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Full Throttle

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Quinn Fabray piloted her car onto the sparsely populated street, anxious to shower off the groady feeling of Cheerio practice and Coach Sylvester's disgust, then tuck in and spend a parent-free weekend with her gorgeous girlfriend who was a fantastic cuddler and take-out connoisseur. But all her joy shriveled as she turned into the long, tree-lined driveway. Pulling in, she saw what the tall pines hid from the open road: Mr. Berry's jet black, 1966 Chevrolet Corvette convertible sitting in the drive and a ratty towel lying next to it, scattered with various tools. The reverse tilt hood was popped and she couldn't see him from this side, but Leroy was working on his baby — when he and Hiram were supposed to be out of town. Son of a bitch.

She parked her car and wondered if a minor kidnapping another minor was really considered kidnapping or just running away. This was the first time in two months that the Misters Berry would be gone for a weekend. Meaning she and Rachel got three days and two nights of nothing but awesome sex without having to worry about getting caught, keeping curfews, or any other kind of parental interruptions. Quinn frowned and cut the engine. She could deal with this: Rachel's room was sound proof, so they'd just have to hole up there every waking minute. She dawdled for a bit before getting out. A brusque grunt of frustration, or possibly pain, echoed from under the Corvette's hood and she quickly moved to see what was wrong. Trekking up the drive, she caught sight of one leg firmly planted on the ground and the other was half bent as Le — that wasn't Leroy.

Quinn knew that ass anywhere, and it most certainly did not belong to a six-foot-two black man named Leroy Berry. No, that ass belonged to a five-foot-two goddess. Rachel's wonderfully tight, round, and perky ass stared at her, and she tilted her head to the side, enjoying the view of that curvy, deliciously fit — wait. What the hell was Rachel doing sprawled under the hood of her father's car? Or any car, for that matter?

Cautiously, Quinn moved closer to the Sting Ray to see her girlfriend stretched over the small engine block, hard at work. Her thick hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and she was wearing latex gloves and plastic safety glasses, holding a pen sized flashlight between her teeth to direct its beam. Smooth arms that Quinn knew to be safe and comforting, flexed with each crank of a wrench and sweat glistened over the girl's brown skin. Oh. Oh wow.

The bend and pull of the contracting muscles called to her. She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest, tamping down the urge to reach out and grab the girl as her nipples hardened under her Cheerio uniform. This was a side of Rachel she never knew existed. Hell, it was a side of Rachel she wouldn't have ever imagined existed. It was sexy, and she couldn't place why. Maybe it was the way her biceps tightened with every clicking turn of the socket wrench or the way tiny beads of sweat traversed down her neck and got lost in the valley of her breasts. Then again, it could be the noises she was making. All those little grunts of exertion and growls of annoyance as she struggled with the evidently uncooperative engine sparked a slow burn that started in Quinn's belly and rippled throughout her body. The all too familiar ache she got between her legs whenever she encountered the small brunette intensified and made itself known almost immediately. She swallowed a moan and attempted words.


A loud thump and the clatter of a slipped tool answered her as the secret mechanic bumped her head on the hood and faltered in her work. "Mmmmphf!"

Rachel turned her head and her eyes widened when they locked on her. Normally Quinn would have giggled at the shock etching the brunette's face, but honestly she was too shocked herself to do anything but drop her jaw. A shiver raced through her as Rachel retreated from under the hood, swinging her leg down and pulling the penlight from her mouth. Then Quinn really took in what the shorter girl was wearing.

Dear Lord.

Looking like an extra straight out of Broadway's Grease, Rachel stood in front of her in a white racer back tank top and blue canvas coveralls that were undone and hanging loose, sleeve cuffs nearly touching the concrete drive. Knowing the girl like she did, Quinn figured that they'd fallen from whatever knot Rachel tied around her waist and she'd been too distracted to notice. The diva was nothing if not meticulous about her appearance.

Then again, maybe not.

