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I Can Put On A Show

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And when you start to feel the rush
A crimson headache, aching blush
And you surrender to the touch, you'll know
I can put on a show, I can put on a show
Don't you see what you're finding?
This is heaven in hiding, oh.
~Heaven In Hiding, Halsey

Mother's Day breakfast is an awkward affair.

Judy shows up, as promised, after church with no sign of Frannie or TJ in tow. Quinn honestly wouldn't have minded if her nephew had tagged along, but there's no way her sister would allow that to happen after their disaster of a dinner the night before. The whole ordeal had made Quinn seriously question the wisdom of dragging Rachel back to Lima to visit her mother, but Judy's appearance at the Berry residence gives Quinn hope, so she sucks it up and rides out the awkward as best she can.

Awkward moment number one is the (re)introduction of Judy to Hiram and Leroy Berry. Rachel's dads are friendly and charming when they welcome her into their home, but it's painfully obvious that Judy just doesn't seem to know how to interact with them—a fact which is exacerbated by awkward moment number two.

A bag containing a certain item that Quinn had requested via text the night before is dangling from Judy's fingertips when she arrives, and she innocently offers it up to her daughter with a smile and a, "Here, Quinnie, dear. I did manage to find your old uniform for you."

Quinn utters a hasty, "Thanks, Mom," as she snags the bag, feeling three sets of Berry eyes on her—one of which is decidedly more interested in the contents of the bag than the others—and hoping that no one makes any comments about it so they can just move along with breakfast.

She isn't that lucky.

"It does seem a little odd to have a costume party at this time of the year," Judy remarks, having no reason to question the excuse that Quinn had invented for needing the uniform, "but I suppose your New York friends make their own rules." She turns to Rachel then, asking, "Is it some sort of theater thing?"

And Rachel—sweet, earnest, occasionally clueless Rachel—despite knowing exactly why Quinn had asked her mother for her cheerleading uniform, is caught momentarily off-guard and responds with a confused, "Huh?" before glancing at Quinn. "Are we having a costume party?"

Quinn closes her eyes and shakes her head in pained embarrassment while both Hiram and Leroy attempt to muffle their knowing snickers. When she opens them again, it's in time to see her girlfriend's brown ones widen with understanding. "Oh. Yes. The costume party," Rachel belatedly confirms with a vigorous nod to Judy. "It's absolutely a theater thing."

If Quinn's mother didn't already seem uncomfortably suspicious of the exchange, then having Rachel's fathers outright burst into laughter should certainly tip her off that the uniform isn't going to be used for any costume party. It's an awkward start to their awkward breakfast, and it's only Hiram quickly composing himself to offer Judy a cup of coffee and his famous blueberry waffles that saves Quinn from having to invent another flimsy excuse to explain the sudden interest in her high school wardrobe to her mother.

Thankfully, Judy's stubborn aversion to acknowledging Quinn's sexual preferences in general and the intimate nature of her relationship with Rachel specifically allows that awkward moment to die a painful death, and the awkward moments that follow over breakfast feel like the normal awkwardness of two very different families sharing a meal together for the sake of their kids. Quinn counts it as a success.

After breakfast, Judy thanks the Berrys for their hospitality and gives Quinn a hug and a kiss goodbye before she's on her way back home to spend the afternoon with Frannie and TJ. Not long after she leaves, Leroy announces that he and Hiram are going for a drive and might stop by their favorite flea market before it closes for the day.

Hiram picks up his keys with a wink. "I'm sure you girls can manage to entertain yourselves for a few hours while we're gone."

Quinn should be embarrassed—and in fact, she is for a moment or two—but when the door closes behind Rachel's dads, what she feels most is a growing sense of excitement at the knowledge that she's finally alone with Rachel Berry in the house that she grew up in and just a mere flight of stairs away from the bedroom that had featured in more than one of the fantasies that had managed to sneak through Quinn's teenage repression.

"So, Berry," Quinn drawls playfully, crossing her arms. "How do you intend to…entertain me?"

The corners of Rachel's lips quirk up into an impish grin. "Oh, I don't know, Quinn. Perhaps we can spend the afternoon making plans for that costume party we'll be attending."

Quinn feels her cheeks heat slightly. "My mother asked me why I wanted it," she mutters, shrugging a shoulder. "I had to tell her something that might actually make her look for it and not, you know," she rolls her eyes, "take it out to the backyard and light it on fire while she prayed for God to purge me of my sinful intentions."

An wholly inelegant guffaw bursts out of Rachel before she presses her hand to her mouth to muffle the far more musical giggles that follow, and her eyes twinkle with mirth even as she composes herself, shaking her head. "And people say I'm the melodramatic one?"

"You are." Quinn uncrosses her arms, reaching out to snag Rachel's hand and tug her closer. "I'm simply stating a known fact. My mother never would have brought that uniform over here if she'd had any inkling of what we plan to do with it."

Rachel's amused smile transforms into more of a smirk as she leans into Quinn's body and slips the arm not currently occupied with holding Quinn's hand around her waist. "And exactly what do we plan to do with it, Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow in challenge. "I seem to recall someone offering to fulfill a certain fantasy involving your bedroom and those skirts in your closet." They hadn't quite managed to bring it all together last night—the bedroom part of the fantasy and Quinn's need to get Rachel out of her clothes had taken precedence over stopping to let Rachel try on any of her old outfits—but now that they have Quinn's uniform (and the house to themselves), it seems like the perfect moment to revisit their teenage selves in much more satisfying ways.

Rachel hums thoughtfully, gazing up at Quinn through her lashes. "I suppose I could slip into something a little less comfortable while you see if that uniform still fits you."

There's a fleeting moment of indignation at the implication that Quinn might have gained some weight since her cheerio days—she might not be seventeen anymore, but she knows she's in fantastic shape—but then she remembers how effusively Rachel had announced that Quinn's body is amazing in front of her mother and sister (and her blissfully ignorant nephew) at dinner last night, and any offense that she might have otherwise taken to Rachel's choice of phrase completely disappears.

"It will fit well enough." After all, she'd managed to squeeze into it when she'd been noticeably pregnant with Beth, and, "I have a feeling I won't be in it for very long anyway."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Rachel counters with a grin as her hand slips down over Quinn's ass. "I think I'll want to take my time and savor every moment of debauching the head cheerio."

Quinn's body instantly catches fire just from the thought of it. "I think you've got that backwards, sweetie. She'll be the one debauching you."

Rachel's eyes narrow in challenge. "We'll see about that."

