Fic; There Is XXXX (Within My Heart)
Title: There Is XXXX (Within My Heart)
Author: xpandapoo
Pairing,Character(s): Quinn/Santana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,126
Spoilers: None.
Summary: She's conservative. A christian. written for glee_kink_meme
------
She's conservative. A christian. And she's learned her lesson.
Quinn Fabray felt her world shake and crumble around her the year previous. She lost her family, her daughter, the cheer leading spot, her boyfriend, and most importantly her reputation. But she's regained it all back-for the most part. And she'd be damned if she let herself loose it all again.
That's why, when Sam often fumbles to trace the outside of her cheerio skirt, she smacks his hand away and scolds him. She's not a floozy. (Like Santana or Brittany.) She's done the whole pregnancy thing once before. So she avoids the mere idea of sex with her new arm candy.
But, she has hormones raging inside of her. Pent up behind that renewed thin figure a massive amount of suicides gave her. She knows she can't avoid the certain throbbing from between her legs. (It would drive anyone mad.)
"Once you have sex, Juno, you thrive on it. Everyone knows that"
The blond could just hear Santana's sarcastic sneer ringing in her head. And though Fabray hated ever admitting the Latina was right-Quinn almost agreed. Almost. (Certainly there had to be somebody whose had sex and disliked it so much that they wouldn't ever crave it again. At least for the sake of Quinn's dignity.)
However, that person wasn't Quinn Fabray. She couldn't hold back urges that kept piling up on her, weighing down her shoulders. She's tried. God knows how many bible verses she's memorized, burning them into her skull. The worn out holy book was her attempt boner kill. (What did it say about her, when the book laid by her bed while her wanton moans filled her room at a wee hour of the morning?)
Quinn waits quietly in the Cheerio's locker room, and she's pretty sure she's by herself. (She doesn't really check, but it's been nearly an hour since practice ended so she's only assuming that everyone had better places to be.) She slides against the wooden bench, swinging strong legs over either side. She's got a slot of time that had to be wasted before she arrived back at home. And...well, certain things needed to be taken care of.
It's a kind of thing people do in the privacy of their bedroom. But, Quinn doesn't have that luxury. (There's a chance her father's home. Besides with her luck, Sam would probably be waiting there for her pretending he didn't drop by to make another failed pass at something more intimate.)
Her own hand shoved under her skirt, Quinn let her fingers delve past the lace of her underwear. (She'd absolutely blush at her own actions if she were in her right mind. But she isn't.) She works herself up, feeling a rush of liquid pass down to the midpoint between her thighs.
She hasn't entered yet because she's kind of surprised at how eager she is to fuck herself, and she's kind of enjoying the images dancing around in her mind behind closed fluttering eyelids. (Not that she'd admit it.)
In fact, she's amazed she even sees these sort of things. Imagining herself under another woman-that wasn't an image people would think made Quinn Fabray hot. But it did.
Quinn has this sort of weakness for power. It gets her nipples hard just thinking of someone topping her. It's not like she's lesbian or anything. (Because, she's dated every hot popular boy in school.) But, she can have men...what she can't have is a woman. So she jacks off to it. (And prays afterwards.)
The first time she gets off to a dream of Rachel Berry. (She won't speak of it, because it's something she's not entirely proud of.) But the idea of Rachel being a Broadway singer with loads of adoring fans and money. That was sort of a turn on for the head cheerleader. (Or maybe the arousing thought in the situation was having Rachel put Quinn in her place, finally.)
This time, she finds the shady silhouette of a curvy cheerleader guiding her hand. Santana. Her ex-best friend isn't really there, muttering hot word's into Quinn's ear. It's all the blonde's imagination. (And somehow, Quinn Fabray prefers it that way.)
"I'll shove you off that pyramid. It won't be long until I'm back on top. Where I belong."
She jerked her hips up before grinding down onto her hand. One of her own soaked fingers slipped into her folds. Whipping her head back Quinn's lips parted to whimper out a weak, "Oh."