Grease decorated different parts of Rachel's toned body and clothing. The coveralls were filthy with older stains, and the not so white shirt had a few black smudges on it. It clung to sweaty skin and Quinn bit back another moan as she watched Rachel's abs expand under the thin cotton with each tired breath. She was panting. The same way she did after sex. It was too much. Seeing Rachel like this made her blood simmer. It didn't matter that Rachel's clothes were kind of gross and dirty, or that a few black smears — mainly on her forehead and right cheek — painted her beautiful face, her girlfriend looked fucking hot.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel said in an unexpectedly gruff voice.


Rachel moseyed over to her and Quinn breathed in the saccharine mixture of motor oil, sweat, and vanilla. It didn't bother her as much as it should have. Actually it was a little bit of a turn on, but probably only because it was Rachel, and she always thought Rachel smelled good.

"What?" Rachel cleared her throat and looked the blonde up and down. "Don't think that I'm not delighted to see you, because I very much am, but what are you doing here?"

"Seriously?" Suppressing that eye roll actually hurt. "Your parents are out of state and you're wondering why I'm here?"

"Oh, right." Clearly distracted, Rachel nodded absently and turned back to the jumble of metal and tubes and wiring, her easy dismissal only intriguing Quinn the more. Eyes glazed, she followed the brunette's every move, picturing what Rachel might look like without the dirty worksuit and a leather jacket instead. It was weird. Weird, and incredibly sexy.

Rachel pulled her trusty, lint-free pink rag out of the pocket of her coveralls and wiped away the sweat beading on her brow and the back of her neck. She put her hands on her hips and frowned as she stared at the engine of her father's car, going through her mental checklist of vehicular maintenance basics. Checklists were important to Rachel. Without one, who's to say that her perfect, photographic memory may not inexplicably fail and lead to a crucial mistake? It was highly improbable, of course, but even she could admit to being so focused on one task that others indeed had fallen by the wayside. Like forgetting about Quinn coming over. The gorgeous blonde's appearance definitely interrupted her mentally bullet pointed outline of steps, but there was no reason to worry about any kind of delay. This would be quick.

She chewed her bottom lip and scrolled over the already completed jobs. The gas tank was filled, air filter was changed, each tire exactly met the required air pressure as specified in the manual and had perfect tread depth, and all the timing belts, hoses, and clamps were secure. Oil and transmission fluids were flushed and replaced. Folding her arms over her chest, she concluded that she'd be finished once she replaced the anti-freeze. And finished tightening that mulish hexbolt. She glared at the stubborn rivet. Triumph would undoubtedly be hers. No cantankerous coil of steel would get the best of Rachel Berry.


A pale hand waved in front of her face. Right. Quinn was here. Feeling just a little guilty at forgetting her girlfriend's presence, she turned and pressed her lips together in a line, hoping she looked more ashamed than she felt. "Sorry," she offered. "I really am happy to see you, but Daddy asked me to winterize the 'Vette this weekend."

"It's September."

"It's never too early to ensure the safety of one's vehicle for all types of seasons, Quinn. Besides," she shrugged, "we live in Ohio. Weather here changes faster than Finn erupts in a hot tub." It was a low jab at her friend, but it made her girlfriend chuckle.

The blonde shook her head. Her face was beet red and her breath seemed a bit labored. Rachel leaned in and kissed Quinn's warm cheek, noting the shudder that raced through her.

"Are you all right?"

The cheerleader nodded quickly and inclined her head toward the car. "So what's left to finish?"

Sighing, Rachel spun around and ducked under the hood. "Just the easy stuff." Yes. Easy. She gripped her trusty weapon, ready for battle, and glowered at the damnable bolt. "This shouldn't take long at all," she said, in a tone that was half way between assuring Quinn and threatening the insubordinate chunk of metal. She assumed her previous position, but decided to keep both feet on the ground as she began her final attack. She could nearly taste the victory.

A comfortable, familiar weight settled against her back as Quinn bent over and rested on top of her, briefly distracting her from her task. She smiled, loving how the simplest, mundane moments easily morphed into something stirring and intimate. She sighed contentedly then resumed her work. "Hey baby."

Soft lips drifted from one bare shoulder to the other then climbed to her ear. "Hey," Quinn whispered, laying her hands on her hips and working her fingers under Rachel's shirt.

The wrench slipped.


