Switch Me On, Turn Me Up
Title: Switch Me On, Turn Me Up
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up through "Sectionals"
Word Count: 2,600
Description: Quinn watches Rachel from a closet. It gets perverted.
Note: Title taken from Goldfrapp's "Ooh La La". (See: lyrics; See: Stream) This story also makes a reference to The Divinyls' "I Touch Myself", which I had just kind of assumed that most people were familiar with. If you are not, consider yourself lucky.
You wanna be so mean / You know I love to watch
"Ooh La La" - Goldfrapp
It's not really breaking in if you have a key.
At least, that's her story and she's sticking to it.
True, the key hadn't been given to her - not exactly - but she was told of its hidden location under a fake rock in the yard. About a month ago, Rachel had been slushied twice in one day and had already used up the spare In-Case-Of-Slushie outfit in her locker. In a momentarily lapse of sanity, Quinn volunteered to retrieve another outfit for her. Partly because she was the only one who had a period free, and partly because she and Rachel had struck a tentative friendship after winning sectionals ("There's something about the sweet stench of failure radiating from your opponent's beaten and battered remains that really bonds a team together," Coah Sylvester used to say). But mostly? Quinn just wanted to pick out Rachel's clothes so that for once she could get through glee practice without eyeing Rachel's ensemble and wanting to set fire to it. It was very distracting.
True, she had Rachel's express permission to enter her house last time whereas this time, she didn't have a clue. Rachel and Kurt had stopped Mr. Schue after practice to discuss their next glee project - showtune mashups - and Quinn figured that it would be hours before that thrilling little meeting came to an end.
But look at it from Quinn's point of view: she simply had to know what was going on with Rachel. The brunette had been acting distant and awkwardly polite around her lately. It could only mean one thing. Rachel was dating Finn. When she confronted Rachel about it, Rachel only laughed nervously and denied it. So of course Quinn had to set out to confirm what she knew to be true.
Now, if Rachel had only told the truth - or not guard her cellphone so jealously that it was impossible for Quinn to steal it and check for illicit texts - none of this would be happening. So, in a sense, this was really all Rachel's fault.
Anyway, it's not really breaking in if you have a key.
Except now that she was actually in Rachel's room, she didn't have a clue where to start. It wasn't as if Quinn Fabray made breaking-and-entering a pastime. She hesitated briefly, then decided to start with Rachel's computer. She had barely touched the mouse when she heard the front door open.
She froze.
When she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, she did the first thing that seemed logical to her - she ducked into the closet, and pulled the doors tightly shut behind her.
In retrospect, it wasn't very logical at all. This was, without a doubt, one of the stupidest things that Quinn Fabray had ever done in her life. It was almost as stupid as sleeping with Puck and getting knocked up at sixteen. Because now she was trapped in the closet, and Rachel was home.
She could see through the crack of the closed closet door. Rachel Berry strolled into her room, a dubious expression on her face as if she'd forgotten something very important. Quinn watched as the brunette's eyes scanned the room, then shrugged carelessly and set her book bag down. It didn't look as if she was planning on leaving any time soon. Quinn cursed herself silently, and prayed that the other girl would at least step out of the room. She would have to go to the bathroom at some point, right? At which time, Quinn would have to do her best Pregnant Ninja impression and slink out undetected.
As she waited for her opportunity, Quinn watched Rachel moved about the room, half-expecting Rachel to open the closet. Instead, the brunette appeared to be tidying her room. The girl was methodical in everything - except, apparently, in how she dressed. With some exasperation, Quinn surveyed her outfit. The red plaid skirt and knee-high socks were forgivable, but the bumble-bee sweater vest had to go.
As if reading her mind, Rachel grasped the edge of her sweater and tugged it free over her head, revealing a gray tank top underneath as well as a brief glimpse of a toned midriff.
Quinn's soft gasp was entirely involuntary. She immediately clasped her hand over her mouth and recoiled from the closet door. She was sure that Rachel had heard that. She shut her eyes tight and attempted to retreat further into the shallow closet. Any second now, Rachel was going to yank open the closet door and Quinn was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
But there was nothing. No explosion of light, no yanking out of the closet, no fury of expletives, no being repeatedly bashed over the head with a Grammy replica. Instead, she only heard soft rustling. Curiosity piqued, Quinn inched toward the door again, and peeked out once more.
