Chapter 6
Quinn Fabray's first date was to the freshman dance at the end of that year. McKinley had so many dances you would think everyone would be bored by senior prom, but alum told of each getting a more and more grand budget, less and less adult supervision, and more and more alcoholic drink smuggling in the parking lot, so climbing the ladder of dances was an event itself. The cheerleading captain position saw high turnover whenever Sue got pissed with some girl, so Quinn was promoted to the spot two months before the end of her freshman year, when she was the only person to show up to morning practice on time. Finn, then the second-string quarterback looking to get his big break come fall when the current first-string but actually worse quarterback would have graduated, had been ogling her in class and on the field for weeks and, when she began barking orders rather than following, he approached to ask if she was injured or something. Well, had been pushed and pushed in her direction by Puck until she'd noticed and he had to keep walking. She did all the right things - giggle, smile - and he promised he'd be an awesome date to the dance before even asking her, so she took it upon herself to actually ask. It was pleasant.
Santana
"Hey, Britt," I mumble while climbing into bed, Quinn hogging the bathroom and Brittany already starfishing. I push her limbs into her own body to recline like it's a sun lounger, stealing one of Britt's pillows, "where do I take Q? Girl needs something classy, but too classy might be wrong."
Britt rolls on top of me, "Just go to your favorite restaurant." She grins, kissing my neck, "Cause if you're gonna see if she likes your type, what your favorite place is like is part of that." I sigh, patting the back of her head to let up with the kissing.
"I'm just now thinking it's weird I asked Quinn out -" I start as she pushes herself up,
"It wasn't weird. At least, I think only Rachel really looked weird but she's still a little weird herself. And Quinn said yes really quickly anyway." Britt comforts with her words as she comforts by snuggling into my side.
Quinn gets in from the bathroom, and takes Britt's other side, with our bubbly blonde rolling over to give her some affection, too. In their hug, Quinn lets one arm drape over Brittany's middle, and I'm compelled to reach mine out to link hands with her, smiling as we fall asleep.
Quinn
It has been a rough but pleasant few days. I report this all as I'm lazily wheeling around the loft with toast between my teeth and then discarded in my lap. "No, I'm fine, just too sleepy to bother thinking about trying to use my legs," I insisted when Brittany finally woke up and saw me struggling to reach a plate and asked how bad it hurt. Santana had just as frantic a reaction to if I was hurting when she found me sitting instead on Brittany's lap on the sofa watching cartoons with the chair right next to me. Then she asked how my summer theatre workshop was going, and I decided I needed to pace but still didn't want to walk. The truth was really that nothing hurt and I could feel my legs... I just couldn't quite feel the muscles in them, and wasn't going to risk it.
"It's a pretty modern experience. You'd probably call it pretentious, San. We're doing Romeo and Juliet which sounded middle school but, you know what, it's very much all actor experience so they want us to create character. There was no casting for parts, as such. We spent the first day with a seminar on character types and performance development, and then we pitched what we could bring to each role. We all get two - a main and a minor character, double casting tradition and how exclusive they've made the program kind of meant they had to, but they said something about switching between diverse roles quickly-"
"You're right, I would call it pretentious." Santana interjects, "I know you've still got a bit of your WASP-y thing going on, but are these the kind of schmucks you want to spend your life working with?" She asks, and I glare for a fraction of a second.
"With Yale drama training I could go act anywhere, but I might want to get into teaching performance, actually. It really helped me, and bringing the arts to kids almost seems like our legacy after glee club," I cough back before continuing, "but basically, I got Romeo."
Brittany and Santana look so happy and surprised that Brittany literally tosses her popcorn up - popcorn for breakfast is an interesting choice, but not my problem. They both pounce on me, with Brittany lifting me up when they realize group hugging is a bit too hard, and they jump around while I giggle like a maniac on the couch. Rachel appears with a dramatic and spittle-filled shush then, but seems pleasant when I tell her the news, too. She recovers my toast from the floor and looks put-out again, but says nothing. It's Kurt that makes actual breakfast, popcorn and toast long forgotten, as a reward for the role since I am possibly the only person who seems skilled in the kitchen.
