These strange steps

10. Ten

Notes:

AN: Lots of questions about ME after the direction this is going. If I'm not horribly screwing up this dynamic, it's a stroke of luck and my research paying off; I'm as vanilla as that vegan ice cream Quinn picked up in the last chapter. But thank you all for reading.

Chapter Text

The steady pressure at the back of her head makes it almost possible for to be as perfectly still as Quinn wants her to be.

The white rug-some sort of near-bearskin thing that she wouldn't in a million years put up in her own house-is making the position more or less bearable, even though she can't help shake a little at the chill of the night air.

It's close to eleven, and she momentarily wonders why nobody warned her that Vegas cools down at night the way it does; her nipples are uncomfortably hard against the rough cotton of her t-shirt, but really, none of that matters when Quinn's hips are finally starting to work up against her mouth with a little more purpose.

This is... God. She's not sure if it's a reward or a further test; to be able to taste but not touch, really, while Quinn finally deals with whatever their earlier activities inspired in her.

The hand at the back of her skull tightens, and then her hair is being pulled on almost painfully hard, but she loves it. Loves the way the tendons in Quinn's forearm stand out, like Rachel's mouth is literally the only thing anchoring her right now-and then, when Rachel's almost at a point where she feels like she might faint if she can't start lapping at Quinn soon, Quinn's breath catches and-

She watches, silently and still, as requested, and soaks in what's happening; Quinn's head snaps back against the sofa with a strangled moan, as her entire body bows upwards and-oh, God, the rush of liquid in her mouth is what finally has Rachel reaching for Quinn's thighs, just for something to hold on to. That appears to be okay, though, because Quinn half-ruffles her hair after a few moments and then says, "C'mere", in a barely-there voice that has Rachel scampering up the sofa and into Quinn's lap.

They trade lazy kisses-nothing to do with play, really-and Quinn licks her own wetness off Rachel's lips, which-no, God, she's too tired and too emotionally raw to even begin to consider more sex right now. The way Quinn's hand flattens against the base of her spine and just holds her in place is exactly right, as a conclusion to everything that's come before.

She can't really bring herself to think of it as a conclusion, though, and when Quinn blearily opens her eyes again and says, "Thanks", she-

She buries her face in Quinn's neck and laughs, and says, "You're so ridiculous sometimes."

"I was raised to be polite," Quinn sort of murmurs, before slumping into the couch cushions even more bonelessly; she then twirls a strand of Rachel's hair around her finger and adds, "Plus, we finally found out what that big mouth of yours is good for-"

Rachel prods at her ribs and Quinn chuckles tiredly.

The moment lingers, as does the comfort inherent to it, and Rachel lifts up her head after a second and says, "Please just stay. I promise I won't read anything into it, but it's late and we're both exhausted and-"

Quinn's eyes slip shut again, and then she just about nods. "Okay."

It takes them at least another five minutes before they both feel like they can move-even though it's been several hours since she last came, Rachel's legs are jelly-like just from watching Quinn finally come down, and she doesn't trust that she can make it to the bedroom in one go without hanging on to something.

When she reaches for Quinn's hand, Quinn dips down and fishes her panties and jeans off the floor and then looks at them both with a grimace. "Commando it is."