What she saw destroyed any traces of soft gasps or nervous exhales.
What she saw knocked the damn wind out of her.
What she saw effectively quashed all her apprehensions and fears because what she saw obliterated any and all thought processes she might've had in that moment.
What she saw was Rachel Berry, naked. Very naked. Really naked. Very really naked.
The decent thing to do would be to turn away. Avert her eyes. Hide until she's sure that it's safe, then sneak out quietly. But at the moment, Quinn Fabray happened to be hiding in a closet as a result of having broken into her pseudo-friend's house in order to snoop around and utterly invade the girl's privacy, so decent had been left clear in the dust about three exits back, choking on exhaust fumes as Quinn drove straight on into hell.
The decent thing to do would be to turn away, so of course what Quinn actually did was to take a good, long look and convince herself that there's really nothing wrong with looking because if girls judged each other on clothes and hair all the time, why not this?
Rachel's clothes were strewn across the floor. She stood facing the closet door - facing Quinn - looking at her own body in the mirror. She was tanned and taut, which didn't surprise Quinn in the least because Rachel's legs were like that. (And no, she's not prepared to address why she's been noticing Rachel's legs.) Quinn felt her throat go dry as her eyes drifted from the arch of the neck to round crescent shoulders to smallish but firm mounds to the curves of the hips.
There Rachel Berry was, all soft curves and rounded contours, and Quinn couldn't think of anything more perfect. All she could think was Jesus! although she's pretty sure that Jesus would not approve of this.
She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she was now aware of the dampness between her thighs. It was not a sensation that she was entirely comfortable with, but it wasn't as if there was anything she could do about it now. She just squeezed her legs together and prayed that Rachel would get over whatever critical little self-analysis she was doing and leave.
She began to realize that something was wrong when Rachel's right hand started brushing up and down her own thigh. No, not a brush - a caress. The gesture sent tremors through Quinn's body. She almost groaned, but stopped herself by biting down on her bottom lip.
Rachel's hand trailed from her thighs to her hips, where it lingered briefly before prowling upwards to the swell of her breasts. It finally dawned on Quinn that Rachel was touching herself - touching herself like a lover would. There was a line here. There was a very firm line that ought not to be crossed and Quinn was dangerously toeing it by keeping quiet and watching. This needed to stop now. She had no choice but to step out and reveal herself, and let the chips fall where they may. She raised her hand and pressed her palm against the closet door.
"Oh!"
The rich moan from Rachel's throat struck Quinn like a whip and enervated the force from her limbs. The hand on the closet door fell weakly to her side as she watched Rachel cup her left breast, her fingers pinching at her nipple. Rachel's left hand was no longer hanging idle; it was sprawled across her abdomen, massaging downwards until it reached the boundary of dark curls.
Quinn whimpered. Honest-to-god whimpered. (She had never felt more perverted in her life.) It's a good thing that Rachel's own vocalizations were enough to cover up Quinn's. It's a bad thing that her every sigh and groan made Quinn pulsate wildly in places she never wanted to acknowledge.
Then Rachel stopped, her hands dropping to her side. A curious desire to protest sprung from some hidden part of her that Quinn had always tried in vain to ignore, but right now all she could do was watch with bated breath as Rachel moved away. If Quinn didn't know any better, she'd say that Rachel was smirking.
Now with her back turned to the closet, Rachel leaned over her computer. With confusion and perhaps a tinge of anger, Quinn wondered who the hell in her right mind interrupted a hand-to-girl-session to check her e-mail.
When she heard the drum beats streaming through the speakers, she realized that Rachel wasn't checking her e-mail. She was putting on mood music. Of course she would. Leave it to Rachel Berry to make this into a big production. And the first number would be...
I love myself. I want you to love me. When I feel down, I want you above me.
Oh. Of course.
By the time Quinn was done with her mental mockery, she discovered that Rachel had moved to the bed. She was now reclined, and as she touched her hands to her body once more, Quinn found that familiar ache between her legs return and she thought, I am definitely, definitely going to Hell. She cupped her hand to herself through the fabric of her jeans if only to relieve some of the discomfort - but she certainly wasn't going to do any more than that!