The voice was teasing, playful. Rachel closed her eyes to center herself then re-fitted the socket on the head of the bolt and tried again, set on finishing the job. It seemed Quinn had other plans.

"So what's that?" Hot breath washed over Rachel's ear.

"That's, umm." She cleared her throat and looked over to where Quinn indicated. "That's the core."

"What's it do?" Warm hands rubbed across her stomach, brushing back and forth.

Briefly, Rachel wondered if finishing the car was worth it or if she could call it a day and go indoors with her girlfriend. "Well, it's the engine, basically. It's where the cylinders are." She anticipated the next question while continuing her task. "Cylinders themselves are hollow, but they enclose the pistons which convert the gasoline into fuel."


Having her nipples teased would not normally motivate her to elucidate on the finer points of an internal combustion engine, but, well, things change.

"Each cylinder," she groaned as Quinn dotted kisses along her neck, "has a piston. To compress the gas vapor, the piston pumps in and out — "

"In and out, huh?" Quinn's fingers ghosted up the sweat slicked skin of Rachel's stomach to her chest and the brunette shuddered, wishing the stupid bolt would just tighten already. "Does it go fast, baby?" The question was punctuated with a hard pinch to her right nipple. "Or slow?"

"Oh, God," she moaned, remembering how those fingers felt inside her own core yesterday in the choir room. "Fast. Definitely fast."

Firm hands palmed her breasts through her sports bra and squeezed. A sharp nip to her ear lobe tore a gasp from her throat, and she pushed back into Quinn. It was ludicrous how quickly her girlfriend excited her, but here she was, wet and wanting to feel the blonde pressed against her without the barrier of their clothes. With a final rally of determination and strength, she fastened the bolt in its place, secure and completely conquered. It was time to go inside; she was dirty and needed a shower before they could do anything. Surely Quinn wouldn't object to that. In fact, she might join her. The thought of it made up her mind. The rest of the car could wait.

Cars never did anything for Quinn. She didn't see anything sexy about them, really. Sure, there were a number of stylish, exotic looking ones that would catch her attention as she drove by them while their drivers got ticketed on the highway, but she never paid them much mind. Even when she'd watch that horrendous Newton-John movie, it wasn't about the cars or sex appeal. She'd been more interested in the music (and, okay, Rizzo) than the cool swagger of Danny Zuko's hips or the slimy machismo of the guys and their equally slimy hair. As she got older and re-watched it, she realized two things. One: teaching young women that changing who they are (ie, dressing like a slut and taking up smoking) was a sure-fire way to get their dream guys was a deplorable moral. And two: no high school should ever again perform showtunes that included lyrics about roadsters making "chicks cream" and being "pussy wagons."

That being said… watching Rachel Berry fix a muscle car was the sexiest thing on the fucking planet. Seeing her tinker among the complex joints and parts made Quinn positively throb with need. She didn't know much about automobiles, but she knew engines were powerful, and very dangerous if mishandled. The fact that Rachel could control it, tame it, bend and shape it to her will and care for it with loving detail was proof that Quinn made the right choice in dating her. And one hell of a turn on.

The snap of the protective latex gloves being removed brought Quinn out of her daze as her right choice turned around. She couldn't help but stare at Rachel's smooth, clean hands. The amount of force with which Rachel wielded that wrench made her wonder just how much strength those always gentle hands contained. And how much Rachel must've been holding back the few times they made lov — had sex. Suddenly, she had to know.

Without a word, Quinn grabbed Rachel by her sweat damped shoulders and pulled her into a hard, crushing kiss. She didn't hear the clang of the wrench landing on the ground, or the brunette's muffled squeak of surprise, nor the clatter of the safety glasses on the cement driveway. No, she really only noticed the feeling of Rachel's body against hers and the hands moving to grip her waist. In fact, the only sound she paid any attention to at all was the moan escaping Rachel's mouth.

She groaned at the hot, wet touch of their tongues meeting and when Rachel sucked at her bottom lip, Quinn's mouth wasn't the only thing hot and wet. Heat pooled between her legs and she fastened one hand at the back of the shorter girl's neck while the other reached into those dirty coveralls to cup her over her jeans.

