Quinn is a coldhearted bitch with insecurity issues so big they deserve their own zip code, but damn it is not worth giving up that mouth.
"Needed a little pick-me-up before Chemistry class?" Santana breathes as Quinn's mouth moves confidently across her collarbone, leaving behind cool, longing redness but nothing lasting - with this girl? Please.
"Mm," she answers, paying no attention to Santana's words, her sharp, effortlessly hot tone but to the beat of her heart just above the line of her pushup bra, on the left, where the muscle is tight and cramped, pushing her tongue into the knot in little circles, mimicking, maybe, what she'd be doing if only the break between classes were just a few minutes longer. She doesn't need much. She knows what this girl likes. Finally the tension in the muscle releases, just a little, and Santana groans, her hips twitching once towards Quinn's thigh but her voice, always in control, "Bitch, if you give me a fucking hickey I'll strangle you with that little hippie belt you're wearing."
Quinn's not fazed, she leaves one last nip - a farewell bite to the sacred beautiful place where the collarbones meet, maybe it tasted like cheap perfume before but now it's all sweet wonderful girly sweat. She focuses on changing her expression before she looks up, from want, yes, and you're mine to banal curiosity. She can't train her voice as well as Santana, and against her best wishes, a little whiny breathiness escapes as she ends their pre-Chem makeout session. "Before we get to class, I have to ask, where'd you get this jacket?"
"Stole it from Tina, duh."