It's when I announce I'm going to shower, relocate from sofa to wheelchair, and then hesitate halfway to the bathroom that I even realize there's something we all forgot. With half of my friends' eyes on me, I turn wheel to Santana's room with a mumble about clothes. Two minutes later, Santana appears as I am on my knees, kind of sorting through clothes and kind of panicking.
"So I just texted Artie," she says as she wraps herself around me from behind, "because none of us noticed that he stole a stool from Kurt's bedroom and had Sam in the bathroom while he showered the whole time he was here." She strokes my back, "And I know our date is tonight and all, but if you don't mind me getting you naked already, I can go pick out the comfiest stool I see." I turn in her arms and kiss her cheek. A very affectionate thank you, so she winks and leaves and I hear a respectfully quiet fight about the stool situation with Kurt.
I don't notice Santana check me out once in the bathroom. She looks at me, obviously, but only as a person and not as a body. It's so damn respectful, but I kind of wish she had leered at least once. At least her hands linger as she pats me down dry before she leaves to let me dress. "Wait, Q," she pops her head back in as I struggle to clip my bra on. She pauses, then steals the underwear entirely, rolling her eyes. "Er, are you going to be in a wheelchair tonight? I just made reservations and would have to call again. Talked them into giving us a real nice table but I know the place and it'd be too cramped to be comfy in a wheelchair." She looks down and blushes as I finish pulling my baggy sweater on.
I roll over and hold her face in one palm, "No, I think I'll be fine. I have you to carry me anyway." She smiles and turns her face to kiss my palm then leaves the doorway at pace, rejoining the others in various states of pajama-clad and daywear now.
And I am walking, stick-and-Santana-assisted, when we get out of the taxi at our date spot. Brittany said we had to get ready properly in different rooms, but then stopped her own idea dead in its tracks so she could help us both get ready at the same time. They both took one look at the nicest clothes I'd brought to New York and looked disappointed, instead dressing me in a jumpsuit of Brittany's, with Santana wearing one of her tight dresses that may as well be loungewear to her from what I've seen and heard. We're dressed up, not too much, and I can see why: it's a nice restaurant, probably with a dress code of some sort, but not an expensive place that only admits black tie. It's nicer than I actually expected, and Santana smiles as I take it in, first warmly and then wickedly as she leans in to whisper right in my ear, "I treat girls well, Q." She winks and walks us in. "So, some background on this restaurant," she offers as we're seated - on the second floor, with a view out the back which, unlike many alleys, is a well-maintained beer garden. Possibly one of the best views inner city Brooklyn has to offer. "I stumbled upon when I was just out looking for some decent food - I can manage vegan diet to a point, and I passed that pretty quickly - so I comes upon here and I look at the building and the menu - and I mean, fuck it's got prices on for a place this swanky in New York? But, you know, I'm not coming here for dinner every night, I'm not that loaded or weird. I remember it, and change up some of my routes to pass it, knowing that when I've got something to really go out for that I'll want to come to this place so I kept checking it out. I was going to bring Dani here, but she likes hanging out at bars with friends the few nights she has free, so our dates were always lunch, you know? I've got an address book of cute bistros now." She fiddles with the corner of her menu, "So congrats, Q, you're the reason I get to actually eat here. I did once convince them to let me use the bathroom so I could check out the seating and stuff, that's how I knew to get the table back here."
I'm floored. I've known Santana years, and known her affection and her intimacy, but I never quite thought she'd be so damn dateable. Whether she was teasing or not, she clearly does treat girls well. And, clichéd as it is, she really just made me feel like the only girl in the world. "Thank you" I mutter breathlessly at her, catching her eyes as she looks up. I'm expecting a waiter to interrupt, but nothing breaks our eye contact so I do instead. I cough awkwardly, "So, how does working out if I like your type go?" I pretend like I'm not 90% sure I've reached that conclusion already, blaming it on chivalry or something, "Because I guess I've been intimate with you as a friend so I don't know where to look for the difference." I say when she looks confused.
Then she awkwardly coughs. "Yeah, you know my personality better than nearly everyone. Do you like being around that in a romantic setting? We're gonna have to do something romantic, maybe order the spaghetti so we can Lady and the Tramp?" She almost looks a little hurt.