Rachel groaned and arched her back, breaking the kiss. "Quinn, what— ?"

"Shut up, Rach." Quinn cut her off and kissed her again. Talking just wouldn't do at all. She yanked at Rachel's braid, pulling her head back and running her tongue up the length of the girl's throat to her ear, groaning at the salty flavor she found. "Just shut up and touch me."

Never again would Quinn agree with anyone who said Rachel Berry was a diva who couldn't take direction because immediately Rachel was bombarding her with kisses, rubbing their bodies together in the most delicious way. Spinning them around, the brunette's left forearm bumped the underside of the hood up and forward a few inches and her elbow knocked the support rod, letting the hood slam back and shut with a hard thud. Then she hoisted Quinn up onto the sun-warmed metal and growled. Quinn's panties dropped.


Rachel's dexterous hands sneaked under her Cheerio skirt and ripped her red spanks and underwear off. The petite, deceptively strong girl pulled her to the edge of the car. Damp strands of dark hair clung to flushed cheeks. and there was an indefinable glint in those brown eyes that made Quinn's belly flip and her breath catch. She looked predatory — kind of dangerous and wild.

Wild looked good on Rachel.

The cheerleader's white Nikes braced on the bumper and she hooked her arms around Rachel's shoulders, needing her girlfriend closer. Her bad ass, sexy as hell, secret mechanic, future Broadway star girlfriend. Who was looking at Quinn like she was a Drama Desk Award.

Rachel stepped between her open legs and rubbed her hands up and down pale thighs. Quinn's hips rocked a little, moving ever closer to the very edge of the car's hood, silently willing the singer's fingers nearer. Foreplay wasn't necessary, she wanted Rachel and she wanted her now. Their lips met, and Rachel nimbly teased under the Cheerio's skirt and along her dripping slit.

A single fingertip dipped between her wet folds and both girls moaned, breaking the kiss. Rachel's eyes were clouded with lust and her breath fell hot against Quinn's mouth. More. She needed more.

So Quinn kissed her. Hard. She hooked an arm around Rachel's shoulders as her tongue quickly bypassed those pouty lips she knew she could kiss all day, every day. She couldn't stay long though, because Rachel needed motivation. Knowing how sensitive it was, she bit down right where the brunette's neck and shoulder met. The shorter girl's knees buckled and she stumbled, slipping a little more into Quinn, who wanted to cry because it still wasn't enough, damn it. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and desperation swept over her. Dropping her hand to rest on Rachel's, Quinn took over.

"Baby, I can't wait." She grunted against the brunette's shoulder and easily pushed her girlfriend so very deep inside her.

"Fuck," Rachel growled. "You feel amazing."

Breathless, Quinn flattened her palms down on the Corvette's hood and leaned back. Her hips rolled forward, her thighs flexing whenever she rocked up to meet each vigorous thrust pounding into her as she, a blonde cheerleader, got fucked on top of a classic sports car by a sweaty, dark-haired, bad ass mechanic. This was a fantasy she didn't know she had until it was coming true.

A muscular arm wrapped around Quinn's waist and pulled her forward until her ass practically hung off the edge of the car, and her legs opened wider. The quick movement forced Rachel even deeper. "Oh God," Quinn whimpered. "Harder."

Her stomach tightened at the sight of an arching brow and rich brown eyes fading to black. The thrusting turned fierce, almost brutal, and Quinn's back bowed.

"More," she whined, not caring how wanton she sounded. A third finger slipped into her soaking core. This was like nothing they'd done before. It was rough and furious and so good. She never wanted it to end, but dear God, she needed to come. Suddenly a strong thumb pressed down on her clit. "Oh fuck!"

Rachel pistoned in and out of her, all the while rubbing her clit in tight circles. She was close. The burning in her muscles built until her legs were shaking. Her arms, too. She couldn't hold herself up anymore. Sensing that, Rachel held her fast, keeping them impossibly close.

Then it happened.

Those amazing fingers curled, hitting the spot that broke her every time, while that talented thumb flicked her clit and sent her toppling over the edge.

"God yes!"

