Author's Note: Roleplay ficlet set about a month after Under the Light Of A Thousand Stars and before Getting Crazy By the Bottom Of the Bottle. Written for Faberry Week, Day 4 - Criminal.
Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.
You're A Criminal As Long As You're Mine
I want your horror.
I want your design.
'Cause you're a criminal
as long as you're mine.
I want your love.
~Bad Romance, Lady Gaga
There's nothing quite like the roar of applause to make Rachel remember why she does what she does. It's been almost a year since her first performance as Fanny Brice and even longer since they'd started rehearsals, and she has eight months to go until her contract ends, having just signed a six month extension after her Tony win—her beautiful, shiny Tony that she admires every day and obsessively shoos Oliver away from and trusts Quinn to never use as a doorstop. The bump in her status from the win also comes with a really nice bump in her pay (thanks to Evelyn), and that, along with the still enthusiastic audiences, helps her power through the boredom that's begun to set in at delivering the same lines and singing the same songs (wonderful though they are) over and over and over again.
She loves performing—she does—and she loves Funny Girl just as much as she ever did, but she can admit that she's hit the point where she's looking forward to her days away from the theatre just a little more than she used to. Of course, that could also be because she knows that her wife is at home waiting for her. Her wife, Quinn, who is her wife now. She might still be just a tiny bit obsessed with that word.
So Rachel smiles and thanks her costars for another wonderful performance—she's found that helps to smooth over any ruffled feathers caused by her occasional constructive critiques—before using the towel that Jerry is always so sweet to have on hand for her (possibly at her request) to wipe away the sweat and the excess makeup from her face as she pads to her dressing room. She frowns slightly at seeing the door slightly ajar, but she doesn't think much of it. She could have easily failed to close it completely during her last change, but she makes certain it's fully shut this time after she steps inside.
She notices the mirror first—its formerly pristine glass surface now vandalized with red lipstick messily proclaiming, hell is so hot right now.
The message is strangely familiar.
Behind it, a movement catches her eye, and her heart flies into her throat. She isn't alone!
She spins around with a squeak, pressing a hand to her chest as she confronts her intruder, now standing behind her and twisting the lock on her door with an expert flick of the wrist. It takes a few seconds for Rachel to fully take in the sight before her—ripped and faded jeans topping heavy black boots, a black t-shirt cropped high over well-defined abs, a flannel shirt tied low around a shapely waist, black fingernails tapping impatiently against a pack of cigarettes, and a bored expression on a stunning face framed by messy pink hair.
"Quinn," she breathes in shock, her heart settling back where it belongs but still racing for very different reasons.
"Hey, Berry," Quinn drawls provocatively. "Long time, no see."
"What…?" Rachel begins, staring at her wife in confusion. They'd seen each other just that afternoon before Rachel had left for the theatre, though Quinn hadn't looked anything like this. Rachel hasn't seen this particular look since, "Oh," she realizes belatedly as her cheeks (and certain other parts of her body) grow incredibly warm. "Oh, yes. I suppose it has been a long time, hasn't it?"
Quinn's lips twitch at the corners, and the glint in her eyes conveys just how pleased she is that Rachel is playing along. Then those eyes rake over Rachel's body with an unapologetic leer. "You haven't changed a bit."
"You certainly have," Rachel notes with amusement, leaning back against her vanity as she waits to see what exactly Quinn has planned.
Quinn flashes a predatory grin. "Like what you see?" she asks arrogantly, pushing away from the door while she frees a single cigarette from the pack and holds it between two deft fingers.
"You've always been a very pretty girl, Quinn," Rachel answers with a smile, curling her fingers around the edge of her vanity table to keep from reaching out and touching this very appealing version of her wife. Her libido more than approves.
Quinn laughs. "Pretty, huh?" she challenges, tossing the cigarette pack onto the table beside Rachel and leaning forward into her personal space. "Not...oh," she pauses thoughtfully, licking her lips, "unexpectedly titillating?"
Rachel exhales sharply, letting the vanity take her weight because her knees have gone suddenly, inexplicably weak. "That too," she whispers, swaying toward Quinn in expectation of a kiss.
Quinn swiftly moves away with a satisfied smirk. "Thought so." She pops the cigarette between her lips and digs into her pocket to retrieve a lighter.
Rachel scowls, both from the disappointment of being denied Quinn's lips and the cigarette currently tainting them. "You'd better not be lighting that," she warns.
Quinn pauses, arching an eyebrow. "You gonna stop me?" she taunts around the cigarette, flicking the lighter until the little flame dances precariously close the end of the disgusting cancer stick.
"Quinn!" Rachel growls, lurching forward to make a grab for it.
Quinn dodges her easily, snuffing the flame on the lighter and taking the cigarette out of her mouth. "Oh, don't have a coronary. I'm only playing with you," she promises with a roll of her eyes. "Wouldn't want to damage those precious vocal chords, after all."
Rachel relaxes. She doesn't want to think that Quinn would have actually lit up in here (or anywhere, ever again), but she does seem remarkably lost in her role. "Thank you."
Quinn nods distractedly, pacing around the little dressing room and eyeing it suspiciously, from the vanity to the rack filled with costumes to the well-used chaise wedged into the far corner. "So, these are the digs a Tony winner gets, huh? I was expecting…more."