Not like Rachel Berry there, who now had one leg propped up, her right hand now running up and down alongside her inner thigh. Not like Rachel Berry, who seemed to be enjoying herself quite a lot in the moment, her left hand traversing the small frame of her body.
Quinn desperately, desperately wished that it were her hands touching Rachel. She had never felt more perverted in her life, but frankly, she didn't give a damn anymore. For the first time in her life, words like right and wrong and perverted and propriety didn't matter. The only word that did was Rachel. And maybe Cheetos, but she's a pregnant girl and cravings were a bitch.
Quinn could see Rachel's fingers lightly rubbing herself in a place Quinn never would have touched herself. Tentative and teasing, Rachel was nothing if not patient. It was driving Quinn mad. She just wanted the girl to do it already. Quinn didn't realize it at first, but she had started rocking her hips against her hand in accordance with Rachel's movements. It seemed like she was in a trance. She moved like Rachel moved. It's almost like we're having sex, Quinn thought for a brief moment, before quickly banishing the thought to whatever depths of Hell it crawled out of. The whole thing would be much easier to bear if Quinn didn't think at all.
After what seemed like an eternity of teasing, Rachel finally made her move. With two fingers, she entered herself, slightly arching her back off the bed to enhance the sensation. Quinn muttered a soft expletive, rapidly undid her jeans and shoved her hand down. She wasn't very well practiced - in fact, she had never done this before; but this day had been a day of many firsts. Quinn lightly probed with one finger, being so new at this that everything felt uncomfortable and awkward. She couldn't do it like Rachel did it; she didn't have the nerve to, although she desperately wanted to. Rubbing her clit felt good enough, but she wanted more. She wanted to feel what Rachel was feeling. She wanted to feel Rachel, period.
Rachel's eyes were tightly shut, her mouth half-open and as she pumped her fingers with increasing vigor until she was nearly bucking off the bed. Quinn wanted to scream. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself. She tasted blood and knew that the bite would leave a sore mark that won't go away for weeks, but she didn't care.
And Quinn was so close, so close now, almost over the edge. She watched the brunette writhe wildly, sensing that seeing Rachel's orgasm would be the final push that she needed. Rachel gave herself one last thrust, her hips arching upward, her face contorted in ecstatic agony. As Quinn's own climax built to a spill, she heard a single cry escaping Rachel's lips:
"Finn!"
Hot tears flooded Quinn's cheeks as she shook with gratification, the pain in her heart rivaling the pleasure in her body. In the end, the body lost. As she felt the last rapturous wave ebb, the dull ache in her chest amplified into a sharp burn. Finn. Oh, god, she was thinking of Finn.
It was very quiet now, except for the sound of Rachel's satisfied exhales.
Which was fine, because Quinn needed the quiet to focus on her misery. The fact was, Quinn Fabray had gotten off to Rachel Berry while Rachel Berry lay there sated by thoughts of Finn Freakin' Hudson. Quinn had never quite imagined that this could hurt so much.
"Well, I'm going to take a shower," Rachel suddenly announced to the empty room.
As she felt her heart beat so wildly that it's lurching in her throat, Quinn prayed that Rachel was just the sort of crazy person to narrate her actions to no one.
Rachel pushed herself off the bed and started towards her bathroom. She stopped in front of the closet, but she made no move to open it.
"I thought you should know," she said hesitantly. "I wasn't thinking of him. That was for you."
By this point, Quinn had shrunk away from the door. Although she heard every word, the only thought she had was, She knows she knows she knows. Quinn wouldn't be able to process Rachel's words until much later.
"I know that wasn't very kind of me," Rachel muttered, almost shamefully. "But I... well, I suppose it's your punishment. And so I think we're even now."
She paused, as if waiting for a response. Of course, none came. Rachel sighed softly, resigning herself to the fact that Quinn simply wasn't ready to deal with any of this. Not yet, anyway. For now, she had to content herself with the thought that the impassioned moans and the pained cries were evidence that the Christian ex-Cheerio had some decidedly unwholesome reactions towards her. One of these days, Quinn will be brave enough to address her feelings. And Rachel was nothing if not patient.
"By the way," Rachel added softly before she headed off to take that shower. "The next time you break into someone's house, you might not want to park your car in front of their house."