"Yes, we will," Quinn agrees with a smirk, eager to put her old uniform back on and face off with Rachel in all of her plaid and argyle-loving glory. "Just as soon as you stop talking and start turning my fantasy into reality. So get a move on it, Berry," she commands, landing a playful slap on Rachel's delectable ass before she disengages from her affronted girlfriend.

"Really, Quinn! You're Berry-ing me?" Rachel chastises with a frown.

Suddenly fearing that maybe she'd injected a little too much of her former attitude into her teasing, Quinn gazes at Rachel in concern. "Is that too much? I mean, I don't want this to be weird for you or," she hesitates, feeling a familiar wave of old regrets crash into her, "or trigger any bad memories of our past."

She wonders if maybe they should just leave her uniform in the bag and play in Rachel's closet instead, but then Rachel is shaking her head and assuring her that, "No. No, it's okay. Berry is acceptable. Just," she pauses to offer a crooked smile, "don't use any of the other names you used to call me."

It's fairly clear that Rachel means it to be a joke, but it's not a subject that Quinn can easily laugh off. Guilt twists in her stomach, dampening her arousal, and she reaches up to gently stroke the backs of her fingers over Rachel's cheek in a tender caress. "Never. I will never do that ever again, Rachel."

Rachel's smile turns soft. "I know, baby. We're both very different people now," she acknowledges before rocking up to brush a brief, feather-light kiss across Quinn's lips. "But thank you for checking to make sure all of this is okay with me."

"If at any point it isn't…"

"I will say Pippin," Rachel quickly interjects with a playful grin.

Quinn smiles at that. "Of course you will." They haven't ever had to actually use their safe words yet, but Rachel is always diligent to remind her that they have them—just in case.

"And, if at any point, what we're doing isn't okay with you, you will say," Rachel prompts, drawing out the last word expectantly.

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. "Tolstoy," she supplies dutifully.

Rachel nods in satisfaction. "And since we're getting into character, as it were...what exactly is my motivation?" she asks intently, twirling a hand through the air next to her head in a familiar searching gesture. "Am I, the exceptionally talented, unexpectedly sexy, though unfairly maligned, glee club captain, inviting the beautiful," she points to Quinn, "popular, though secretly misunderstood, head cheerleader over to my house under the guise of working on our latest glee assignment in the hopes that we will finally have the chance to grow closer?" And here, Rachel only barely pauses her rambling to take a breath. "Or are we passionate rivals locked in the midst of an epic showdown over the boy whom we both foolishly want, though he doesn't deserve us, because we're too scared and too stubborn to give into our ever-increasing ardor and accept that we are destined for one another?"

"Didn't we already live that second one?" Quinn wonders with an arched brow, finding Rachel's dedication to crafting her character more than a little adorable despite the completely unprofessional nature of this particular roleplaying exercise.

"Hmm. Yes. I suppose we did," Rachel decides with a nod—her eyes glittering with mischief. "So the first one then?"

"The first one," Quinn confirms laughingly, shaking her head. "Now that you have your motivation, can we finally get going with the dress-up part?" She's not ashamed to admit how eager she is for that.

"Of course."

Satisfied that they're about to get this show on the road, Quinn turns for the closet where she'd hastily stashed the bag with her uniform prior to breakfast, but before she can take a step, Rachel is stopping her with a hand on her wrist and a hurried, "Wait."

"What now?"

Rachel tilts her head thoughtfully. "Do you have a preference for the color or pattern of my skirt? Or a specific animal themed sweater that you're more attracted to?" she asks in complete seriousness, though Quinn thinks the corners of her lips might be battling a grin.

Quinn leans in very close to those lips and lets her own curve into a wolfish smile. "Surprise me," she husks before leaning back, pleased to see Rachel's eyelashes flutter and her breath hitch tellingly.

"Oh, I intend to," Rachel vows, recovering her composure enough to give Quinn a run for her money on sexy smirks. Then she's spinning on her heel and marching toward the stairs. "You can use the spare room to change," she calls back over her shoulder.

Quinn takes a moment to admire the view of her ass as she climbs the stairs, wondering which skirt she'll pick. She really can't go wrong with any of them—they're all still sinfully short. The sudden rush of anticipation has Quinn quickly grabbing her uniform and practically sprinting up the stairs after her girlfriend, overtaking her at the top and landing another slap to that shapely ass as she buzzes past her in the hallway.

"Quinn!" Rachel gasps in mock affront.

"You'd better hurry up, Berry," Quinn warns playfully, spinning around with a roguish grin while she saunters backwards toward the spare room. "I'll be knocking at your door in no time, and I don't like to be kept waiting."

Rachel's eyes narrow even as she battles her own smile. "You'd better come ready to work, Quinn Fabray. I'm taking this assignment very seriously."

Quinn laughs, offering Rachel a wink. "So am I, Berry," she promises before backing into the room and closing the door with a firm click.

Excitement bubbles in her belly as she digs into the bag and pulls out her uniform, depositing the skirt and spanks on the bed before holding up the top for inspection. It feels a little stiff in her hands, and there's a faint scent of cedar clinging to it from whatever closet or chest it had been packed away in, but otherwise, it's in perfect shape—the colors still as bright and vivid as the first time she'd put it on. A dozen different emotions slam into her at once as she gazes at the familiar red, white, and black.

She can still remember how proud and eager she'd been to wear it for the very first time, walking into William McKinley High School with a brand new start and big dreams for a wonderful future. The possibilities had felt endless at the time, and she'd been so incredibly happy to leave Lucy behind her for good and step into her future as Quinn, but her tenure as the head cheerleader hadn't exactly gone the way she'd intended.

There are so many good memories associated with the uniform—a National Championship, chilly fall evenings at football games, strutting through hallways with Santana and Brittany at her sides—and just as many bad memories—the insults that had dripped so effortlessly from her lips, letting Puckerman slide down her spanks, telling Rachel that she'd come to her wedding before going home and trading this uniform for a pink bridesmaid dress that never made it to the courthouse.

Quinn shudders slightly at the unwanted memory and heaves a pained sigh. The last time she'd worn this uniform is something that she'd rather not dwell on. She's determined to make a much happier memory with it today.

She lays the top on the bed with the rest of the uniform before kicking off her shoes and stripping off her clothes with ease. The spanks and skirt go on first, and Quinn is pleased to find that they still fit nearly perfectly. She forgoes a bra for obvious reasons and shimmies into the top, reaching for the zipper and giving it a tug. It gives her a little trouble, mostly because it's gone unused for the last six years, but it closes with enough room for Quinn to breathe easily. Her shoes come last—the regulation white tennis shoes sitting neatly at the bottom of the bag. She's a little surprised that her mother had included them, though Quinn suspects it might only be because she'd left behind so many pairs of them when she'd moved out. The shoes, Quinn finds, are a little tight and pinch her toes just a bit, but she's not going to be throwing any back-handsprings in them, so they'll do.