She rolls her thumb against her clit, and whines out loud. (Nobody is there to hear Quinn's desperation. Nobody except the imaginary Santana.)
The idea of her teammate, her rival pining her down and telling her all the reasons she's doomed to fail fills Quinn up with thrills. (The part of her that's quite glad it's all made up is quickly shushed away by several strained groans.)
Perfect white teeth bare into the plump flesh of red painted lips. She's almost there she can feel it coming. Harder, faster. Picking up the tempo, her breath hitches and she's not sure how much longer she'll last.
"Oh...oh."
Curling the now two fingers she's been riding, Quinn could feel her walls tighten as she tumbled, down, back to earth with a well deserved orgasm. (And sadly she's tossed back into reality.)
She falls back on the bench, spent and now quite lazy. Her heartbeat finally slowing to a normal pace. And then she hears a cough-a single cough along with a giggle.
Quinn's world freezes as her chocolate orbs zoom to where the noise was made.
There stood an all too familiar Santana, with a smug smirk plastered to her face. Leaning off of the Latina's sharp shoulders, Brittany beamed up at Quinn. (God, god, christ. Suddenly Quinn wasn't feeling all too well. ) The towel wrapped around Santana's waist, and Brittany's damp hair made it completely obvious that they had come out of the showers.
Quinn Fabray hadn't been alone in the locker rooms. Oh, this called for so many prayers.
"Wow. That was, like, super hot." A dreamy sigh slipped past Brittany's lips as the lanky dimwitted girl linked pinkies and rested her head comfortably on Santana's shoulder.
"Way to be classy, octo-mom." Quinn didn't even have to lock narrowed eyes with the Latina to know the sarcastic snarl came from her.
Quinn Fabray had a small thing for power. (If masturbating to the idea was what you defined as small.) But the reality of getting off to it was the reason the blond now found chunks of her stomach remains spread across the floor at her feet in a sea of brown.
(She knew she felt fucking sick.)
Author: xpandapoo
Pairing,Character(s): Quinn/Santana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,126
Spoilers: None.
Summary: She's conservative. A christian. written for glee_kink_meme
------
She's conservative. A christian. And she's learned her lesson.
Quinn Fabray felt her world shake and crumble around her the year previous. She lost her family, her daughter, the cheer leading spot, her boyfriend, and most importantly her reputation. But she's regained it all back-for the most part. And she'd be damned if she let herself loose it all again.
That's why, when Sam often fumbles to trace the outside of her cheerio skirt, she smacks his hand away and scolds him. She's not a floozy. (Like Santana or Brittany.) She's done the whole pregnancy thing once before. So she avoids the mere idea of sex with her new arm candy.
But, she has hormones raging inside of her. Pent up behind that renewed thin figure a massive amount of suicides gave her. She knows she can't avoid the certain throbbing from between her legs. (It would drive anyone mad.)
"Once you have sex, Juno, you thrive on it. Everyone knows that"
The blond could just hear Santana's sarcastic sneer ringing in her head. And though Fabray hated ever admitting the Latina was right-Quinn almost agreed. Almost. (Certainly there had to be somebody whose had sex and disliked it so much that they wouldn't ever crave it again. At least for the sake of Quinn's dignity.)
However, that person wasn't Quinn Fabray. She couldn't hold back urges that kept piling up on her, weighing down her shoulders. She's tried. God knows how many bible verses she's memorized, burning them into her skull. The worn out holy book was her attempt boner kill. (What did it say about her, when the book laid by her bed while her wanton moans filled her room at a wee hour of the morning?)
Quinn waits quietly in the Cheerio's locker room, and she's pretty sure she's by herself. (She doesn't really check, but it's been nearly an hour since practice ended so she's only assuming that everyone had better places to be.) She slides against the wooden bench, swinging strong legs over either side. She's got a slot of time that had to be wasted before she arrived back at home. And...well, certain things needed to be taken care of.