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up through "Sectionals"
Word Count: 2,600
Description: Quinn watches Rachel from a closet. It gets perverted.
Note: Title taken from Goldfrapp's "Ooh La La". (See: lyrics; See: Stream) This story also makes a reference to The Divinyls' "I Touch Myself", which I had just kind of assumed that most people were familiar with. If you are not, consider yourself lucky.
You wanna be so mean / You know I love to watch
"Ooh La La" - Goldfrapp
It's not really breaking in if you have a key.
At least, that's her story and she's sticking to it.
True, the key hadn't been given to her - not exactly - but she was told of its hidden location under a fake rock in the yard. About a month ago, Rachel had been slushied twice in one day and had already used up the spare In-Case-Of-Slushie outfit in her locker. In a momentarily lapse of sanity, Quinn volunteered to retrieve another outfit for her. Partly because she was the only one who had a period free, and partly because she and Rachel had struck a tentative friendship after winning sectionals ("There's something about the sweet stench of failure radiating from your opponent's beaten and battered remains that really bonds a team together," Coah Sylvester used to say). But mostly? Quinn just wanted to pick out Rachel's clothes so that for once she could get through glee practice without eyeing Rachel's ensemble and wanting to set fire to it. It was very distracting.
True, she had Rachel's express permission to enter her house last time whereas this time, she didn't have a clue. Rachel and Kurt had stopped Mr. Schue after practice to discuss their next glee project - showtune mashups - and Quinn figured that it would be hours before that thrilling little meeting came to an end.
But look at it from Quinn's point of view: she simply had to know what was going on with Rachel. The brunette had been acting distant and awkwardly polite around her lately. It could only mean one thing. Rachel was dating Finn. When she confronted Rachel about it, Rachel only laughed nervously and denied it. So of course Quinn had to set out to confirm what she knew to be true.
Now, if Rachel had only told the truth - or not guard her cellphone so jealously that it was impossible for Quinn to steal it and check for illicit texts - none of this would be happening. So, in a sense, this was really all Rachel's fault.
Anyway, it's not really breaking in if you have a key.
Except now that she was actually in Rachel's room, she didn't have a clue where to start. It wasn't as if Quinn Fabray made breaking-and-entering a pastime. She hesitated briefly, then decided to start with Rachel's computer. She had barely touched the mouse when she heard the front door open.
She froze.
When she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, she did the first thing that seemed logical to her - she ducked into the closet, and pulled the doors tightly shut behind her.
In retrospect, it wasn't very logical at all. This was, without a doubt, one of the stupidest things that Quinn Fabray had ever done in her life. It was almost as stupid as sleeping with Puck and getting knocked up at sixteen. Because now she was trapped in the closet, and Rachel was home.
She could see through the crack of the closed closet door. Rachel Berry strolled into her room, a dubious expression on her face as if she'd forgotten something very important. Quinn watched as the brunette's eyes scanned the room, then shrugged carelessly and set her book bag down. It didn't look as if she was planning on leaving any time soon. Quinn cursed herself silently, and prayed that the other girl would at least step out of the room. She would have to go to the bathroom at some point, right? At which time, Quinn would have to do her best Pregnant Ninja impression and slink out undetected.
As she waited for her opportunity, Quinn watched Rachel moved about the room, half-expecting Rachel to open the closet. Instead, the brunette appeared to be tidying her room. The girl was methodical in everything - except, apparently, in how she dressed. With some exasperation, Quinn surveyed her outfit. The red plaid skirt and knee-high socks were forgivable, but the bumble-bee sweater vest had to go.
As if reading her mind, Rachel grasped the edge of her sweater and tugged it free over her head, revealing a gray tank top underneath as well as a brief glimpse of a toned midriff.
Quinn's soft gasp was entirely involuntary. She immediately clasped her hand over her mouth and recoiled from the closet door. She was sure that Rachel had heard that. She shut her eyes tight and attempted to retreat further into the shallow closet. Any second now, Rachel was going to yank open the closet door and Quinn was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
But there was nothing. No explosion of light, no yanking out of the closet, no fury of expletives, no being repeatedly bashed over the head with a Grammy replica. Instead, she only heard soft rustling. Curiosity piqued, Quinn inched toward the door again, and peeked out once more.
