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Cowboy Up

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“Being” with Rachel meant she sometimes had to do things she otherwise wouldn’t.

Quinn always thought of it like that, as if it were in air quotes, because there was no way this thing they were doing would ever be legitimized in any way, including and especially in ways that involved public knowledge. It helped that Rachel agreed with that philosophy, knew it was hypocritical but didn’t really care because she wasn’t any more anxious for the attendant social consequences than was Quinn.

“I’m okay with secret,” she had said when Quinn decided to be stern and lay down the law, making the whole thing really kind of anticlimactic and oddly disappointing.

In some weird way, Rachel’s complete and utter acceptance of her admittedly rigorous rules regarding personal contact in public and appropriate displays of affection in private made Quinn feel like she owed her. So, if Rachel wanted her to dress up like a cowboy and pretend to be an actual boy, it seemed like a minor, if exceedingly odd, concession.

She wasn’t sure what Rachel was dressed up as other than as just regular Rachel, which meant she could probably be pegged as a borderline unfashionable Catholic schoolgirl should categories become necessary. Not that it would ever make any sense, Quinn realized, because playing cowboy and Catholic schoolgirl just didn’t even sound right.

It actually sounded kind of wrong.

She was still dressed up like a cowboy, though, and Rachel was still looking at her expectantly, as if everything was cooperating but her, but the truth was, Quinn had no idea what to do. She had the outfit Rachel requested, the one they wore when they performed with that crazy, half drunk lady who Mr. Schu brought in to glee one of the times he lost his mind – black cowboy hat, dark blue jeans, black cowboy style shirt, and cowboy boots. She even had the shiny silver belt buckle, but she didn’t feel sexy.

She felt ridiculous.

She bit her lower lip when Rachel raised a single brow, because there was an unspoken command in there – come on, get into character – she didn’t know how to answer.

She was neither a boy nor a cowboy and she didn’t know why Rachel would make her pretend to be either, down to and including the package firmly tucked into the front of her Wranglers that still made her blush. The only thing she could think of was that it was one of those What Would Jesus Do moments, only twisted, though the answer to that one was clear.

Smite her.

So, okay. Maybe she could flip it around. What Would Satan Do?

Seduce Rachel and steal her soul. Or maybe not, since she was Jewish. Quinn didn’t really know, and anyway, Satan-like shenanigans were probably way too lofty of a goal anyway. Satan had mad skills, or at least that’s what she’d always been told.

Option three. If she was going to be a boy, but not Jesus or Satan…

The answer was both painfully obvious and painful.


Quinn thought about the last thing on earth she wanted to be doing, and pretending to be Puck while engaging in a round of cowboy and Catholic schoolgirl with Rachel was really close to the top of the list.

“Do you…” Rachel paused and tried to wipe the disappointment off of her face, but there was no way she could hide the sad puppy dog look in her eyes. Quinn hated that look, because it generally meant she immediately conceded to something she otherwise would have absolutely refused to do.

Like, maybe, dressing up like a cowboy.

“Do you not want to do this?”

Quinn was pretty sure that the last thing she wanted to do was be honest.

“Of course I do,” she said, ignoring the clear note of uncertainty in her voice. “Just, you know, give me a minute.”

When Rachel folded her hands together in front of her primly, Quinn realized the other girl had decided to take her literally.

It was surprisingly refreshing.

“Close your eyes,” she added, feeling a bit like an ant under a magnifying glass, only a lot more awkward.

It was easier to think without Rachel watching her. If they’d actually been girlfriends, Quinn would have had to talk to her about the kind of pressure those sorts of expectations created.

Rachel opened one eye to peek, and Quinn realized they might have to have that talk anyway.

Maybe thirty seconds to go, she realized, glaring angrily enough so that Rachel’s eye snapped shut, and she still hadn’t answered the central question before her: What Would Puck Do?

Smirk, she decided. Widen his stance a little, throw back his shoulders, push out his chest, and not look so girly. Pull down his hat so it hid his eyes. Hook his thumbs into his waistband on either side of that ridiculous belt buckle.

Be generally cocky.

Oh,” Rachel gasped, which Quinn took to mean two things. One, her minute was over. Two, she’d made a significant amount of progress. “Hey,” she added shyly, and suddenly Quinn’s smirk was real and not playact.

Shy, Quinn decided, was nice. Very nice.

Puck would probably do something ridiculous at this point, like throw out a cheesy line or do that pouty thing he was convinced drove all the girls crazy. Quinn wasn’t doing either of those things. If she was giving Rachel what she wanted, then Rachel was going to have to come to her and get it and not the other way around.

“You look…” Rachel began, then stopped, licking her bottom lip in a way that was both absent and hungry, and it was so unconsciously sexy that Quinn didn’t even care how she finished that sentence.

So long as the last word wasn’t absurd, she amended mentally.

