Author's Note: Set between A Feline Casanova and Dust On Every Page.
Give Me A Moment
So slide over here
and give me a moment.
Your needs are so raw.
I've got to let you know.
~Need You Tonight, INXS
Rachel doesn't mind it so much in the morning. She has to get to the theater before the matinee after all, and while she certainly would prefer having an actual conversation with her girlfriend over the vegan French toast that she'd finally learned how to make correctly—well, she does still need to learn how to get those first few pieces off the skillet before they burn—she finds watching Quinn juggle eager bites of her breakfast between typing one-handedly on her laptop to be impossibly adorable. And Rachel does manage to get Quinn to look up from her screen long enough to receive her have-a-great-show kiss. (They aren't goodbye kisses because they never really say goodbye—only see you later, baby.)
Rachel doesn't typically come home between performances on her two show days. Their apartment is close enough to make it possible, but it's rarely sensible. Sometimes she runs a few errands or browses in some nearby shops, and other times she just crashes in her dressing room and tries to catch a nap. Today she opts for the nap, knowing that being insensible would also be unproductive for her and for Quinn because Quinn is on a particularly creative streak with her novel. She doesn't always have the time or energy to work on it during the week, and Rachel wants to give Quinn the whole afternoon and evening to write without interruption.
After another outstanding performance (of course), Rachel eagerly makes her way home. It's Saturday night, and she absolutely loves that her show is dark on Sunday. It means they get an entire day together, just the two of them, with nowhere else to be. It also means that they occasionally get to turn their Saturday night into a Sunday morning without regard for sleep. She's been thinking about doing just that all day, but when she opens the door, she finds the apartment dark, save for the light seeping out from the bedroom they share.
Smiling, she kicks off her shoes and pads over to the not-quite-closed door—no doubt left that way to allow Oliver to come and go as he pleases without yowling—and peeks inside. She finds Quinn in exactly the position that she expects (and nowhere near the position that she'd been hoping for), hunched over her laptop with her back against the headboard and glasses perched on her nose as she alternately types and pauses to reread the screen before her fingers start moving again.
Rachel touches the door until it opens completely and leans her hip into the frame, thinking that the slight squeak of the hinges and the noticeable change in the lighting will pull Quinn's attention to her, but it doesn't. Frowning, she clears her throat, only to see Quinn's eyes remain focused intently on her screen and her right hand pause from its work to raise slightly, index finger pointing up in silent request for one more minute before returning to the keyboard. Huffing in annoyance, Rachel straightens and stalks over to the foot of the bed, glaring at her girlfriend.
"Quinn," she grunts, crossing her arms.
"One more minute, Rach," is muttered directly to the laptop.
Rachel's eyes narrow. She never wants to impede on Quinn's passion, but she'd given her all day to do this. It's after eleven-thirty and Rachel is home now—it's time for Quinn's mistress to go to sleep for the night. "Unless you've recently named your computer Rach, the flesh-and-blood one in the room would appreciate if you actually met her eyes while you're talking to her."
Quinn's gaze lifts for just a second, eyebrow arching under the frame of her glasses. "Just give me five minutes to finish this scene," and then she's back to typing.
Rachel growls under her breath. First it was one minute, now it's up to five. Soon it will be the rest of the night that Quinn is clickity-clacking away at her keyboard. Rachel isn't exaggerating—Quinn has done this before. Taking a calming breath, Rachel lets her arms fall to her sides and turns on her heel, pacing out of the room and toward the bathroom to undertake her nightly ritual. That should give Quinn ample time to finish her scene.
Oliver circles her feet on the way down the hall, mewling determinedly to gain her attention. "I know. She's ignoring you too," Rachel sympathizes, bending down to scratch behind his ears. He bumps his head against her fingers and then races in the direction of the kitchen, pausing to stare at her expectantly. She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You just want your snack."
She slips into the kitchen and fills his bowl with just enough food to tide him over, taking the time to clean and refill his water bowl with fresh water. Then she heads to the bathroom to go about her own nightly business, scrubbing off her lingering makeup, rinsing, and moisturizing before returning to the bedroom. She wishes that she could say she's surprised to see Quinn is still typing, but she really isn't.
She could (should) be a good girlfriend, slip her pajamas on, quietly crawl into bed, and resign herself to sleeping on her own, cold, lonely side while Quinn spends the night banging her keyboard instead of her girlfriend. (It's possible that Rachel might be hanging out with Santana a little too often.) She could do that—but she won't. She's already spent far too many nights deferring to Quinn's art, and she's about hit her limit.
Grinning impishly, Rachel closes the bedroom door before she pulls her shirt up over her head, tossing it in Quinn's general direction. Well—actually, she throws it straight at Quinn's head, but her aim hasn't improved since she was a child, so it lands harmlessly somewhere around Quinn's feet. The clickity-clacking doesn't stop. Rachel saunters back into Quinn's line of sight (if she were actually looking up) and unzips her slacks, slowly shimmying them down over hips. More clickity-clacking, but Rachel's almost certain that she heard a short pause somewhere in there.
She reaches behind her back and unsnaps her bra, letting it slide down to the floor. The clickity- clack becomes a stuttered clickity-click-click before Quinn inhales sharply through her nose and slams the backspace key multiple times.
Rachel's grin turns to a smirk as she places her palms flat against the mattress at the foot of the bed and crawls up onto it like a cat, practically rubbing against Quinn on her way up to the headboard. The clickity-clacking is growing noticeably slower. Rachel plops onto her side facing Quinn, who is biting into her lower lip with eyes darting in Rachel's direction every few seconds as she struggles to keep typing. Rachel tugs at the sheet and makes a show of lifting her legs up to her chest one at a time before sliding them underneath, taking care to graze her toes along Quinn's calf as she straightens them again.
Quinn puffs out a breath and shakes her head. "I'm almost finished," she promises, almost desperately.
Rachel leans closer to Quinn, resting her cheek against Quinn's shoulder and watching the words appear on the screen. There are dozens of red underlines in the last several paragraphs and more appearing with every stroke of the keys, and Rachel stifles a giggle at the multiple typos. "How much longer, do you think?" she asks huskily.
"Three minutes," Quinn mumbles.
"A lot can happen in three minutes," Rachel muses, pulling away from Quinn and sliding onto her back as she slips her hands under the sheet, dragging it down to her waist, before her fingers venture under the elastic of her panties. She's still deciding between (im)patiently teasing Quinn some more or just starting without her entirely when Quinn slams the cover of the laptop closed.
"Fuck it," she groans, slipping the offending object onto the nightstand and ripping her glasses off. "I can't concentrate with you lying there doing that."
Rachel smiles triumphantly. "That was kind of the plan."
Quinn shakes her head, even as she moves over Rachel's body, ghosting those precise fingers over her naked breasts. "At this rate, I'll never finish my novel," she grumbles good-naturedly.
"You will," Rachel assures her, reaching up to slip her arms around Quinn. "Just not tonight. At least, not until you finish me first," she teases wickedly.
Quinn's lips curve into a sexy smirk as they descend. "Oh, sweetheart, I haven't even gotten started." She slides her hand over Rachel's body and kisses her passionately. The laptop is completely forgotten as Quinn writes a poem of pleasure across her skin instead. Rachel doesn't mind it at all.