What she saw destroyed any traces of soft gasps or nervous exhales.
What she saw knocked the damn wind out of her.
What she saw effectively quashed all her apprehensions and fears because what she saw obliterated any and all thought processes she might've had in that moment.
What she saw was Rachel Berry, naked. Very naked. Really naked. Very really naked.
The decent thing to do would be to turn away. Avert her eyes. Hide until she's sure that it's safe, then sneak out quietly. But at the moment, Quinn Fabray happened to be hiding in a closet as a result of having broken into her pseudo-friend's house in order to snoop around and utterly invade the girl's privacy, so decent had been left clear in the dust about three exits back, choking on exhaust fumes as Quinn drove straight on into hell.
The decent thing to do would be to turn away, so of course what Quinn actually did was to take a good, long look and convince herself that there's really nothing wrong with looking because if girls judged each other on clothes and hair all the time, why not this?
Rachel's clothes were strewn across the floor. She stood facing the closet door - facing Quinn - looking at her own body in the mirror. She was tanned and taut, which didn't surprise Quinn in the least because Rachel's legs were like that. (And no, she's not prepared to address why she's been noticing Rachel's legs.) Quinn felt her throat go dry as her eyes drifted from the arch of the neck to round crescent shoulders to smallish but firm mounds to the curves of the hips.
There Rachel Berry was, all soft curves and rounded contours, and Quinn couldn't think of anything more perfect. All she could think was Jesus! although she's pretty sure that Jesus would not approve of this.
She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she was now aware of the dampness between her thighs. It was not a sensation that she was entirely comfortable with, but it wasn't as if there was anything she could do about it now. She just squeezed her legs together and prayed that Rachel would get over whatever critical little self-analysis she was doing and leave.
She began to realize that something was wrong when Rachel's right hand started brushing up and down her own thigh. No, not a brush - a caress. The gesture sent tremors through Quinn's body. She almost groaned, but stopped herself by biting down on her bottom lip.
Rachel's hand trailed from her thighs to her hips, where it lingered briefly before prowling upwards to the swell of her breasts. It finally dawned on Quinn that Rachel was touching herself - touching herself like a lover would. There was a line here. There was a very firm line that ought not to be crossed and Quinn was dangerously toeing it by keeping quiet and watching. This needed to stop now. She had no choice but to step out and reveal herself, and let the chips fall where they may. She raised her hand and pressed her palm against the closet door.
"Oh!"
The rich moan from Rachel's throat struck Quinn like a whip and enervated the force from her limbs. The hand on the closet door fell weakly to her side as she watched Rachel cup her left breast, her fingers pinching at her nipple. Rachel's left hand was no longer hanging idle; it was sprawled across her abdomen, massaging downwards until it reached the boundary of dark curls.
Quinn whimpered. Honest-to-god whimpered. (She had never felt more perverted in her life.) It's a good thing that Rachel's own vocalizations were enough to cover up Quinn's. It's a bad thing that her every sigh and groan made Quinn pulsate wildly in places she never wanted to acknowledge.
Then Rachel stopped, her hands dropping to her side. A curious desire to protest sprung from some hidden part of her that Quinn had always tried in vain to ignore, but right now all she could do was watch with bated breath as Rachel moved away. If Quinn didn't know any better, she'd say that Rachel was smirking.
Now with her back turned to the closet, Rachel leaned over her computer. With confusion and perhaps a tinge of anger, Quinn wondered who the hell in her right mind interrupted a hand-to-girl-session to check her e-mail.
When she heard the drum beats streaming through the speakers, she realized that Rachel wasn't checking her e-mail. She was putting on mood music. Of course she would. Leave it to Rachel Berry to make this into a big production. And the first number would be...
I love myself. I want you to love me. When I feel down, I want you above me.
Oh. Of course.
By the time Quinn was done with her mental mockery, she discovered that Rachel had moved to the bed. She was now reclined, and as she touched her hands to her body once more, Quinn found that familiar ache between her legs return and she thought, I am definitely, definitely going to Hell. She cupped her hand to herself through the fabric of her jeans if only to relieve some of the discomfort - but she certainly wasn't going to do any more than that!