"So was I," Rachel muses wryly. It's a fact that Quinn knows very well. It's a nice enough dressing room, but it doesn't really provide her with very much room to maneuver. Another fact that Quinn knows very well. Very, very well.
"Aw, what's the matter, Berry? Broadway not quite what you expected?" Quinn teases. "Did that schoolgirl fantasy of life not come true?"
Rachel's eyes narrow at her choice of phrasing. "Actually, my life is even better than I ever imagined it would be," she admits easily.
"Better than Finn Hudson?" Quinn asks in surprise, pressing a hand to her heart in mock devastation. "Tell me it isn't so."
Rachel bites back a laugh, rolling her eyes at Quinn's antics as she crosses her arms and tries to appear stern. She suspects that she fails miserably. "My wife is much, much better than Finn Hudson," she reveals smugly, although Rachel will be eternally grateful to Finn for reminding them both about the undeniable appeal of Quinn's pink-haired, punk phase.
"Wife?" Quinn repeats, arching an eyebrow. "So straight-laced, little Berry went gay? Never saw that one coming," she quips with a knowing grin.
"Really? Because Santana seemed to think that the clues were all there," Rachel points out—at least the clues that suggested Rachel would go gay for Fabray.
Quinn scoffs. "Santana? Tell me you didn't marry that bitch."
Rachel doesn't quite manage to stifle her laughter at that. "I didn't. My wife is so much hotter than her," she murmurs, letting her own gaze travel the length of Quinn's body without shame.
"Thought you were gonna tell me she's a much bigger bitch," Quinn confesses, eyes dancing with humor as she finally flicks the cigarette away.
Rachel shrugs. "Occasionally."
Quinn tilts her head, and her eyes slide down Rachel's body, stopping about midway. "If you're so happily married, where's your ring?"
Rachel's heart jumps, and she instinctively glances at her finger—her very naked finger. She touches the spot reflexively before she realizes that she never got the chance to put her wedding ring back on after the show. She quickly reaches for the chain that she wears under her costume during every performance. "It's here," she says, pulling it free to reveal the sparkling wedding band that matches the one on Quinn's finger—and it is still on her finger, Rachel notices. Apparently, Quinn hasn't quite gotten completely into character, though she did take off her engagement ring, likely storing it in the jewelry box right next to Rachel's for safekeeping until she gets home. "I can't wear it while I'm performing," she reminds Quinn needlessly, keeping up the game that they're playing.
Rachel lifts the chain over her head with every intention of putting her ring back on now, but Quinn reaches out and snags it before she has the chance, holding it up for her slow perusal. "Nice," Quinn murmurs appreciatively. "Your lady's got good taste. Expensive, too."
"She does," Rachel agrees with a nod.
"Think I'll keep this little sparkly for myself," Quinn decides with a dangerous grin. "Never know when I might need the extra cash"
"I don't think so," Rachel argues with an indulgent shake of her head, holding out her hand. "Give it back, please."
Quinn moves the chain farther away from her reach. "What do I get in return?"
Rachel lifts an eyebrow in challenge, her palm still open and waiting for her ring back. "My gratitude."
Quinn shakes her head and pockets the ring. "Try again."
"You get to not be arrested for stealing," Rachel threatens impishly, finally dropping her hand to her side.
"You won't call the cops on me," Quinn asserts confidently, moving closer with a smile of wicked intent. "In fact, I think you secretly love the bad girls, don't you?" she teases, pressing against Rachel's side and grazing a hand over her breast. "I bet they really turn you on," she purrs against Rachel's ear, causing Rachel to release a helpless little whimper. "So I'll ask again, what do I get in return?"
"Anything you want," Rachel finally agrees, closing her eyes as she basks in the heat of Quinn's body and the skillful touch of her hand.
Quinn uses her body to press Rachel back against her vanity table. "And what if I want you?" she asks throatily, running a hand over Rachel's hip. "Here? Up against your vanity?"
"Yes," Rachel hisses, sliding impatient palms over the exposed skin beneath Quinn's cropped top. "God, Quinn, anyway you want." She's so turned on right now, she just wants her wife to stop playing and take her already.
A low chuckle tickles against Rachel's lips before Quinn darts out her tongue to lick at them, urging them open for a deep, heated kiss. Quinn's fingers drag over her body until they curl around the backs of Rachel's thighs, lifting her up and onto the vanity table and sending her makeup and brushes flying. Rachel moans in approval.
Quinn inches up the hem of her skirt and coaxes her legs open to settle between them like she owns Rachel's body (and, right now, she absolutely does), and then she leans back to gaze at Rachel wantonly. "What about that wife of yours?"
Rachel tangles her fingers into soft, pink hair, biting into her own lip as she stares longingly at Quinn's mouth. "I think she'll forgive me just this once." Though Rachel's costume manager probably won't.
Quinn's lips quirk into a smile. "She must be a saint."
Rachel laughs. "She's the very devil when she wants to be."
Quinn slowly runs her tongue across her lower lip as she slides skilled fingers ever higher on Rachel's thighs. "Hmm. Guess hell really is hot right now."
"So hot," Rachel growls, impatiently dragging Quinn's mouth back to hers. She's so very glad that Quinn locked the door, because she has a whole lot of fantasies that involve being defiled by this sexy, pink-haired, delinquent version of Quinn Fabray, and she plans to make sure that they're both found guilty of multiple sex offenses before the night is through.