I reach across the table, pushing her menu down and stroking the back of one of her hands with my index finger, "You're my tramp, right?" I chuckle,
She laughs, smiling, thankfully. I feel so warm that I made her smile, "Only because I wanna treat you like a lady, remember who's paying here." She winks. I swallow, weak, and I think she notices my blush. "How do you feel, Q? You're gonna have to tell me 'cause I could take that reaction a hundred different ways. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." She says confidently, then adds "I'm - I just - I'm actually having a really nice time" more quietly.
"I don't know." I say, looking at her looking away. "But I'm having a nice time, too." She looks back at me, eyes dark, "So what would you do on a date now?" And she just damn smiles, taking gentle hold of my hand that's touching hers and then reaching across to hold the other one, leaning forward in her seat. Her hands are warm and soft, and I can't help but stoke with all my pads before squeezing and feeling lucky I get to hold them. Her cleavage pops out just enough that I only feel a little wrong for looking. Her eyes bore into my soul, brown almost disappearing into black and leaving only the gold twinkling under the dim lighting at the edges.
"How do you feel, Q?" She asks again, huskily now, with a stroke of each thumb on my hands, a foot snaking over to barely touch my own.
I'm lost. "Like it's taking all my strength to not kiss you right now." I answer before realizing and she gasps, leaning over the table like her life depends on it but not kissing me with force. When our lips meet, they're closed, and there's push but not much. I lick her lips and she licks mine but that's as far as it goes. It's after a moment that our eyes meet, too: both scream there was a desperate need to express all our affection and lust through a more intimate touch. And that we both want more. Dinner hasn't even started, and this girl must have game because I'm smitten.
I kiss her again as we leave. It was a wonderful date, and she looks so confident as she hails a taxi I feel like I can't help it. She grabs my waist and beams, but pulls her head away quickly to scan for taxis. "At least let me get you home first," she jokes while I hold her back and kiss her neck softly.
Heeding her suggestion, we've both cooled down by the time we reach the apartment after not touching in the cab ride home. But when I see her shed her dress like a second skin, and when she sees me take my hair down, at the edges of her room as we're getting ready for bed, everyone else long asleep, we're suddenly making out. In our underwear. She pushes me away to strip her underwear off, and I'm pretty sure I bug out before she selects some pajamas to wear, throwing a t-shirt at me, still bra-less already since this morning. I slide into the bed next to Brittany while Santana takes her contacts out, and then I have her pressing her whole body into me.
"I haven't been on a date so good since Britt," She mumbles against the pulse point of my throat before sucking on it, "And I don't think you've ever had so much fun on one, either, Q," she pushes a hand under my shirt, "And I can't think of any reason to not do it again." She brings her head up and groans before her lips meet mine, passionately.
I can think of one, and it's waking up right next to us. But I'm kissing her back as my hands grab the top of her ass and massage there.
"Fuck that's hot." Brittany says. We don't stop. I don't feel like I can. I feel like I've been falling in love with Santana since we became friends and finally found some payoff. A few moments later, I realize Brittany is still watching us, and push Santana back a little until we both turn to the other blonde. "Don't stop because of me," she looks apologetic, and maybe it's the haze of lust but... I don't know why, but I take one hand from Santana to reach over and pull Brittany into our sides. Santana seems to quickly get the idea and leans to suck at Brittany's neck while I lean in to kiss her. A glance to her eyes - blown, truly, no trace of icy blue left - just before I do turns me on more. Or maybe that's Santana thumbing over a nipple. My moan is guttaral.
And I remember in a flash fooling around with them in high school every chance we got when I wasn't too repressed. And I know high school romances rarely make it... but what if? I wonder, as Brittany's hand finds its way to my other breast, pinching around the edge of the areola. Santana eating me out while stroking my stomach and being fingered herself by Brittany who I rubbed off is not how I expected our night to end. But, honestly, I wouldn't mind every night ending that way.
My thoughts are the same in the morning when I'm woken up by sloppy pecks to each cheek, remember we're all naked, and scratch at Brittany's abs as I kiss Santana. "So, I really liked that." I say while we're getting dressed.
It only gets awkward when we leave Santana's room for breakfast to be glared into stillness by Rachel, with Kurt and Mike actively looking at each other. "If you're going to have a threesome in the middle of the night, please learn to be quiet." The little diva snaps before getting on with her morning. Mike gives me a high five as I sit down for breakfast.