Not like Rachel Berry there, who now had one leg propped up, her right hand now running up and down alongside her inner thigh. Not like Rachel Berry, who seemed to be enjoying herself quite a lot in the moment, her left hand traversing the small frame of her body.
Quinn desperately, desperately wished that it were her hands touching Rachel. She had never felt more perverted in her life, but frankly, she didn't give a damn anymore. For the first time in her life, words like right and wrong and perverted and propriety didn't matter. The only word that did was Rachel. And maybe Cheetos, but she's a pregnant girl and cravings were a bitch.
Quinn could see Rachel's fingers lightly rubbing herself in a place Quinn never would have touched herself. Tentative and teasing, Rachel was nothing if not patient. It was driving Quinn mad. She just wanted the girl to do it already. Quinn didn't realize it at first, but she had started rocking her hips against her hand in accordance with Rachel's movements. It seemed like she was in a trance. She moved like Rachel moved. It's almost like we're having sex, Quinn thought for a brief moment, before quickly banishing the thought to whatever depths of Hell it crawled out of. The whole thing would be much easier to bear if Quinn didn't think at all.
After what seemed like an eternity of teasing, Rachel finally made her move. With two fingers, she entered herself, slightly arching her back off the bed to enhance the sensation. Quinn muttered a soft expletive, rapidly undid her jeans and shoved her hand down. She wasn't very well practiced - in fact, she had never done this before; but this day had been a day of many firsts. Quinn lightly probed with one finger, being so new at this that everything felt uncomfortable and awkward. She couldn't do it like Rachel did it; she didn't have the nerve to, although she desperately wanted to. Rubbing her clit felt good enough, but she wanted more. She wanted to feel what Rachel was feeling. She wanted to feel Rachel, period.
Rachel's eyes were tightly shut, her mouth half-open and as she pumped her fingers with increasing vigor until she was nearly bucking off the bed. Quinn wanted to scream. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself. She tasted blood and knew that the bite would leave a sore mark that won't go away for weeks, but she didn't care.
And Quinn was so close, so close now, almost over the edge. She watched the brunette writhe wildly, sensing that seeing Rachel's orgasm would be the final push that she needed. Rachel gave herself one last thrust, her hips arching upward, her face contorted in ecstatic agony. As Quinn's own climax built to a spill, she heard a single cry escaping Rachel's lips:
"Finn!"
Hot tears flooded Quinn's cheeks as she shook with gratification, the pain in her heart rivaling the pleasure in her body. In the end, the body lost. As she felt the last rapturous wave ebb, the dull ache in her chest amplified into a sharp burn. Finn. Oh, god, she was thinking of Finn.
It was very quiet now, except for the sound of Rachel's satisfied exhales.
Which was fine, because Quinn needed the quiet to focus on her misery. The fact was, Quinn Fabray had gotten off to Rachel Berry while Rachel Berry lay there sated by thoughts of Finn Freakin' Hudson. Quinn had never quite imagined that this could hurt so much.
"Well, I'm going to take a shower," Rachel suddenly announced to the empty room.
As she felt her heart beat so wildly that it's lurching in her throat, Quinn prayed that Rachel was just the sort of crazy person to narrate her actions to no one.
Rachel pushed herself off the bed and started towards her bathroom. She stopped in front of the closet, but she made no move to open it.
"I thought you should know," she said hesitantly. "I wasn't thinking of him. That was for you."
By this point, Quinn had shrunk away from the door. Although she heard every word, the only thought she had was, She knows she knows she knows. Quinn wouldn't be able to process Rachel's words until much later.
"I know that wasn't very kind of me," Rachel muttered, almost shamefully. "But I... well, I suppose it's your punishment. And so I think we're even now."
She paused, as if waiting for a response. Of course, none came. Rachel sighed softly, resigning herself to the fact that Quinn simply wasn't ready to deal with any of this. Not yet, anyway. For now, she had to content herself with the thought that the impassioned moans and the pained cries were evidence that the Christian ex-Cheerio had some decidedly unwholesome reactions towards her. One of these days, Quinn will be brave enough to address her feelings. And Rachel was nothing if not patient.
"By the way," Rachel added softly before she headed off to take that shower. "The next time you break into someone's house, you might not want to park your car in front of their house."