Stepping in front of the full-length mirror affixed to the door, Quinn plants her hands on her hips and gives herself a critical onceover. The fabric seems to cling to her curves a little more than it used to, but the effect isn't at all unappealing. She reaches up to run a hand through her hair, suddenly wishing that she hadn't had it trimmed so recently. It's not quite as short as she's worn it in the past, but she doubts the current length will make it into a ponytail—at least not one that has any hope of staying in without a ton of hairspray, a few bobby-pins, and time that she's just not willing to commit to right now. Sighing, Quinn decides that Rachel will simply have to settle for the head cheerleader with her hair down, and she takes a moment to finger-comb it into a sexy tousle of waves.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, Quinn lets her lips curl into a smirk and plants one hand on her hip once again. "Oh, yeah. This will definitely do," she decides before gliding out of the room with her old cheerio swagger firmly in place.

She stops in front of Rachel's bedroom door and lifts a hand to land a short, sharp knock to the wood. The butterflies currently taking flight in her stomach are almost enough to rival the heat slithering through her blood at the thought of what's waiting for her on the other side of that door—that door that isn't opening nearly fast enough for Quinn's liking. She knocks again.

"Open up, Berry. What did I say about keeping me waiting?"

Quinn can perfectly imagine those brown eyes rolling, and she thinks she can even almost hear an exasperated huff in the moment before the knob turns and the door is jerked open.

"Really, Quinn," Rachel chides with a stern frown. "It would behoove you to practice your patience as well as your scales."

Quinn opens her mouth to offer up a witty retort, but it instantly dies on her tongue when the vision in front of her reaches her brain, and she helpless to do anything other than drink in the sight before her.

Rachel Berry—in all her five-foot, three-inch glory—looks exactly like she just stepped out of her freshman yearbook photograph. Her luscious legs are encased in black and yellow argyle knee-socks and feet tucked into shiny, black Mary Janes. The yellow and black plaid skirt—the one that Quinn had been eyeing in the closet only yesterday—somehow looks even shorter than it ever had in high school, and it's topped by a fuzzy, yellow sweater—blessedly free of any cutesy animals—that clings to Rachel's breasts in a very flattering way. The entire ensemble is completed by the yellow headband in her dark hair, and Quinn's heart does that back-handspring at the realization that Rachel had somehow thrown together an almost exact replica of the outfit she'd been wearing on the day they'd first met.

"I…I like your sweater," Quinn manages to get out, remembering how her fifteen year-old self had said the same thing—though not nearly as lustfully.

Rachel's lips curl into a pleased grin, and she lifts a hand to her chest, slowly running it over the material and the curves beneath in a purposely calculated way. "Why, thank you, Quinn. And may I say, you look very…spirited…in your uniform," she compliments cheerfully, though she's obviously checking out every inch of Quinn's body in much the same way that Quinn had done to hers. "Do come in," she urges, pulling the door back and stepping out of the way.

Impressed (and aroused) by how thoroughly Rachel has fallen back into her younger self, Quinn shakes off her momentary stupor and steps into Rachel's room with an exaggerated sway of her hips, confident that Rachel is watching. She lets her gaze sweep around the room as though it's the first time she's ever seen it and then gives voice to one of the thoughts that she'd had on that long ago occasion.

"Your room is actually less nauseating than I expected it would be." She glances back at Rachel with a smirk, just managing to catch brown eyes blatantly ogling her ass before they snap up to her face. "I thought there'd be more pink."

"There is nothing wrong with the color pink," Rachel defends, crossing her arms and affecting her best glower. "But for your information, Quinn, this shade of yellow happens to inspire confidence and optimism."

"Well, that explains some things," Quinn observes wryly, thinking back to Rachel's irrepressible confidence in high school as she glances around at the yellow painted walls with new eyes.

Rachel's lips twist into a somewhat rueful smile. "I found it to be emotionally uplifting after a long day of dodging slushies."

The fact that she'd slipped into the past tense makes Quinn's heart ache, because she knows that Rachel's admission is so much more than an innocent bit of roleplaying. She ducks her head in shame at her part in Rachel's unhappier high school memories, even though she knows that Rachel has long forgiven her for it. Today is their chance to get it right.

"My bedroom was pink," Quinn admits by way of an olive branch. She hadn't actually been the one to choose the color—her parents had done that for both their daughters when they'd still been babies—but where a teenaged Frannie had eventually demanded her room be painted green, Quinn had simply left hers pink both before and after the move to Lima because she'd found it pretty and feminine at a time when she was desperately trying to be both of those things.

Rachel nods slowly. "Pink is actually a very powerful color, emotionally speaking. It's supposed to have a calming effect, which I imagine would be very beneficial to you."

And just like that, they're back in character. "Just what are you implying, Berry?" Quinn challenges, stepping into Rachel's space with her hands firmly planted on her hips. She bites back a smile when she sees Rachel's eyes dart down to her lips while her tongue peeks out to moisten her own.

All of Quinn's lingering guilt gets burned away by arousal fairly quickly with the fleeting appearance of that tongue.

Rachel pulls her dark eyes back to up to meet Quinn's. "Only that you, being the head cheerleader and president of the celibacy club, are undoubtedly dealing with the added pressure of expectations placed upon you by our peers as well as your coach and parents. It can only be a benefit to have a sanctuary in which you can," she deliberately pauses there, dropping her eyes back down to Quinn's mouth, "release your tension after a stressful day."

God, she really does love it when Rachel gets wordy. "Is that what you do in here? Release your tension?"

"Among other things," Rachel answers suggestively, still staring at Quinn's mouth.

Quinn skillfully suppresses the moan that wants to spill out of her and instead leans closer with a seductive smile—her own gaze lingering on her girlfriend's enticing lips. When Rachel sways closer in anticipation of a kiss, Quinn inches back again with a smug smile. "Like…recording those MySpace videos of yours?"

Rachel huffs from the quick loss of proximity, and an adorable scowl settles over her face. "Some people happen to like them."

"I like them," Quinn confesses with a shrug.

Rachel crosses her arms, alluringly defiant. "Your comments would suggest otherwise."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Quinn apologizes with a contrite nod. "Santana caught me watching one of your videos freshman year," she admits truthfully, recalling the way her heart had raced and her stomach had churned with fear when Santana had cruelly asked her if she had some weird thing for singing trolls. "She would have destroyed me if I'd admitted how much I liked hearing you sing, so I told her I only watched them to make fun of you. It kind of snowballed after that."

