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She’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure that massive quantities of defecation are about to hit the most enormous fan in the known world when the scary cheerleading coach elbows her in the stomach and Terri forgets to flinch.

“You don’t understand,” she begins, and Sue snorts at her.

“Nor do I care to.” Without breaking eye contact, she takes a gingerbread man from Terri’s imported Belgian cookie plate and decapitates it with something that might be a grin or something more feral. Informative teatimes are getting to be a habit for the two of them. “Can you even spell hysterectomy?”


Sue rolls right on over her. “I find it disgusting and misogynistic that you would want to turn the reproductive system into a farce. It doesn’t need your help or anyone else’s. There are trailer-park mothers out there with multiple births.”

Terri’s mouth works itself open and closed a few times. “That’s…a perfectly valid point.” She has nothing to lose by appeasing this Amazon.

There’s a note of exasperation in Sue’s voice. “He’s obtuse enough not to realize it? I grossly overestimated him.”

“You could help me,” Terri simpers, giving her best eyelash-fluttering look of helplessness. “Since you know him so well from glee and were nice enough to tip me off about the guidance counselor.” Maybe there’s an alliance to be made. Quinn Fabray was a cheerleader until recently and Quinn’s baby will be Terri’s baby, Will’s baby, their baby, if she can just play her cards right.

“Help you. Because your husband isn’t man enough to touch his wife or even talk to her like a human being.” There’s a flicker of pale lashes, eyes glinting ice-blue and unwavering. “Just try me.”

She takes off the padding, but only after taking off her top. It feels good to kiss someone as more than a peck, even better to have hands on her without worrying about what they might touch. Without worrying, period, whether it be about stashing aside one Tahitian bath set or four, or splurging on a grand foyer, or maybe going in for Botox on the sly—there’s no reason to let herself go just because she’s trying to keep Will at arm’s length.

Thinking isn’t even an option with Sue’s fingers crooked in a come-hither, trimmed nails neat and knuckles bringing a gasp from Terri’s throat each time she sinks down onto them.

“That…” she can’t find an adequate descriptor and eventually makes do with, “Oh my God. I can’t even remember the last time…”

For some reason, that makes Sue smile widely, apparently satisfied. “Matrimony doesn’t mean somebody’s going to take care of you for free. It’s interesting how hard that is for some people to understand.”

Terri understands. There’s a baby waiting to be born and a lie waiting to be forgiven, but she’s doing it to give him something to hope for and take care of and it seems selfish now, but she’ll find a way to make it right, she really will. Can’t have him running out on her for the guidance counselor. Keep him invested. And Sue…well, she must have a motive. Altruism is as dead as chivalry. Sue’s fingertips are circling and pressing back up between her legs, making her squirm and spread let them slide slickly in, again and again until she’s seeing nothing but a white-hot wall and the carpet is under her back and her panties are halfway across the room. Capable hands shaping to clasp her hips, Sue laughing against her as she’s tonguing and licking up into her and making her clench; making her crazy. Crazier.

“I need someone I can rely on,” Terri tells her, voice high and reedy, short strands of hair caught in her fists. “Only my sister knows. And the ob-gyn we blackmailed. But that’s it.”

Sue seems to approve of, or maybe disdain, this admission. It’s hard to pinpoint the nuances that show between different shades of impassiveness. And between orgasms. Terri can’t even be certain she’s hearing her right. “Pulling one over on Will Schuester is fine by me,” Sue murmurs, and each word is low and half-lost in Terri’s skin.