projecting
projecting - Quinn/Will; R (sex)
Quinn shakes her head as she stalks into the hallway, her cheek still stinging from Santana's slap.
"Projecting," she mutters, starting in the direction of the bathroom. "She's just jealous."
"Quinn?"
She jumps sharply at the familiar voice saying her name, and spins to find Will standing right behind her, so close that she almost runs into him.
His hands rise to steady her, and for a moment he's holding her in place, his body mere inches from hers. She can feel his warmth, can smell his cologne when she takes a deep breath through her nose, and feels something begin to unravel inside of her.
Speaking of projecting, she thinks, giving herself a quick mental shake as she steps back.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he says, moving back a step too. "I just heard you sort of... mumbling to yourself. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she mumbles, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "Santana and I just reunited in our customary fashion."
A small frown creases Will's brow as he looks at her a little closer, raising his hand to her chin and tilting her head slightly to the side.
"I can see that. Are you okay?" he asks again.
She moves her head from his touch, forcing a smile as she meets his gaze briefly before looking away.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I, um, didn't think you'd be here. Finn said you were in Washington on some panel or something."
Will nods. "Yeah, but I wanted to come back and see the kids at Sectionals. What about you, how's Yale?"
"It's fine," she says, flashing another quick smile.
He frowns again. "Quinn, are you sure you're okay?"
Irritation suddenly flares within her, and she scowls. "You can stop acting like my teacher, okay, I graduated. You don't have to pretend to care about me anymore."
She turns on her heel to start down the hallway, angry with herself for letting these old feelings rise again, and wanting to get away from him so they'll go away, but then his hand is on her arm, pulling her to a stop.
"I'm not pretending," he says, frowning as he comes to stand in front of her. "I've always cared about you, Quinn, I'm just trying to help."
"Yeah, well, I'm fine," she mutters, tugging her arm from his grip.
"Look, if you want to talk, give me a call. I'm back in my apartment while I'm here."
She jerks her head in a quick nod, mumbling, "Yeah, right, okay," before turning and continuing down the hall, certain he's watching her go.
A few hours later, she awakes from a restless nap, and rolls onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.
She'd been nervous about coming back to Lima for Thanksgiving, not knowing how she might feel seeing Will again, and then Finn told her that Will was off on some panel thing in Washington, D.C.
She'd been relieved, thinking that if she could go just a little longer without seeing him, maybe her feelings would vanish.
Seeing him today had thrown her for a loop, and everything she'd tried to ignore in high school was coming back full force.
After letting his name slip one too many times while she was with her psych professor at Yale, the argument about projecting had occurred, and God, how it stung to realize how right he was.
Will is her teacher, though; she can't possibly act on her feelings for him. It probably amounted to nothing more than some silly high school crush.
It's not, and you know it, her subconscious scolds. And he's not your teacher anymore.
The last thought hangs in her mind, repeating itself over and over again, and then she pushes to stand.
She moves to her suitcase and rummages around inside until she finds her favorite white dress, changes quickly, and grabs her purse from the top of her dresser.
Her mother will never notice she's gone.
Will sits on his couch, staring pensively at the TV. He's watching with only passing interest, his mind on other things.
Like Quinn Fabray.
He supposes he should have figured she would come home for the holidays, but somehow it never crossed his mind that he might see her.
She looks different somehow, even though just a few months have passed since he last saw her, but in a good way. Her hair is longer, giving her a slightly more mature look, and there's something different in the way she carries herself that he can't quite pinpoint.
He thinks about how she snapped at him earlier when he pushed her about her argument, or whatever it was, with Santana. Her irritation confused him, especially when she'd seemed completely civil just a minute prior, if a little flustered, and he still wondered if her fight with Santana was really all that was bothering her.
Connecticut looks good on her, he has to admit, and his mind drifts to her blue dress and red sweater, that thin yellow belt accentuating her slender waist.
A beat later, he groans, his head falling back as he covers his face with his hands.
"What the hell are you doing?" he mutters to his empty apartment. "She's your student."
Not anymore, his subconscious reminds him, almost in a singsong.
His hands slide to the back of his head and he opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as this thought circles around and around in his mind.
A sudden knocking on the front door pulls him from his thoughts and makes him jump, and he frowns as he stands, wondering who it could be.
His eyes widen slightly when he pulls the door open to reveal Quinn on the other side, and for a fleeting moment, wonders if he somehow willed her here.
"Quinn," he says, surprised. "Hey."
"Hey," she murmurs, her lips twitching in something resembling a smile. "You said to call if I wanted to talk, but, well, I hate talking on the phone, so I thought I'd just – come by. I hope that's okay."
"Yeah, it's definitely okay," he says with a quick nod. "Come on in."
He stands back, opening the door wider and then closing it after she's inside, turning to face her.
