at her face, which was always a good thing.
Standing sideways-on to the gathering cliques, Quinn happily broke apart their joined hands, sliding her arm around Rachel's petite waist, until her hand relaxed at the intimate dip in the brunette's lower back.
What no other present soul knew, however, was that she'd simultaneously slipped a rose out of her bag and discreetly handed it to Rachel, who'd hidden it beneath her arm's length as she reached, casually, into the locker.
The somewhat loud crowd that had now accumulated, scattered like spilled peanuts, coaxed only the most curious of McKinley High's staff out to the doorways of their classrooms, from where they watched, with authoritative crossed arms and above-it-all eyes, whilst sworn enemies Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry bizarrely celebrated the romantic gesture of a rose.
Despite her uniform body language, Mrs Langley was hardly above it all. She lived with six cats, and only socialized when her job teaching physics to bratty teens required her to, which had resulted in her following McKinley High's petty teenage beefs, like it was a soap opera. She'd been known to simply sit behind her desk, nose conveniently buried in a book, as her students hacked into each other with witty demeaning dis-burns.
In her classes, most often you were on your own.
She took in the image of Rachel rising to her tiptoes to slide her arms around Quinn's neck, and mused that her knowledge of the school must've been slipping. The last time she'd heard anything of the Fabray-Berry Saga, they still disliked one another. Intensely.
Mr Dodecko, just two doors down from Mrs Langley, had been under the same impression. He smiled though, internally patting himself on the back for not long ago making a seating plan that had put Rachel and Quinn right next to each other. Why, they'd so clearly bonded...
"Get outta my way, Edward Scissor Hands!" Out of nowhere, pained groans - accompanied by dull meaty thuds - began to sound out from the back of McKinley's punk clique. Each noise grew closer and closer until eventually Santana elbowed her way through to the front.
What she saw, from a distance, was Quinn smooching Rachel Berry's forehead.
Her jaw dropped, but her dark eyes quickly gleamed with cruel understanding; Quinn was fucking with Berry's head, making the ambitious little freak think that she actually... liked her?
Santana stood there and wrestled her laughter into submission; this was too juicy! Why hadn't she thought of this? Not only would she have faux-romanced Treasure Trail, but she just may have taken the midget's virginity, given the right lighting and alcohol, too. She doubted that Quinn had plans to steal RuPaul's blatantly still intact virginity, because seriously? Quinn Fabray eating Berry's hot-pocket? Eating any hot-pocket?
Nope.
Just nope.
Pulling her mouth away from Rachel's forehead, Quinn resisted the urge to wipe her lips off to the point that they became sore and chapped. She resisted the urge altogether, instead choosing to interlink both of her hands around Rachel's waist, like a person who felt genuine love would. "Do you like the rose?" she asked, hopeful, as if she actually cared to hear the brunette's opinion.
For the second time, Rachel took the beautiful cluster of rich red petals to her nose, and nodded. "I love it," she whispered. "Let me show you just how much..." She grinned, her lips riding up to reveal two rows of teeth, which winked rather maliciously.
That one look, from Rachel, sucker punched Quinn's heart, causing it to drop into her now anxious stomach.
Her peers knew why before she did. "O.M.G. They're actually gonna kiss!" one of them quietly exclaimed.
The lips that Quinn had long ago cursed for the unnatural stubble that supposedly grew around them rocketed towards her own - a gentle ambush. Soft, subtle, and... talented? As well as the diva danced in Glee club was how her lips ebbed and flowed; nipping, dragging, breathy, and sensual.
It took all but five seconds - which was quite a long time when one pondered it - for Quinn to frown into the swiftly developing kiss. Before tongue – specifically Treasure Trail's tongue - could become even more of a problem, she slid one of her hands up Rachel's back, and pulled back on the resistant brunette's shoulder.
That had not been a part of the plan!
Kissing, especially like that, was a step four move!
Step four! And even then, Quinn had researched the several types of lip choreography that movie stars used.
Man Hands was fucking with the plan!
Fury hardened the blonde's stoic porcelain face, and Santana simply smirked from the shadows; her suspicions confirmed.
"What? Baby, w-what's wrong?" Rachel inquired, barely able to keep the tentative regret in her expression, as opposed to the satisfied grin that she wanted, so badly, to oblige. Frowning through her mirth, she cupped her mouth, smelling her own breath to add an even more repulsive factor to the situation. "I-I gargled with Fresh A-And Clean this morning."
Yes, she was a brilliant actress, able to slip in and out of characters like she did animal-fur free coats. But this was too good; she almost cracked. That horrified look in Quinn's eye was too good. She doubted whether Quinn would ever be the same.
Well good! Because she, herself, would never be the same thanks to all that Quinn and her goons had put her through. She would never have her faith in people restored.