It's a kind of thing people do in the privacy of their bedroom. But, Quinn doesn't have that luxury. (There's a chance her father's home. Besides with her luck, Sam would probably be waiting there for her pretending he didn't drop by to make another failed pass at something more intimate.)
Her own hand shoved under her skirt, Quinn let her fingers delve past the lace of her underwear. (She'd absolutely blush at her own actions if she were in her right mind. But she isn't.) She works herself up, feeling a rush of liquid pass down to the midpoint between her thighs.
She hasn't entered yet because she's kind of surprised at how eager she is to fuck herself, and she's kind of enjoying the images dancing around in her mind behind closed fluttering eyelids. (Not that she'd admit it.)
In fact, she's amazed she even sees these sort of things. Imagining herself under another woman-that wasn't an image people would think made Quinn Fabray hot. But it did.
Quinn has this sort of weakness for power. It gets her nipples hard just thinking of someone topping her. It's not like she's lesbian or anything. (Because, she's dated every hot popular boy in school.) But, she can have men...what she can't have is a woman. So she jacks off to it. (And prays afterwards.)
The first time she gets off to a dream of Rachel Berry. (She won't speak of it, because it's something she's not entirely proud of.) But the idea of Rachel being a Broadway singer with loads of adoring fans and money. That was sort of a turn on for the head cheerleader. (Or maybe the arousing thought in the situation was having Rachel put Quinn in her place, finally.)
This time, she finds the shady silhouette of a curvy cheerleader guiding her hand. Santana. Her ex-best friend isn't really there, muttering hot word's into Quinn's ear. It's all the blonde's imagination. (And somehow, Quinn Fabray prefers it that way.)
"I'll shove you off that pyramid. It won't be long until I'm back on top. Where I belong."
She jerked her hips up before grinding down onto her hand. One of her own soaked fingers slipped into her folds. Whipping her head back Quinn's lips parted to whimper out a weak, "Oh."
She rolls her thumb against her clit, and whines out loud. (Nobody is there to hear Quinn's desperation. Nobody except the imaginary Santana.)
The idea of her teammate, her rival pining her down and telling her all the reasons she's doomed to fail fills Quinn up with thrills. (The part of her that's quite glad it's all made up is quickly shushed away by several strained groans.)
Perfect white teeth bare into the plump flesh of red painted lips. She's almost there she can feel it coming. Harder, faster. Picking up the tempo, her breath hitches and she's not sure how much longer she'll last.
"Oh...oh."
Curling the now two fingers she's been riding, Quinn could feel her walls tighten as she tumbled, down, back to earth with a well deserved orgasm. (And sadly she's tossed back into reality.)
She falls back on the bench, spent and now quite lazy. Her heartbeat finally slowing to a normal pace. And then she hears a cough-a single cough along with a giggle.
Quinn's world freezes as her chocolate orbs zoom to where the noise was made.
There stood an all too familiar Santana, with a smug smirk plastered to her face. Leaning off of the Latina's sharp shoulders, Brittany beamed up at Quinn. (God, god, christ. Suddenly Quinn wasn't feeling all too well. ) The towel wrapped around Santana's waist, and Brittany's damp hair made it completely obvious that they had come out of the showers.
Quinn Fabray hadn't been alone in the locker rooms. Oh, this called for so many prayers.
"Wow. That was, like, super hot." A dreamy sigh slipped past Brittany's lips as the lanky dimwitted girl linked pinkies and rested her head comfortably on Santana's shoulder.
"Way to be classy, octo-mom." Quinn didn't even have to lock narrowed eyes with the Latina to know the sarcastic snarl came from her.
Quinn Fabray had a small thing for power. (If masturbating to the idea was what you defined as small.) But the reality of getting off to it was the reason the blond now found chunks of her stomach remains spread across the floor at her feet in a sea of brown.
(She knew she felt fucking sick.)