He smiles when he sees she's looking at him, and starts towards her, gesturing for her to move into the living room and letting his hand rest lightly on her waist as he walks behind her.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asks as she settles on the couch, watching her pull off her coat. She's wearing a white dress that he remembers well, and he swallows hard as she twists to lay her coat over the arm of the couch. "Or eat, maybe? I ordered pizza earlier for dinner, there's still some left."
She starts to shake her head, and then raises her eyebrows. "Could I have some water?"
"Sure," he murmurs, flashing another smile before turning to head into the kitchen.
Quinn watches him go, and then blows out a nervous breath as she pulls her skirt over her knees, trying to calm the anxious pounding of her heart.
Her burst of impulsivity had brought her all the way here, but now her confidence is beginning to fade, and she wonders if she'll be able to tell him what she feels like she needs to confess.
He returns with her water, handing her the glass before settling beside her on the couch, and she smiles her thanks as she takes a sip.
"I'm sorry about earlier," she says when she lowers the glass. "For acting all pissy. It's like Santana always knows just how to get to me. Like knowing just where to stick the dagger so it goes right between the ribs and into the heart."
She makes a stabbing, twisting motion with her hand, and grins a little when he laughs.
"So what happened, exactly? I mean, if it was serious enough for her to hit you –"
"Well," she says, shifting a little, "I sort of may have hit her first."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Then it really was serious."
"Yeah." She shrugs. "Finn picked me to mentor Kitty, and then Santana came in, saying Kitty was a bitch. I said I didn't think she was that bad, and I told her she was projecting her feelings for Kitty on to me, that she was just jealous of me, you know?"
Will nods, listening patiently, letting her get it all out like he was always good at.
"And then –"
She breaks off, frowning down at her water glass, and takes another sip before continuing.
"I learned about projecting in my psych class at Yale, and, well – I'm dating him. My psych professor."
Concern transforms Will's face, though she thinks she sees something else there too.
"Quinn –"
"The thing is," she continues, speaking over him, looking down at her hands again. "I told Santana that she was projecting, but I think the only reason I thought of that word – projecting – was because of an argument he and I had just before I left to come here."
She hesitates again, and then pushes to stand, suddenly feeling restless.
"I've talked about you, you know. With him. You and everybody, those 'getting to know you' sort of conversations, but it's like he saw more than what I thought I was really saying. He interpreted everything I thought I had pushed away, and he said that the only reason I was with him was because –"
She pauses abruptly, unable to believe she's about to admit this, and fighting the sting of tears rapidly rising in her eyes.
"It's okay, Quinn," he says quietly, his voice reassuring. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. You know you can always tell me anything."
She gives a short, humorless laugh, raising a hand to her face. If he knew what she was about to say, he might not be so willing to listen.
"Because," she finally says, taking a deep breath, "I was projecting my – my feelings for you onto him."
She chances a glance at his face, not knowing how to interpret what she sees there, and then pushes on, needing to get this out now that she's gotten the ball rolling.
"It – it started junior year, I think. You were so nice to me when I was pregnant, sort of like the one person I knew was always on my side, and I don't know how, but my feelings just like – exploded or something, and I had this crush on you, and I always kind of wished, or wondered, I guess, if you felt the same, but I know that's ridiculous."
She's rambling now, and can feel his eyes on her, but he's so quiet, and she can't bear to look at him, doesn't want to see rejection there, or worse, pity.
A beat passes, and she shakes her head, moving to snatch her coat and purse from the couch.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles, hating the tremor of emotion in her voice. "I shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."
She hurries for the front door, needing to get out of here and wondering if it's possible to book a last minute flight back to New Haven for tomorrow morning, and hears him stand, hears his voice behind her.
"Quinn, wait –"
He catches her at the door with his hand on her arm, and turns her to face him.
She stares at his chest, still not able to meet his eyes, and he lifts his hand to her chin, tipping her head up with his fingers.
His eyes search hers, and her heart leaps at the slight curve of his lips.
"It's not a mistake," he says softly, his thumb drifting over the edge of her jaw.
She stares at him a moment, hyperaware of his thumb still stroking her skin, how close he is to her and the warmth of his body.
Her fingers twitch, and then she throws caution to the winds, dropping her coat and purse to the floor as she takes his face in her hands, pulling him to her for a kiss.
He kisses her back, his fingers sliding into her hair, and then she pulls away slightly, taking a breath as her hands fall to his shoulders.
She's not sure where this is going, though she's very aware of what her body is telling her it wants, and if she's honest with herself, she's not inclined to ignore it, especially after so long of wanting it.
His hand drifts to her neck, thumb sweeping over her throat, and her eyelashes flutter when he brushes his lips over her forehead.
His hand moves again, thumb pressing gently against the underside of her jaw, and she lifts her head, meeting his eyes once more.
Her mouth falls open slightly at the look on his face, and then his lips are on hers again, sucking on her bottom lip and making her moan.
She gasps softly when he pushes her against the door, and her brow creases slightly as deepens the kiss, sliding her tongue against his.