Quinn will forever regret each and every ugly comment that Sky Splits left on Rachel's page. It's a fact that Rachel already knows, but that never stops Quinn from offering up another apology every time the subject is broached. It's entirely possible that her tendency for self-flagellation is driving her to bring up the worst bits of their history right now, but there's also a part of Quinn that thinks it might be therapeutic for both of them to let Rachel vent her old hurt on cheerio Quinn so that Quinn can apologize while wearing this uniform and purge it of the demons associated with it for both of them.

Rachel uncrosses her arms then, reaching out to quickly squeeze Quinn's shoulder in silent reassurance before dropping her hand and slipping back into character. "I suppose I should be grateful that you even watched them. No one else did."

Quinn knows for a fact that isn't true. There were more than a few of Rachel's old videos that had a very respectable number of views, and they didn't all belong to Quinn. The student body at McKinley might have publicly denounced Rachel Berry as an annoying loser, but every single one of them stopped to listen with rapt attention whenever she opened her mouth to sing.

But that's what Quinn would say to Rachel now. The head cheerleader would have rolled her eyes and pointed out that, "Maybe it's because you posted them on MySpace. That site stopped being cool when we were, like, twelve."

"That simply isn't true, Quinn," Rachel defends haughtily before her lips twitch into a sardonic grin. "It was cool until we were at least fourteen."

Quinn laughs at that before shaking her head. "You really need some lessons on what's cool, Berry."

Rachel tilts her head to the side in unconcealed interest. "Are you volunteering to teach me?"

Quinn hums thoughtfully as she lets her gaze wander over Rachel's body in a slow visual caress. Lord, she really does look ridiculously sexy in that skirt. "Now that you mention it, the possibility of getting you out of those clothes of yours is incredibly tempting."

Rachel makes a show of licking her lips as she lets her own gaze freely wander over Quinn. "In that case, I have to confess that I find the prospect of tempting the head cheerleader to be extremely…stimulating."

Arousal burns through Quinn at the blatant flirtation, and she plants her hands on her hips once again—if only to keep herself from touching Rachel. "Is there anything else about me that you find stimulating, Rachel?"

Dark lashes flutter as Rachel practically whispers, "That."

"What?" Quinn prompts, wanting to know exactly what Rachel is thinking about right now to put that rapt expression on her gorgeous face.

"The way you say my name," Rachel confesses huskily.

A slow, sensual smile pulls at Quinn's lips, and she purposely drops her voice. "Rachel," she purrs, letting the syllables roll off her tongue in exactly the way that she knows makes Rachel hot.

"Yeah, just like that," Rachel confirms, staring at Quinn's mouth again.

"I think someone's getting a little overstimulated," Quinn teases, flouncing away with a swish of her skirt. She runs her itchy fingers along Rachel's desk chair as she glances back at her pink-cheeked girlfriend. "You know, I always kind of wondered if the whole working on a glee assignment excuse was really just Rachel Berry code for fooling around. Now I know."

Quinn's fingers curl tightly around the back of the chair because the annoyed huff, crossed arms, and foot stomp she receives are practically irresistible to her.

"You most certainly do not know any such thing, Quinn Fabray! And furthermore, I would have to be quite the brazen masochist to attempt to fool around, as you say, with the girl who coined the phrase; it's all about the teasing and not about the pleasing."

Quinn strolls back to her with a smirk. She should have known that Rachel wouldn't be able to resist bringing up her old motto. "You wouldn't say that if you'd sampled my brand of teasing...Rachel." In fact, Rachel loves her brand of teasing. The ever darkening eyes are a dead giveaway.

"You know, it almost feels as though you're attempting to tease me right now."

"What would you do if I was?" Quinn wants to know, daring Rachel to escalate this little game of theirs to the next level.

She isn't disappointed. Rachel's response is a harshly whispered, "This," as she curves her palm over Quinn's cheek and rocks up on her toes to kiss Quinn with all the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.

Instinctively, Quinn knows that had this scenario ever actually occurred while they were still in high school, there's no way Rachel would have been so bold. She might have shyly invited Quinn to kiss her if she wanted, silently praying that she wouldn't get slapped across the cheek for the offer, or if she'd been feeling particularly brave, she might have even attempted a soft, searching kiss much like their actual first kiss had been. In either case, Quinn would have probably had panic attack and reverted back to the bitch she's so very good at becoming, vowing to make Rachel's life even more hellish for daring to entice her most sinful desires.

Thank God they're not in high school anymore.

Quinn sinks into the kiss, allowing herself to thoroughly enjoy the hot sweetness of Rachel's mouth for a few glorious moments before she reclaims control of their encounter by easing Rachel away from her.

"Wow, you're awfully forward there, Berry." She can't quite suppress her grin at the tiny huff of annoyance the name earns—or maybe it's from being denied the pleasure of Quinn's lips. "And presumptuous. I mean, I am the president of the celibacy club."

"You're going to need to resign from that office very soon," Rachel informs her pragmatically.

Quinn plants a hand on her hip once again, biting back her smile. "And why would I need to do that?"

Rachel's lustful gaze travels shamelessly over Quinn's body before returning to hazel eyes. "Because," is the only reason she gives before dragging Quinn back into a passionate kiss. Quinn makes a weak attempt to hold her ground, but when Rachel's tongue teases along the seam of her lips, she willingly surrenders.

This is what she wants—what she's been wanting since she walked into Rachel's bedroom yesterday and saw the remnants of her high school wardrobe still hanging in her closet. All of her old forbidden fantasies of kissing Rachel Berry until she stopped talking, tearing those hideous sweaters off of her body, and making her tremble under the touch of the head cheerleader come racing to the surface, and Quinn can indulge in every single one of them because nothing between Rachel and her is forbidden anymore.

Sinking her fingers into the soft fabric of Rachel's sweater, Quinn catches a plump lower lip between her own and gives it a playful tug before pulling back just enough to grin down at her eager girlfriend. "You're really good with your tongue."

Rachel's lips curve into a devilish smile. "Wait until you feel what I can do with it in other places."

Quinn is intimately acquainted with exactly what Rachel is capable of doing to her with that extremely talented tongue of hers, so it's no surprise that several of those other places instantly turn white hot at the reminder—and one of those places also gets very, very wet. "I guess this shade of yellow really does inspire confidence."

"Oh, it does," Rachel assures her, letting her hands slide down Quinn's back until they're resting on her pleat-covered ass. "And red is the color of passion," she points out, dropping one hand down to the hem of Quinn's skirt to play with those pleats—making sure that her fingers brush against the skin of her thigh enticingly.

