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Quinn · Paras · Tags · Canon

Tagging: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

Location: Rachel’s Apartment

Time: Tuesday, February 21^st, 2012; Night-time

Notes: Rachel and Quinn got into a spat, the night before, and might have already broke the cardinal rule of not going to sleep angry. So…Quinn shows up with a peace offering.

Quinn:

She’s not entirely surprised at the look of utter shock on Rachel’s face when she sees her at the door, but she might freak out—just a little, really—when the door slams in her face and it isn’t immediately opened. Did Rachel just take the coffee and run? Really? She’s about to knock again, a little annoyed, since annoyed is a lot easier than paying attention to the fact that her heart just fell into her shoes—because, come on, she could at least get a thank you—before the door’s opened again and Rachel’s tired, beautiful face is greeting her with an implacable look.

The feeling that spikes first in her chest is funnily worry before the relief, because, God, Rachel is gorgeous but no amount of concealer could cover the bags under her eyes. But then Rachel is curling into her like it’s a reflex and the small exhale of a broken pet-name cracks along the empty walls of the hall like a painfully knowing sign. Any ire left in Quinn floods away at the sound of Rachel’s voice and one of her hands idly strokes up to cup the back of her girlfriend’s neck, moving higher up, smoothing down her hair in a consolingly soft gesture.

“It’s okay.” Quinn places a kiss on her temple, brushing away her hair before pulling her even tighter—closer—and unable to help the way her body relaxes around Rachel, just a little. But enough. She shakes her head, another soft kiss making its way lower, in-between the rise of her high cheek bone and her brow. “I was in a really stupid mood, last night, and I’m…” She takes in a deep breath. It’s a lot easier to apologize when she knows that Rachel’s sorry, too, even if she doesn’t feel like Rachel should be sorry. “I might be…a little…possessive, at times.” She sheepishly admits because, well, she’s never been possessive over anyone before (Beth withstanding), but maybe it’s a fact about herself she never knew. “And I shouldn’t have been such a bitch.”

She holds Rachel closer, arms tightening around her and breathing her in, allowing herself that—it’s such a welcome, calming, enticing scent—and she eases them both back into Rachel’s apartment, closing the door behind her with a quiet, final thud, and flicking the lock as an afterthought. Her hand moves up, cupping Rachel’s cheek, eyes searching. “I’m sorry.”

She bites her lip, taking in Rachel’s dark, ringed eyes full of such easy emotion—and, really, Rachel’s always been the easiest to react out of the both of them—before she sighs, stomach twisting. She looks so, *so* tired, and Quinn’s starting to worry about her girlfriend. A lot. If Rachel’s anything like her—and Rachel’s always been more like her than Quinn cared to admit, but didn’t bother denying—the talented girl will no doubt work herself to exhaustion. And Rachel’s even more determined than Quinn, sometimes (which is a dangerous thought), and she knows that this is a serious moment, but…well.

Her thumb strokes along the bone of Rachel’s cheek and her eyebrows knit in concern, “And you’re gorgeous, Rach, so no offense, but you kind of look exhausted.” She points out, changing her phrasing last minute from ‘look like shit’ to ‘exhausted’ because she highly doubts Rachel would take very well to that bit of phrasing, hand snaking around, once more, to mold to the small of Rachel’s back, tugging her closer against her. And God, Quinn misses the feeling of Rachel against her, exhausted or not, because she just…she misses her girlfriend. They’ve both been so busy this week.

 

Rachel:

She so easily melts into Quinn’s touch, the comfort of warm palms enveloping her cheeks, cradling her and it’s all Rachel can do to keep her eyes open.  But the sincerity radiating from the hazel boring into her own brown keep her gaze focused.  “I know, Quinn, and I–  I was an asshole and tired and stressed, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior to act like the colossal jerk I was and say such words I definitely don’t mean or believe.”

Rachel tries to fold herself back against Quinn’s frame, but pale hands hold her face steady, concerned eyes accompanied by a furrowed brow searching and evaluating.  She manages a small smile.  “That’s because I am exhausted,” she sighs as Quinn pulls her back into her embrace and she cranes her neck to plant her lips against the underside of Quinn’s strong jaw.

“This is my favorite place to be.  In your arms,” Rachel clarifies her eyes closing as she truly settles against Quinn’s chest, arms that were snaked above strong shoulders loosening just enough for her to weave her fingers through the fine, blonde hairs at the base of her neck.  If she were more aware in the moment, it’s an admission that Rachel might have thought twice about before voicing aloud because the degree in which Quinn has been integrated into her life, and how important she’s become is definitely exhilarating and terrifying all in the same thought.  No one in her life, well except for him, has ever had such an influence on her thoughts and feelings, and at times it’s overwhelming to think she’s going down that path again so quickly in terms of the short time her and Quinn have actually been together.

It’s insanely quiet in the apartment as they just hold one another, her fingers still running through soft strands and lightly trailing down the skin of Quinn’s neck when her stomach audibly rumbles and Rachel sort of smacks her forehead against a collarbone; she hasn’t eaten since a late breakfast mid-morning and has been go-go-go all day.  “So hungrrry.”  It comes out as a grumble and it must be a sign from the heavens when her intercom buzzes almost immediately after.  Unwillingly, Rachel disentangles from around Quinn’s body but her tanned hand immediately seeks out a much paler one and fingers entwine in a habitual grasp.

Rachel informs the delivery man that he is indeed twenty minutes late now and he profusely apologies, saying they had to recook her order sans cheese with a large side salad on the house for the delay.  With the paper bag in hand, Rachel directs Quinn to the dining table and pulls out her chair.  “For the beautiful lady,” she motions to the seat and cops a feel, a lazy smile on her face as she does so, of Quinn’s ass.  She turns back to relock her front door and grabs the coffee from the side table, humming as she takes the first sip — definitely vanilla — before placing it down next to her chair at the table.  Sweeping into the kitchen, Rachel’s back seconds later with plates and cutlery, two bottles of water tucked under an arm and then she’s spooning out portions of salad and vegan eggplant parmesan.  She places a plate in front of Quinn before leaning down and resting her chin against her girlfriend’s shoulder.  “I know you’ll probably claim you aren’t hungry, but house rules trump whatever excuse you might have.”

(Source: lucydreamingq, via lucydreamingq)