008: Blue Skies
rachelhouseberry:
A pout pulled on Rachel’s lips when Quinn popped a blueberry in her mouth instead of continuing to sing. She continued in her head instead, a blush dusting her cheeks when she realized the following lyrics. It was a good thing Quinn decided to stop and just hum, or else the diva might have just swooned then and there to worship the blonde. So she just kept quiet, every now and then stealing a pinch of blueberry or a piece of fruit while her roommate cooked. She huffed playfully at the nickname but gratefully accepted the plate of food—as if she hadn’t already done half the damage on the already cooked pancakes. It was a reminder of how far they had gone. The first time Rachel stole a piece of fruit from Quinn’s breakfast bowl on her third morning in the apartment, the blonde went berserk, and now Quinn was making her breakfast. Well, that, and considering they had slept together the afternoon before, was an indication of how their relationship has evolved. Rachel’s gaze followed her roommate when she didn’t sit beside her like the diva had assumed, but quickly averted her eyes at the sliver of skin exposed when Quinn reached for her mug. She felt like a teenage boy who saw boobs for the first time with how easily she was aroused, and she decided to focus on just eating breakfast. Barely seven-thirty in the morning. Focus.
Halfway through her second bite, Quinn had gone off apologizing about leaving her in bed so she could start Rachel’s Monday nicely. Rachel didn’t know if she should laugh or cry about that. Laugh, because nice doesn’t even begin to cover how special and loved Quinn made her feel. Or cry, because—because, well, was Quinn even aware of exactly that? She settled on answering her best friend’s first question with a nod, followed by a long gulp of water. She didn’t notice the way Quinn blushed as she was busy trying to calm her racing heart. Was Quinn aware of how she made Rachel feel? The afternoon before, when they were a mess of limbs and cacophony of moans, Rachel made sure the blonde was aware—what with her moaning and screaming of Quinn’s name. But on a slow Monday morning like this, with a carefully-prepared breakfast laid out on a table before Rachel, Quinn’s beautiful voice in the air—was Quinn aware of how hard Rachel was further falling for her best friend?
Rachel was so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost missed the murmured comment Quinn had. Ears perked up and she almost had a whiplash on how quickly she had turned to Quinn just to make sure it was her who said those words. The way the blonde awkwardly tried to salvage herself by continuing to speak and clarify the context of her compliment made Rachel realize that she didn’t mean to say that. A soft laugh escaped her lips as she looked down at what she was wearing. A simple, black silk nightie with peach lace patterns at the hem. She hadn’t even remembered putting it on. There was the vague memory of being so sleepy they hadn’t finished the movie, and Rachel had to drag her feet to her room, shed the sweatpants and t-shirt she had worn to put on something lighter. The urge to tease Quinn was there as she looked back up her roommate, the blonde looking away as if to avoid the topic. As soon as Rachel’s gaze settled on her, however, brown eyes wandered lower, pulled by gravity. The actress licked her lips and unconsciously crossed her legs as she fully took in the sight that was Quinn Fabray. Her white shirt was thin and hid nothing, and the silhouette against her chest was something Rachel hoped was from the chill, because if Quinn’s nipples were hard for any other reason—specifically, her, and her nightgown—she might just lose it. Those shorts were probably something Quinn had already outgrown of with how short they were, and maybe it was the perfect weather, or the perfect morning she was in, but all she’d love right now was kneel between Quinn’s legs and—
“I could say the same thing about you, you know,” Rachel shot back in a soft voice that could rival Quinn’s murmured comment. Her own way of silencing her thoughts that were quickly making a headfirst dive into the gutter. She waited for Quinn’s reaction, and when hazel eyes met hers, Rachel shrugged. “It’s a pretty good Monday morning, how things are going,” she said with a small smile before going back to eat her pancakes. Perfect. She hummed around the bite of food, shooting Quinn a short glance. There was the line, the line that she had to tread. A line she shouldn’t cross, or even step on. But Quinn was so sweet and so pretty, how could Rachel not burst into song? Quinn wouldn’t probably think she meant the lyrics. It was just a song, after all. A lovely song.
“You are all I long for, all I worship and adore..”
Oh, great. Rachel was giggling at her slip-up, and Quinn wanted to dig herself a hole in the ground. She supposed somebody with perfect pitch had to have an excellent sense of hearing. Duh. If Quinn had a dollar for every moment she spent mortifying herself... and yet, with Rachel dressed as a Victoria’s Secret model, a fucking vision and only a few feet away — it was only a matter of time before Quinn said something. Better sooner than later. And the brunette didn’t seem too uncomfortable with her offhanded compliment, instead shooting back one of her own. Really? Quinn looked down with raised brows at her old cheer shorts and t-shirt. This was being compared to the literal nightie clinging to Rachel Berry? Unfortunately, glancing down brought attention to her current — state, and Quinn crossed an arm over her chest, complexion peachy as she looked back up. A pretty good Monday morning. That was what mattered most, right?
With a quick lick of her lips, Quinn noticed the subtle shift in Rachel’s demeanor and knew what was happening before it even occurred. She had noticed, over time, that Rachel rolled her shoulders back a bit before singing, and tended to lift her chin — just an inch, coyly, as if she knew just how easily she could enrapture an audience. Whether it was for a full theater, or just for Quinn, Rachel always did just that. Bewitch. Blonde lashes quivered as the little brunette picked up on the Sinatra. Fucking effortlessly, of course, leagues above her own voice, simultaneously raw and studio-ready. How could she have wrapped herself up in Tom Bradley when Rachel was always so near, absolutely breathtaking? So much time wasted on a self-absorbed man. Time that could have been spent with her. Quinn curled slender fingers around her warm mug and beamed softly, never shy about her admiration of Rachel’s singing. Even when they had first began to live together — the morning scales had been nauseating, but when Rachel was properly singing? The blonde would always find herself pausing, whether it be in homework or laundry, just to listen. It would have been a crime not to.
“In other words, please be true,” Quinn replied quietly, having to remind herself that Rachel apparently loved her singing voice, despite its early morning scratchiness. Hazel eyes twinkled, nose wrinkling playfully. She could play this off as friendly, right? Trying to reign in her confidence, Quinn pushed off of the counter and neared the brunette with a stuttering heart. “In other words…” She rounded Rachel with intent of sitting next to her, voice dropping. “I love you.” The blonde tapped the tip of Rachel’s nose with her fingertip and settled into the seat. Act natural, Quinn. You’ve told Rachel you love her dozens of times. Having amazing sex the day before didn’t change that. Quinn crossed her legs, took a small bite of pancake, and affectionately bumped shoulders with her roommate.
Maybe if she continued to act buddy-buddy, the urge to kiss Rachel senseless would dissipate. Quinn snuck a brief glance at those legs, flashing back to their breakfast weeks before. Slim chance.