"I think I may have heard something about that once," Quinn murmurs, smirking. "Although coach says it's the color of power." Actually, she used to say it was the color of their enemies' blood spilled on the gymnasium floor when her cheerios decimated them in competition, but that might be considered something of a mood killer right now, and Quinn doesn't want anything to take Rachel out of this particular mood.

Rachel's teeth scrape over her lip as she gazes at Quinn with undisguised hunger. "Either way, it suits you."

Quinn grins wickedly. "Oh, you have no idea."

With that, she tugs Rachel by the sweater until their bodies are flush and lays claim to her lips, kissing her with all the skill that she's acquired through the years until she's rewarded with a muffled moan of pleasure. Her hands sneak beneath that fuzzy yellow sweater, soaking in the heat of Rachel's skin, while she expertly maneuvers Rachel toward her bed until her back bumps up against the square post at the bottom corner. Rachel moans again, curling her fingers into Quinn's skirt and attempting to pull her even closer while Quinn's hands wander higher underneath that sweater. When they reach the curves of Rachel's breasts, it's Quinn's turn to moan.

"You're not wearing a bra."

"I decided that foregoing one on this occasion would be more expedient for our ultimate purpose," Rachel murmurs against Quinn's jaw as she peppers a little series of kisses there, seemingly reluctant to pull her lips away from Quinn's skin. "And if I'm not mistaken, it seems that you came to the same decision," she notes, releasing her grip on Quinn's skirt so she can brazenly cup Quinn's breasts through the polyester of her cheerio top.

"I left my cheerio red sports bra back in two thousand twelve," she quips with a teasing grin. "What's your excuse?"

Rachel scratches her nails over Quinn's fabric-covered nipples. "You know how I hate to be constricted."

Oh, she certainly does. It's such a delightful aversion.

With a calculated smile, Quinn temporarily abandons Rachel's skin in order to curl her fingers into the hem of her sweater. "I think we can do something to help you with that little problem." And then she's guiding the material up over Rachel's head and carelessly dropping it to the floor beside the bed. She pauses only to straighten Rachel's yellow headband before stepping back to admire the vision that's been revealed to her.

And oh—if the sight of Rachel in a plaid skirt and sweater had been a turn on, then the sight of her topless and flush with arousal in that same skirt with those knee socks is Quinn's naughtiest sexual fantasy come to life.

"Much better," Quinn decides, planting her hands on her hips and striking a familiar pose as she lets her unapologetic gaze travel over every inch of Rachel with blatant appreciation.

The smile that pulls at Rachel's lips has a just a touch of arrogance as she leans back against her bedpost. "Did cheerio Quinn Fabray used to imagine having me like this?"

"To start," Quinn admits unashamedly. "But it's not quite right." She paces a few steps to her right, studying the position Rachel is in while Rachel stares back at her with a slightly bewildered expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Shh," Quinn hisses, lifting a finger to her lips. "Just stand there quietly for a minute. Think you can do that, Berry?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I'm an actress, Quinn, and therefore exceptionally skilled at taking direction."

Quinn chuckles. "And yet you completely ignored the direction of quietly."

Rachel's eyes narrow, but she doesn't say another word. Pride in her craft won't allow it. Satisfied that she'll be staying there, Quinn crosses over to the corner of the room where Rachel's full-length cheval mirror stands. She picks it up with a soft grunt, shifting it about three feet over before setting it down in alignment with the corner of the bed. When she turns back to Rachel, it's to see wide brown eyes fastened on the mirror and a glistening lip caught between white teeth.

Quinn moves back to Rachel's side, gazing at the mirror to find that their reflections are perfectly centered. She steps into Rachel's body, reaching over to circle Rachel's left wrist with her fingers before gently guiding it up over her head. "Hold on," she instructs, urging Rachel to grip the bedpost. Once she complies, Quinn trails her fingers down Rachel's arm, following the lines of her body until they lead her to a shapely breast where she proceeds to circle the nipple slowly with a single fingertip. All the while, she watches her mirror self do the same.

Rachel's breathing grows shallow as she watches them in the mirror, mouth open and eyes hooded.

"Now it's right."

The image of them together like this—her in her uniform and Rachel in her plaid skirt and not much else—is everything that she imagined it would be, and her own arousal spikes. Angling her body into Rachel, Quinn continues to play with Rachel's breast, dragging a thumb back and forth over the turgid nipple as she ghosts her lips over Rachel's cheek. "I want you to watch us," she whispers against Rachel's ear.

Rachel moans, her eyelids fluttering shut as she arches against the post—pushing her breast more firmly into Quinn's palm.

"Eyes open, Berry," Quinn commands, pinching her nipple roughly.

Rachel inhales sharply at the contact, jerking against Quinn, but her eyes pop open to seek out hazel in the mirror. The fingers of her left hand clench around the bedpost while her right hand finds purchase on Quinn's thigh.

Pleased with her cooperation, Quinn tucks her own body as closely as she can into Rachel's side, gliding her left hand up a naked back until she can brush thick dark hair away from a creamy shoulder. She dips her head down to nip at the skin there while her right hand travels in a lazy path down over Rachel's taut stomach. "You look so sexy like this, Rachel. All hot and eager for the head cheerleader. I see the way you watch me when you think I'm not looking. You'd do anything to get my attention, wouldn't you?"

"Sweet Barbra, yes," Rachel hisses, pressing her thighs together as her hips shift impatiently.

Quinn's lips curve in satisfaction. "I knew it. God, you're so obvious, Berry. Look at you practically writhing for me already. I bet you're dripping too."

Rachel's chest heaves as she levels her dark gaze on Quinn through the mirror. "Why don't you find out?"

"Such a shameless little thing," Quinn husks before catching Rachel's earlobe between her teeth and giving it a gentle bite. She feels the answering bite of Rachel's nails against her thigh, and she barely resists the urge to grind against Rachel's hip—she's so incredibly turned on right now. Instead, she languidly traces the waistline of Rachel's skirt where it meets the hot skin of her belly, just barely dipping the tips of her fingers beneath the material. "It's cute how you think you have any control here, Rachel. If I touch you there, it'll be because it's what want, not because you're begging me for it."

A moan slips past Rachel's lips, and her hips shift again. "Is that what you want, Quinn?" she asks breathlessly. "For me to beg? Because I will," she promises lustfully, inching the hand on Quinn's thigh ever higher under the pleats of her red skirt. "I'll do it in song if you want me to."

The very thought of that makes Quinn giggle. "That could be interesting. Are you gonna post it on your MySpace?"