There was no last word, though, because Rachel had apparently forgotten it. And then Quinn tilted her head to the side quizzically, and that didn’t help matters at all.

Quinn was pretty sure Rachel had forgotten they were roleplaying too.

When Rachel moved in close enough for Quinn to see her eyes – black, with only the faintest hint of brown – it only seemed like further confirmation that she was right.

The look on her face was still shy and innocent, which is why Quinn found it disconcerting when Rachel’s hand ran up the center of her chest and over her shoulder, because that was nothing if not bold and possessive.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me, Mr. Cowboy?” Rachel asked teasingly, nails curling into Quinn’s shoulder through the thick fabric of her shirt.

It was, she thought, an extremely silly question. The answer, of course, was obviously.

Rachel’s look of triumph was probably the only thing that kept her from doing it.

She waited a second, and then another. She let the silence stretch out between them until it was thick with tension, and then deepened her smirk, leaned back slightly, and shook her head no.

It took her a moment to realize the look on Rachel’s face wasn’t anger but, instead, pure, unadulterated arousal.

“Don’t you like me?” Rachel pouted coquettishly, her hand tracing back down over the path it had just traveled, and Quinn felt her stomach muscles clench under the teasing touch.

She wasn’t sure what she expected next, but whatever it was, it was absolutely not the way Rachel leaned into her and drew her hand down further, cupping the bulge pressing against the front of Quinn’s jeans.

“It sure feels like you like me,” Rachel continued, her voice so low and rough that Quinn felt it hum through her.

The thing was, the way Rachel’s hand was stroking the front of her jeans was absolutely way hotter than it had any right to be. It wasn’t as if Quinn could feel anything other than the smallest bit of pressure, so there was no rational explanation for the overwhelming compulsion she felt to thrust her hips forward and press into Rachel’s hand.

None whatsoever.

She blamed this lack of rationality for what she did next, namely digging her fingers into Rachel’s ass and pulling the other girl to her hard. The hat got in the way, especially when Rachel surged up enthusiastically to meet her lips, but she didn’t take it off.

She was too busy enjoying the way Rachel was grinding against her like a cat in heat.

So what if cowboy and Catholic schoolgirl didn’t make sense, she decided, biting back a whimper when Rachel’s nails dug into her back. Rachel was squirming against her in that out of control way that meant her brain had been firmly switched to its off setting. She was lost in the moment, without pretense.

In other words, she was clearly so incredibly turned on that Quinn could get away with anything she wanted. Literally anything.

Not that Quinn had the opportunity to try.

Rachel’s hand had slid between them, slipping her belt buckle free, popping open the button on her jeans, and tugging down the zipper, and Quinn moaned in relief. It was maybe the silliest thing she’d done all night, because it wasn’t as if the constricting fabric of her jeans had actually been pressing up against anything she could feel being constricted.

Knowing that didn’t make it feel any less good.

And then Rachel’s hand slid inside the opened vee of her jeans and wrapped around Quinn’s fake cock and began to stroke and Quinn’s head tipped back, baring her neck, and she let out a low moan that was totally out of proportion to the amount of stimulation she could actually feel. It didn’t matter. It just didn’t. Rachel’s hand was sliding up and down, knuckles pressing against her belly, and Quinn was glad she wasn’t actually a boy, because she was pretty sure it would have been mortifying to cum all over her not-girlfriend’s hand.

“I want…” Rachel whispered, before doing that thing again where her eyes glazed over and she licked her lips and completely forgot what she was going to say.

It kind of made Quinn feel like a stud. A stud, she decided, would totally pull that argyle cardigan over Rachel’s head and toss it far away because it was both distracting and in the way of her breasts.

A stud would also not be bothered by the way Rachel subsequently undid her own bra and slipped it off, because the method didn’t matter. The result did.

“What do you want?” Quinn asked, voice surprisingly deeper than usual.

It was unexpectedly fortuitous.

Rachel seemed to melt. Or, rather, to collapse. Quinn was glad the carpet was fairly thick, because Rachel hit her knees with a thunk that sounded painful.

Rachel’s hand was around the cock again, which focused Quinn’s attention and made her frown, because Rachel had picked it out. It was black and kind of thick, and Quinn wondered if she’d chosen it to match the outfit or if there was something else going on there; she wasn’t sure which option was more likely.

And then she forgot to care, because Rachel flattened her tongue out against the base of it, licked all the way to the tip, and then took it in her mouth.

This was again something she couldn’t feel. Quinn knew this was a fact that existed, but she still moaned, tangled her fingers in Rachel’s hair, and pulled her in closer.

It was… it was just… There were no words. Rachel was looking up at her, and Quinn could see the tip of the cock resting on Rachel’s tongue, heavy and black, and it was an utter, unadulterated tease. The look in Rachel’s eyes was absolutely devilish, and Quinn knew the impulse she was feeling was wrong. Neither one of them really needed for her to push her hips forward.

