Just Get Dancy
“You were…so…so annoying in high school,” Quinn grumbles over her third Long Island Iced Tea.
Rachel’s hand falters in its persistent movement higher and higher on Quinn’s thigh. Her own Mai Tai has been mostly forgotten on the table next to Santana’s abandoned Margarita and Josie’s Black Russian. The two of them are currently grinding against one another in time with the throbbing bass out on the dance floor, leaving Rachel and Quinn alone at the table they’d commandeered. Poor Harry didn’t have a fake ID, so he and Kurt are entertaining themselves elsewhere tonight. Rachel has been keeping herself entertained with feeling up her girlfriend under the table until she’d been stopped by Quinn’s petulant—slightly inebriated—tone.
“Annoying,” Quinn repeats with a frown. “You…and your…your stupid voice. Always talking. And…and singing,” she spits, leveling her bleary gaze on Rachel as she drags her fingers through her messy hair. “And I…I couldn’t get it out of my head,” she accuses, pointing a finger at Rachel. “And…and God! Your stupid skirts. And those fucking legs.Those legs,” Quinn repeats breathily, eyes dropping down as she leans forward and plants a hand on one of Rachel’s legs. “These…these were such a distraction.” Quinn’s head comes up again and she scowls at Rachel. “I almost fell off the pyramid because of you!”
Rachel nods slowly, still struggling to take in Quinn’s words. She’s admittedly having trouble concentrating on them over the mesmerizing motion of her perfect lips. But it looks like Quinn is upset with her, and she really doesn’t want that. It means she’ll have to stop touching her. “I’m…sorry?” she offers.
Quinn flashes a wide, triumphant smile, nodding. “Good. You should be. It’s all your fault.”
“Okay,” Rachel agrees, still focused on her mouth. She really just wants to taste it—but Quinn is dropping it around her straw and taking another sip of her drink, and Rachel bites into her lip to keep from moaning in frustration. She wants those lips wrapped around something very different than that straw.
The moment Quinn releases it, Rachel practically crawls into her lap to claim that mouth for herself. Quinn moans into the kiss, brushing her tongue along Rachel’s and digging her nails into Rachel’s leg. She tastes so much better than the Mai Tai. Their kisses gradually flow into nips and pecks until Rachel is mostly just nuzzling Quinn’s neck, and Quinn hums in pleasure, her fingers flexing and releasing rhythmically against Rachel’s hips.
“We should dance,” Quinn blurts out, stilling Rachel’s movements once again. “We never dance,” she accuses, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yes, we do,” Rachel argues, staring at her girlfriend.
“Naked doesn’t count,” Quinn counters, shuffling Rachel off her lap before she struggles to stand. “C’mon, Rach. We’re gonna dance. Right now,” she demands, grabbing for Rachel’s hand and tugging her up.
Rachel stumbles after her with a frown until they’re out in the middle of the dance floor next to Santana and Josie, and Rachel is pressed flush against Quinn’s body, and she realizes that this is a good thing. So she slips her hands around Quinn’s waist and sneaks one underneath her shirt while Quinn’s palms mold to her ass. “This fucking ass,” Quinn mumbles, pressing her nose into Rachel’s hair. “Made me stare at it all the time.”
Rachel tucks her chin onto Quinn’s shoulder and closes her eyes, grinning in contentment. “You can punish it later,” she promises.