Rachel turns her face toward Quinn with an incredulous expression. "As if you'd ever let me."

She wouldn't—not in high school and certainly not now. This version of Rachel is for Quinn and Quinn alone.

"Eyes on the mirror," Quinn orders firmly, tapping Rachel's nose with a finger. Brown eyes narrow slightly, and Rachel heaves out a put upon sigh, but she obeys. "Good girl," Quinn praises, rewarding Rachel with a light kiss to the pulse point in her neck while her hand returns to its leisurely exploration of Rachel's breasts.

Rachel bites into her lower lip in a vain attempt to suppress her whimper as she watches Quinn's ministrations in the mirror, and her fingers dig into Quinn's thigh. There's a light sheen of perspiration beading on her skin now, and her hips are growing increasingly restless. Her arousal is nearly palpable, and watching her grow more and more excited from the combined sight and feel of Quinn's hand on her body is causing the same reaction in Quinn.

"Now beg me to touch you," Quinn commands gutturally.

The response is immediate. All dark eyes and parted lips and a breathy, "Please, Quinn. Please touch me."

Quinn's lips curve into a wicked grin. "I'm already touching you, Rachel," she taunts playfully, flicking a thumb over Rachel's nipple.

Rachel groans, bucking her hips against the bedpost. "Please touch me where I need you."

"And where do you need me?" Quinn pushes, meeting Rachel's eyes in the mirror.

"Under my skirt," Rachel answers huskily, holding Quinn's gaze while she deliberately widens her stance.

"Over your panties?" Quinn teases, dropping her hand low on Rachel's belly and pressing against her heat through the fabric of her skirt.

"I'm not wearing any," Rachel informs her with a sultry expression.

Quinn's breath hitches, and her hand freezes in place. "Fuck," she grunts, dropping her gaze at the same time her hand drops down past the hem of that plaid skirt and sneaks underneath it. Her fingers dance against Rachel's thigh on their way up, and—sweet Jesus!

There are, in fact, no panties impeding her progress. There's only—"Rachel," she chokes out, voice thick with arousal.

"Expediency," Rachel reminds her cockily.

"You're such an overachiever," Quinn murmurs before her hand disappears fully beneath Rachel's skirt.

"I…oh,' Rachel gasps when Quinn's fingers slip between her hot, slick folds. "I…think you…like that about me," she pants out.

Oh, Quinn absolutely does, but, "I think I like how wet you are for me." It's the best feeling in the world—getting Rachel so worked up that she's practically dripping down her inner thighs; the heat of her body so intense that Quinn almost feels like she's touching a star about to burst into supernova.

Rachel's head tips back against the bedpost and her eyes fall closed while her hips rock into Quinn's relentless touch. "It's all for you, baby."

"Keep watching," Quinn growls, easily finding the hard little nub at the center of Rachel's pleasure and circling it, "or I'll stop."

Rachel gasps again. "You wouldn't."

It's not easy—Rachel's wet heat around her fingers is addictive—but Quinn stills her hand, softening her touch until she's barely grazing Rachel's folds. "Try me, Berry."

With a growl of frustration, Rachel struggles to drop her head back down and refocus her gaze on the mirror. "You're such a tease."

"I think you like that about me," Quinn returns with a smirk as she dives back into Rachel's folds.

"Oh, God. I do," Rachel admits wantonly, jerking her hips in time with Quinn's touch.

Quinn turns her own head to observe their reflections in the mirror, biting into her lip at the sight that meets her eyes. The material of Rachel's skirt is bunched around Quinn's wrist and doing a poor job of concealing the movements of her hand; the muscles in Rachel's legs flex to keep her balance as her hips roll back and forth; and her breasts bounce enticingly with every labored breath and guttural moan. Her left hand is still flung over her head where Quinn had placed it, clinging to the bedpost, while her right hand clutches at Quinn's thigh, and her entire body is flushed pink and quivering with need.

The rush of power that Quinn gets from watching herself do this to Rachel only magnifies her own desire, and it takes all of her willpower to keep from rubbing against Rachel like a cat in heat.

"You're such a naughty girl," she chides gruffly, "spreading your legs so easily for the head cheerleader. Is this why you wear those ridiculously short skirts, Rachel? So I can touch you like this anytime I want?" Quinn punctuates the question by lightly pinching Rachel's clit.

Rachel's nails bite into Quinn's skin again as her body spasms. "Yes," she breathes out on a groan of pleasure.

"Does it turn you on? Watching me fuck you?"

A moan tears out of Rachel's throat, and her hips jerk hard against Quinn's hand. "God, yes," she pants.

"Then you'd better keep watching," Quinn warns her, flicking her thumb over Rachel's clit once more before she pulls her hand away—earning a cry of pleasure chased instantly by one of protest.


But Quinn is already falling to her knees on the carpet in front of Rachel. With one devilish smirk aimed at her very flustered (and horny) girlfriend, Quinn flips up the hem of Rachel's skirt and ducks underneath it, instantly assaulted by the heavenly scent of her arousal. Sliding her hands over Rachel's thighs, Quinn urges them even further apart as she leans in and steals the first taste of her very favorite flavor.

Rachel grunts out an inelegant, "Oh, fuck," as her back arches against the bedpost, and her hips jerk down to meet Quinn's tongue. Quinn can feel Rachel's thigh muscles contract as she works to shift her stance, giving Quinn room to maneuver while redistributing her weight for better balance against Quinn's sensual attack.

The chorus of grunts and moans and gasps that follow are the very best kind of serenade, and Quinn revels in her task of pulling each and every new sound from Rachel's throat. She idly wonders if Rachel is still watching them in the mirror, but Quinn isn't exactly in a position to check in on her, and she's not about to deviate from her current mission of making Rachel come apart in her mouth.

Quinn trails her left hand down Rachel's leg until she encounters that wonderfully hideous knee-sock, and then she curls her palm around Rachel's calf, giving it an encouraging tap. Understanding the silent request, Rachel shifts her weight again before she lifts her right foot off the floor and drapes her leg over Quinn's shoulder. A particularly racy moan tickles Quinn's ears with the new position, and she wraps her arm around the thigh on her shoulder, humming in pleasure as she sinks her tongue deeper into Rachel's swollen folds.

"God…Quinn. I'm so close," Rachel keens, rolling her hips desperately as one of her hands finds the back of Quinn's head and presses her closer.

Emboldened by the sounds of Rachel's pleasure, Quinn redoubles her efforts, using her lips and tongue to push Rachel even closer to the edge until her gasps and moans crescendo into a throaty chant of, "Oh…Quinn…Quinn," over and over.