That didn’t mean she could stop herself.

Quinn was once again glad she wasn’t actually a boy, because the way Rachel simply parted her lips and took her in would probably have been another one of those things that would only have ended in embarrassment for her.

Not that it wasn’t still a possibility.

She didn’t want to know where Rachel had learned the things she was doing. She preferred to think it was a natural, innate ability and was comforted by the notion that that was actually within the realm of possibility given that she was talking about Rachel, who seemed to possess all kinds of hidden talents. Otherwise…

Rachel had wrapped her hand around the cock and was stroking it in rhythm with the movements of her mouth. She was pulling back and licking its tip as if it was ice cream on a hot day, delicious and messy. She was drawing her tongue along the side and lapping playfully at the underside of it and generally doing things that made Quinn weak in the knees.

She didn’t really want to consider otherwise. Not at all.

Quinn tugged hard at Rachel’s hair and ignored the way she whimpered when Rachel looked up at her with red, swollen lips and dark eyes that were both glassy and empty and angry she’d been interrupted.

Because it was possible, but perhaps not the best of plans given the logistics, to let Rachel continue what she’d been doing for an indeterminable amount of time, it instead made complete sense to her to pull Rachel to her feet only to then push her down on the bed.

What she did next she blamed on the part of her that was taking this cowboy thing entirely too seriously. Otherwise it would have been kind of embarrassing, the way she spread Rachel’s thighs, flipped up her skirt, wrapped one hand around the base of her fake cock, and pressed into her without hesitation.

The sharp intake of breath she heard in response made her shiver.

Rachel’s eyes were wide. Her head was tilted back in a way that made her back arch off of the bed and her fingers were digging helplessly into the duvet, and Quinn realized that she’d never actually asked if Rachel had ever done this before.

And, oh god, she clearly hadn’t.

Taken aback, Quinn ran a hand through her hair, knocking her hat to the floor.

It registered vaguely; Rachel hadn’t ever done this before and she hadn’t even taken off her hat, which seemed somehow not right. It felt like something she needed to rectify, so Quinn’s fingers flew to the buttons on her shirt, managing to get all of them undone before Rachel stopped her with a plaintive, “Quinn.”

The implication was clear, but the problem was that she wasn’t at all sure how to go about things. She’d only done this once, and the last time, she’d been on the receiving end, not the giving one. She remembered a pinch of pain and a sense of disorientation before she really understood what was happening, that there was someone inside her and that someone was moving. And sure, it wasn’t the first time she’d been inside Rachel. It was just the first time she’d been inside her like this, but at that moment, that made all the difference.

“Just try to relax,” Quinn whispered, shifting her hips just a little bit.

She figured it was wrong that this kind of made her feel like a stud too.

Rachel was starting to squirm again and Quinn wanted to tell her to stop, because Rachel was always so impatient. She could never wait for things, not even when Quinn promised it’d be better that way, and it figured that she wouldn’t be able to wait for this either. And so fine, Quinn decided. If Rachel thought she was ready…

Quinn dug her fingers into Rachel’s hips, pulled their bodies together, and began to move slowly.

It wasn’t like the motion was instinctive. Or, maybe, it was more like it shouldn’t be, but Quinn found it was ridiculously easy to get her body to move the way she wanted it to. She chalked it up to some kind of imperative, a primordial response to having Rachel underneath her, open, and willing.

Or maybe, like Rachel, she had hidden talents too.

She noticed immediately that the viewpoint was different, which was unexpected. She wasn’t used to being able to see Rachel so clearly. Being able to see Rachel so clearly quickly became a deep groove under the pros column. Rachel’s face had always been expressive, but this was completely different. This was unfiltered and unplanned. This was desperate, pleading, euphoric, hungry…

This was way better than Quinn had expected.

Seriously. She hadn’t given this much thought, with the accoutrement and all, but when it had crossed her mind, she’d pictured something awkward and unsatisfying. She’d pictured disaster.

That seemed ludicrous now. Her hips were moving in a constant, steady rhythm underscored by the muffled cadence of their bodies coming together, her thumb was slipping against Rachel’s clit, and the other girl looked like she was two seconds away from crawling out of her skin.

This wasn’t a disaster. This was awesome. And she…

She was a total stud. She was, like, a sex god or something. She was first in line for an Olympic gold medal in making Rachel Berry scream.

She was maybe going a little too far in the being-like-Puck direction.

Still, though, it was a good thing no one was home, because Rachel was on-key, loud, and reaching a crescendo.

Quinn was shocked to realize she was on the verge of joining her.

She could only be glad Rachel always needed to be the biggest voice in the room, because Quinn was pretty sure no cowboy had ever made a noise like the one that had just passed her lips, all girly and breathless.

But the collapsing down on Rachel and pulling her into a hug as they shivered their way through orgasm together part?

Totally cowboy. Gay cowboy, but cowboy nonetheless.