Panting, the shorter girl continued her thrusts, riding out one orgasm and pushing Quinn into another one. She let go with a silent scream into Rachel's neck before. Exhausted, she collapsed against her girlfriend, both of them out of breath and shaking. She felt herself reflexively clench around those delicate fingers and shuddered when Rachel pulled out.

"You're… incredible," she panted. Quinn looked up into that beautiful face she'd come to adore.

The shorter girl smiled and kissed her forehead. Then her eyelids and her nose. Then settled on her mouth and coaxed Quinn's lips open for a lazy, loving kiss. They pulled apart eventually, and Quinn stared into shiny black eyes before reality rudely popped their bubble.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "We just… on your dad's car… Oh my God your neighbors!"

That seemed to jerk Rachel out of her haze. She hauled Quinn off the Corvette and directed her into the house through the garage. "Go. I'll clean up."

With how concealed Rachel's home actually was, and how few neighbors existed out here, her fear of being seen by curious eyes was admittedly unfounded. Still, the blonde did feel relieved as she watched Rachel gather the miscellaneous tools without any semblance of order, and hurriedly toss them on a shelf before pulling the now fixed car inside. She saw Rachel produce a pink rag from nowhere to clean off the hood and retrieved her underwear and spanks from the pile of tools on the shelf. The fathers Berry definitely did not need to find those lying about the garage. Or anywhere for that matter.

She heard the garage door closing as Rachel grabbed a clean towel and rid her skin of drying sweat and grease smudges. They stood there, staring at each other almost awkwardly.

"You're dirty," she finally said, breaking the weird tension and internally rolling her eyes at how stupid she sounded. Getting fucked by Rachel Berry always resulted in tremendous orgasms, but carried the side effect of rendering her completely brain dead for at least two hours afterward. So worth it, though.

"Says the girl who just begged to be taken outside on top of a car." Rachel smiled faintly and toed off the heavy boots Quinn just now noticed. "But yes, the shower is calling my name."

Choosing to ignore the light hearted dig and again turned on by this new semi-butch, snarky side of her girlfriend, Quinn responded, demurely, "I could help." A small, teasing smile played at her lips. "You know, lend a hand…"

Thankfully, her lame innuendo did not go undetected. The covert mechanic only grinned as she peeled the grimy blue coveralls down her jean clad legs and stepped out of them. "I suppose I could use some assistance."

With sure steps, Quinn invaded the girl's personal space, backing her up against the side of the convertible and pinning her there with her body. She had a hundred witty replies with which to continue their flirty banter, but couldn't be bothered to voice them. Instead, a single finger traced along the hollow of Rachel's throat before trailing between firm breasts and down a firmer abdomen that rapidly expanded and deflated with each of the diva's heavy breaths.

Quinn kissed her girlfriend as she undid the button and zipper of the girl's ratty jeans and wasted no time in filling the smaller girl completely, moaning at the tight fit and the hot wetness coating her fingers. "God, Rach. How do you always feel so good?"

The only answer she received was a whimper and they began an unhurried rhythm. She leaned into Rachel as the brunette was forced backward against the car door with each push of Quinn's fingers. The Cheerio captain was nothing if not determined and deliberate in her motions. Minutes ticked by as she slowly moved within Rachel, stroking and driving her higher and higher and not saying another word, too distracted by the blissful look on her girlfriend's face to speak.

Glazed eyes found hers and her fingers were unexpectedly trapped by slick walls as Rachel wordlessly came undone around them. A satisfied grin plastered itself onto the singer's face and she slumped back against the vehicle. Quinn played a bit longer, teasing a few aftershocks from the brunette's body. Eventually, she pulled away and wiped her fingers on Rachel's tank top, kissing her tenderly in hopes of alleviating any ache of withdrawing as she did up her jeans.



Smiling, she took Rachel's hands and walked backward to the door leading into the house, guiding the satiated diva along. "Your Daddy is totally going to kill us for doing it on Greased Lightning over there," she muttered, nodding toward the vintage Chevrolet.

Rachel halted, eyes wide in horror. "Quinn, don't even joke about such things: Greased Lightning was a Ford."