She loves the way her name sounds caught in the throes of Rachel's passion. It urges Quinn on, and she slips her right hand up, curling her fingers into her girlfriend's tight heat while she focuses her tongue on Rachel's clit. Her name dissolves completely into practically pornographic moans, and Quinn can tell that Rachel is so very close. Her heel digs into Quinn's back and her hand tightens on Quinn's head while her hips roll almost frantically.

With a particularly artful flicker of Quinn's tongue over that throbbing bundle of nerves, Rachel cries out—her body going rigid before shuddering into orgasm. Quinn determinedly holds on to help Rachel ride out the pleasure, grateful that the bedpost at her back and the leg still thrown over Quinn's shoulder seem to work in tandem to prevent Rachel from collapsing into a boneless heap on top of her.

Carefully extricating herself from beneath Rachel's skirt, Quinn gazes up at her thoroughly debauched girlfriend to see her awkwardly clinging to the bedpost with one desperate hand while she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes are open and locked onto Quinn and not the mirror, but Quinn isn't going to reprimand her for that—not when she'd just fulfilled one of Quinn's most fervent fantasies. Well—almost.

Letting her lips curve back into a smirk, Quinn lifts her hand to finger the material of Rachel's plaid skirt. "My, my…look at you now. Rachel Berry…ravished by the head cheerleader." She leans forward and playfully drags her tongue over Rachel's stomach, dipping into her belly button and pulling another deep moan from her. Satisfied, Quinn leans back with a smug grin. "And still eager for more."

"So are you, apparently," Rachel rasps hoarsely.

Quinn shakes her head. "You've had your fun, Berry, letting me do all the work. Now you need to pull your weight in this little project of ours."

Rachel drags in a very deliberate breath. "That might be somewhat problematic at the moment, Quinn, as I am currently having some difficulty even supporting said weight after your masterful demonstration of cunnilingus."

Quinn clenches her thighs together at the tantalizingly loquacious response. "God, I love it when you get verbose," she murmurs breathily.

Rachel grins down at her. "I know."

"You know, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Rachel," Quinn cautions before she slips her shoulder out from under Rachel's leg, letting it drop to the floor before she stands. She ignores the minor protest from her knees and lower back on the way up, grinning at the way Rachel needs to slump against the bedpost even more to keep her balance. She steps into Rachel's body then, close enough for those fantastic breasts to be pressed enticingly against the WMHS logo on her uniform top. "I think we need to do something about that."

"What did you have in mind?" Rachel asks coyly, mustering up enough energy to lift her arms and drape them over Quinn's shoulders.

The tilt of her head and the expectant sparkle in her eyes indicate that she's expecting a kiss, and Quinn is incredibly tempted to give it to her, but instead she lets her lips curl into an almost feral grin. "Get on the bed," she demands confidently.

Rachel grins back at her, undeterred. "Make me," she challenges.

"Oh, you did not," Quinn declares in mock outrage, loving every second of their back-and-forth. "You're gonna regret that, Berry," she promises, bending down just enough to curl her hands under the backs of Rachel's thighs—intimately close to her delectably bare ass—before deftly lifting her off the floor.

"Quinn!" Rachel squeals, clinging to Quinn's shoulders with all her might and giggling joyfully while Quinn maneuvers her away from the bedpost and deposits her onto the mattress. Falling back onto the bed, Rachel determinedly drags Quinn down with her and quickly takes advantage of the new position to finally claim Quinn's mouth. Unable to resist, Quinn kisses her back, palming the curve of her ass where her hands are still trapped.

Rachel moans into the kiss, threading her fingers into Quinn's hair, and Quinn finally gives into the persistent need to grind her hips down into Rachel, sending a shock of pleasure through her body. She can feel the triumphant smile on the lips beneath hers even before she lifts her head.

"Mmmm…not regretting that at all," Rachel relays dreamily.

Arching an eyebrow, Quinn drags her hands away from Rachel's ass, reaching up to remove the arms from her shoulders before pinning them to the bed. "Time to put that mouth to better use."

"I thought I was," Rachel mutters petulantly.

With a shake of her head, Quinn rolls off her body, coming to rest at her side—much to Rachel's displeasure. "That's not where I want you to kiss me."

Brown eyes widen, following Quinn's hands with rapt attention as she makes a show of reaching underneath her pleated skirt and slowly sliding down her spanks.

"Oh," Rachel breathes out.

"Yeah, oh," Quinn echoes, carelessly tossing her spanks over her shoulder before she pushes up and straddles Rachel's stomach—letting her feel just how hot and wet she is from what they've been doing. Rachel moans lowly, gripping Quinn's hips. Quinn smirks down at her as she reaches down to cup her breasts. "You've got work to do, Berry. Think you can handle it?"

Rachel runs her tongue over her lips in a very deliberate manner, pulling an involuntary moan from Quinn. With a smirk of her own, Rachel bends her knees and plants her feet flat on the mattress for leverage before slipping a hand under Quinn's skirt, easily finding her aching clit. Quinn moans again, rocking into Rachel's touch.

"Oh, I think I'm up for the task," Rachel assures her.

Groaning, Quinn catches her wrist and pulls her hand away. She has no doubt that Rachel could easily get her off that way with how worked up she is right now, but she really wants to feel Rachel's mouth on her. "Let's find out just how good your breath control is."

"It's outstanding," Rachel promises with an arrogant grin.

Quinn rolls her eyes playfully. "Prove it."

Dark eyebrows arch in challenge. "Gladly. Whenever you're ready, Quinn."

God, she looks so incredibly sexy right now. It's almost a shame that Quinn won't get to watch her in quite the same way that Rachel had gotten to watch Quinn. But sacrifices must be made. With a rush of giddy arousal, Quinn lifts off Rachel's stomach and crawls up the mattress, carefully planting a knee on each side of Rachel's head.

Her skirt flutters over Rachel's face, and she feels a pair of hands slide up along her legs. They fumble just a bit when they reach her bare ass before they finally curl around her thighs, and she hears a breathless, "Oh, sweet Barbra."

Quinn lifts her skirt just enough to gaze down into her girlfriend's wide, dark eyes. "You okay down there, Berry?"

"So okay," Rachel mumbles with dusky cheeks.

Quinn grins down at her. There's something about this position—regardless of which one of them ends up on top—that always seems to reduce Rachel to an awkward mess of blushes and wide-eyed awe. Thankfully, the awkwardness tends to dissipate pretty quickly once they actually get going.

"Good. Now get to work," Quinn instructs, dropping her skirt and slowly sinking closer to Rachel's waiting mouth. She lets Rachel guide her those last few centimeters, feeling hot breath on her sex in the heartbeat before that glorious tongue dips into her folds. Quinn releases a guttural moan at the sensation of finally having Rachel's mouth on her.