It was payback time. Time to put McKinley High's Head Cheerleader through the frustration and powerlessness that she had endured. Her fathers had always taught her that forgiveness was a powerful path to peace, and she believed them. It was. But until Quinn apologized for everything, Rachel would reserve her capacity to forgive. After all, how could you forgive someone if they were not committed to changing their offensive behaviour – not even sorry about it?
"Quinn, what's wrong?" she asked, ducking her head in apparent concern to catch those blazing hazel eyes. "Are you -"
In an effort to kick her tense body back into action, Quinn shook her head. Her tight ponytail was stern in its whipping back and forth, lashing the air like she wanted to lash Rachel. "N-Nothings wrong! Just... just - let's not do this in public."
Rachel commanded her eyes to sink wistfully, and instructed her bottom lip to tremble. "Are you ashamed of me? I-I thought we were past you being ashamed of me!"
"I just gave you a rose, for everyone to see, Man -" The blonde stopped herself before the damage was done, and smoothly re-wrote the course of her words with: "Magnificent gestures of love are what you said you wanted. Well I'm trying to give that to you, despite how hard you know this is for me, and still you think that I'm ashamed of you?"
Rachel smirked, though it was little known. The cheerleader knew how to stay afloat, she'd give her that.
"Quinn," she sighed, "I'm happy that we were able to progress this far, and I love the rose. Really, I do. You make me feel so special, in spite of our past. But I just..." She bowed her head, running her thumb along the rose's velvet petals. "I just want to be able to do what every other couple does - to feel like you love me wherever we may be." Her voice had brimmed with such vulnerability.
Quinn didn't know which way was up or down.
Some of their peers looked away, feeling like they were intruding upon the intimate moment, though the vast majority were racked with aching arms as they recorded away, eager to catch it all.
If only they'd been as dedicated to their studies...
"So..." Puck drawled.
"So..." Finn repeated, not really understanding what was being asked of him at this point. He locked the equipment room door, and began to walk the hallways alongside his mohawk-sporting friend.
They'd both arrived at school extra early today - punishment for accidentally leaving football equipment out on the field after their last practice. Coach had ordered them to organize all of the sports equipment, A through Z.
It actually wasn't the rigorous and early start that bothered Finn though. He'd skipped a couple of gym sessions this week, so lifting the heavy equipment had been welcomed.
The problem was Puck.
The muscular tanned boy, who pulled up at school on a motorcycle every day, had been unusually quiet.
"Dude, why are you not - you know - talking and stuff?" Finn asked after a while.
"How do you tell a guy you're cool with that you wanna take a shot at his ex-girlfriend?" Puck countered, sort of wringing his hands.
Yeah... questions weren't really Finn's thing.
Still, he scratched his head and gave it his best shot. "What, is this like one of those metaphorical things that Mr Dodecko's always talking about?"
Puck deadpanned. There seemed to be no limit to Finn's obliviousness. "Dude, I like Quinn. I wanna ask her out."
There. He'd said it.
What was the worst that could happen?
His back met loudly with a nearby locker, Finn's fist screwed up in the neck of his shirt. "Whoa!" spiralled from his lips, as he held his hands out to the side in surrender. "I don't wanna hit you, bro, but I will. So get your hands off me."
"It was you wasn't it? You were the guy that she was talking to online behind my back!" Finn shouted, exerting himself to the point that his face purpled, and his neck strained.
Puck sighed. Was he really going to have to do this?
When Finn applied more pressure, and exhibited no intention of backing off, Puck received the answer.
He swiftly packed the pale boy's ribs full of his fist, the sound of the impact resembling that of a Steven Seagal movie.
Finn went cross-eyed, clutched his ribs, and fell into the other boy, coughing. "Fuck you," he still managed to croak out. "I know it was you."
"No, idiot!" Puck raised his voice. He shoved Finn to the side impatiently. "It wasn't me, dude. I heard that it was Sam!"
Finn glared at nothing in particular. "Sam?"
His ire gave him the strength to stand up straight, despite his throbbing ribs. He took off around the corner; Sam would be at his locker.
As he nudged his way through the unusually compact clusters of students, like somewhat of a mad man, he spotted that familiar head of girly straw-blonde hair.
Sam Evans.
Except Sam wasn't at his locker. He was at Kurt's, talking in hushed whispers as he repeatedly stole glances, like everybody else, in the direction of Rachel Berry's locker.
Finn's large feet slowed, and he frowned. What were people looking at? More importantly, what were they recording?
He spared a confused look in the direction of the apparent spectacle, and actually staggered back a little on his feet. "Fuck my life," he rasped.
The bell suddenly gonged.
It was time for first period... not that anyone would get any work done.