Distantly, she realizes that she may have made slight tactical error in not making certain they ended up closer to the headboard so she could have something solid to hold onto, but she's already too far gone to even think of repositioning them now. Instead, she arches her back and plants a hand on Rachel's raised knee behind her, using it to keep her balance as she begins to rock her hips and ride Rachel's mouth.

Beneath her, Rachel hums in appreciation before pushing her tongue deeper in the most intimate of kisses. "Oh, fuck, yes," Quinn cries out, dragging her free hand up over her still-clothed stomach to palm her own breast through her top. She really should have taken that off, but fuck it!—being almost completely dressed while a half-naked Rachel eats her out only inflames Quinn's lust.

Rachel really does have the most talented tongue that Quinn has ever encountered. It's absurdly long and nimble—she can practically touch her own nose with it!—and she does this thing where she curls it into a little cup and—Jesus Christ, it's heaven inside of her!

Her body has been aching for release since the moment Rachel had opened the door wearing that skirt, and watching Rachel come apart for her had only intensified her need. Now that she has Rachel where she wants her most, Quinn knows it won't take very long before Rachel sends her flying.

Quinn's body catches fire as Rachel licks a hot path to her clit, curling her tongue over the pulsing bundle of nerves and sucking on it before retreating to thrust back inside. It's a pattern that she repeats again and again until Quinn is writhing and moaning on top of her. The hands around her thighs urge them to open even wider so Rachel can taste her more deeply, and Quinn cries out again at the jolt of pleasure that radiates into her belly and flutters there in a tantalizing preview of what's to come.

"Fuck. Just like that," she demands, clumsily reaching behind her to palm Rachel's breast instead of her own. The scrape of polyester over her engorged nipples feels pretty damned good even without her added stimulation. "Make me come, Rachel."

That amazing tongue curls inside of her in just the right way, and Quinn rolls her hips down, nearly desperate for the explosion she can feel building. Rachel reaches up with one hand, dragging Quinn's skirt with it and away from her face before pinning it against her stomach. Quinn can't help but glance down to see nearly black eyes peeking up from between her legs. The sensation of that tongue curling inside of her again while Rachel watches her is enough to send Quinn racing over that last precipice.

"Rach!" tears out of her throat as her back arches hard, and she digs her nails into Rachel's leg while her body trembles and quakes with ecstasy. It burns through her in waves, ignited by the heat of Rachel's mouth still on her—coaxing her higher—and radiating out to every molecule of her being. Her vision goes white with it. Her muscles melt. She's barely able to keep herself upright while her orgasm splinters her into a million pieces before finally releasing her from its powerful grip.

When the waves finally begin to ebb, leaving ripples of pleasure in their wake, Quinn's arms give out, and she sags sideways into a quivering heap across the bed—barely managing to not smother Rachel on the way down. Even so, she's faintly aware of a quiet grunt and the nose pressed against her inner thigh before the mattress shifts and Rachel manages to shimmy the rest of the way out from under her.

The blood is still pounding in Quinn's ears, made worse (she's certain) by the way her head is hanging over the edge of the bed, and the ache in her left leg tells her that it's still bent an uncomfortable angle, but the rest of her body feels almost weightless, high on post-orgasmic bliss.

"So who was debauching whom again?" Rachel asks with laughter in her voice—fingers trailing over Quinn's naked hip beneath her skirt.

Quinn barely manages to lift her head in order to meet Rachel's amused eyes. Her girlfriend is currently sitting bare-chested and cross-legged beside her, gazing down in smug admiration of her handy-work. But her lips are still glistening and her hair is a mess, so Quinn lifts an eyebrow and manages to not sound quite as breathless as she feels when she points out that, "You're looking a little undone yourself there, Berry, so I think I ultimately came out on top."

Rachel laughs. "Oh, you definitely came on top, baby. Beautifully so," she adds more tenderly before uncrossing her legs and sliding down onto the mattress with impressive fluidity. "Now get over here," she commands playfully, patting the empty space next to her. "I want to cuddle with the head cheerleader."

With a chuckle—and then a groan—Quinn drags herself away from the edge of the bed, straightening out her legs as she shifts closer to Rachel. A wide smile greets her as Rachel loops an arm over Quinn's waist and tugs her flush against her body, happily tangling their legs together.

"Much better," she murmurs approvingly.

"Should have known you'd be a cuddler," Quinn teases, not quite ready to let their game end completely—even after having her passion so wonderfully sated. "You're probably already picking out matching calendars and plotting to steal my letterman jacket."

Rachel narrows her eyes playfully. "You love those calendars."

"I love you," Quinn counters, leaning in to claim those smiling lips in a tender kiss and tasting herself in the process.

Rachel hums in pleasure against her mouth, naughtily licking at Quinn's lips before pulling away with a content grin. "I love you too, baby." Her expression turns thoughtful then. "Now what were you saying about a letterman jacket?"

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "You're not getting it, Berry. Don't even try." Although her mother might very well have that packed away somewhere too.

Rachel huffs adorably. "I think I've more than earned it, Quinn Fabray."

"Not yet," Quinn slides her thigh higher until she can press it firmly against the heat between Rachel's legs, earning a moan, "but you're getting there."

"Keep doing that and I'll be getting there very soon," Rachel promises, shamelessly grinding down against Quinn's thigh.

"That's kind of the idea." Quinn musters up enough of a second wind to slip a hand between their bodies, running a thumb along the curve of Rachel's breast.

Rachel moans before chuckling breathlessly. "Why am I the only one still topless?"

"Because we both know this uniform is turning you on," Quinn responds with a knowing smirk.

Rachel catches her lower lip between her teeth, stifling another moan. "God, it is," she admits, scraping her nails over the fabric covering Quinn's shoulders. "I forgot how sexy you look in it."

Quinn chuckles softly. She doubts that Rachel ever consciously thought about how sexy Quinn may or may not have looked in high school, but she appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. In any case, she can't really deny that there does always seem to be some kind of sparks flying between them every time they go toe-to-toe wearing these clothes.

"God bless the perv that invented these," Quinn praises huskily before she leans in to claim another kiss. Rachel's response is immediate, giving Quinn another demonstration of that talented tongue of hers, and Quinn knows that they're going to be doing a whole lot more than cuddling for the rest of the day and well into the night.

This uniform is definitely coming home to New York with them, along with Rachel's skirt—all of Rachel's skirts.

And the knee-socks.

A few of those sweaters.

Headbands too.

God bless the perv indeed.