She grips his shirt to pull him closer, needing his body right against hers, and hears him breathe her name between kisses.
"Bedroom," she whispers, nipping at his bottom lip and grinning when she feels his lips curve.
His fingers curl around hers, and he leads her to his bedroom, closing the door behind them and moving towards her, bending his mouth to hers once more.
His hand rests on her hip, holding her close, and after a minute her hand covers his, moving it to the tie holding her dress together.
A grin lifts the corner of his mouth, and they both look down to watch his fingers pluck apart the bow.
Her dress loosens, not quite falling open, but giving him a glimpse of her body, showing him that she's only wearing panties underneath.
A sigh slips from him as he stares at her, his eyes on the just visible swells of her breasts. The fact that she's braless isn't anything new; she did that plenty when wearing all of those dresses in high school, but now he can look without feeling guilty, and her gentle smile tells him she's not at all uncomfortable under his gaze.
His fingers itch to touch her, and he reaches one hand forward, slowly slipping it between the halves of her dress, sighing again when his fingertips brush against the smooth skin of her stomach.
He lays his palm flat against it, feeling the slight rise and fall as she breathes, and then lets his hand slide to her side and around her waist, pulling her to him, loving the way her hand rises to grip his arm.
He can feel her breasts on his chest now, knows that her dress has fallen completely open, but his eyes are only on her face, scanning her hazel eyes.
Her smile hasn't wavered, and he lifts his other hand to her face, fingertips ghosting over her cheek before he pushes her hair behind her ear and lowers his mouth to hers again.
His hand falls to the strap of her dress, and he slowly pushes it from her shoulder. She moves her arm, shrugging that side of the dress off completely, and his hand drops to her breast, squeezing gently, feeling the hard peak of her nipple against his palm, and hearing her quiet moan as he passes his thumb over it.
"Lie down," he murmurs, his lips brushing hers.
He moves back a step, and she lets her dress fall off the rest of the way before sinking onto the bed and scooting back until she's against the pillows.
Her teeth press against her bottom lip as she watches him undress, feeling a small flutter in her stomach.
Over the past month and a half, she's had sex three times with her professor, bringing her grand total of sexual encounters up to four. She's a little bit more knowledgeable about her body now, has a little bit more experience, but she's still anxious because of how badly she wants this with Will.
More than anything, she just doesn't want to disappoint him.
He strips to his underwear and climbs onto the bed, moving up her body until he's over her.
She smiles up at him, and he bends to kiss her, his hand returning to her breast, squeezing and kneading, pinching the nipple between his fingers and making her arch into his touch.
Part of him wonders if she's done this with her professor at Yale, though he doesn't want to think about that at the moment.
He just hopes that she's his now, because the crush went both ways; he just had to hide his feelings, push them back and lock them away, because to act on them would have been inappropriate, not to mention illegal.
But she's here, with him in a way he only ever fantasized about in his darkest dreams, and he wants to keep her, to calculate exactly how far it is between Washington and New Haven so they can visit on weekends, to know just how much time they'll have together before they have to separate once more.
He doesn't want to think about what will happen when he has to come back to Lima, but he has her now; it's not worth it to spend time worrying about what might happen when the future's so far away.
His hand slides down her body to drift between her legs, and he strokes her through her panties, feeling the fabric grow wetter as he presses it against her.
She moans into his mouth, her legs spreading as her hips push against his hand, and he grins a little as he moves to kiss her neck, letting the quiet sounds she makes fill his ears as his fingers slip under her panties.
"Oh god," she gasps, her head tipping back when he pushes one finger inside of her.
He smiles against her skin, and then scrapes his teeth over her throat, following it with his tongue, and forcing a high-pitched sound from her.
"God, Will, please," she begs, her hand dropping between them to push at the waist of his boxers.
He laughs softly, loving the way his name sounds on her lips, and pushes to his knees, reaching for the waist of her panties to tug them down her legs.
His boxers follow, and he stretches out over her again, gently pushing her legs apart with one hand on her thigh.
His hand slides underneath her to lift her hips slightly, lightly gripping her backside as he slowly pushes inside of her, and he groans at the sensation, at how good she feels.
Her hands rise to grip his arms, and he shifts the hand on her backside to brace against the mattress, keeping her leg hooked over his arm as he begins to move.
Her mouth is open, gaze lowered to watch him slide in and out of her, and he lowers his body to hers, kissing up her chest until he can nudge her jaw with his nose, tipping her head up so he can kiss her.
She kisses him back in between quick, hot breaths against his mouth, and he lets his forehead rest against hers as he continues to move, rolling his hips and pushing deep.
Maybe they could've done this while she was still at McKinley, thrown all concerns about legality and propriety out the window, but he doesn't think it would've been as good with that kind of guilt and anxiety hanging over their heads.
People will still frown upon it, but it doesn't matter now. They're not doing anything wrong, and he thinks waiting has made this even better.
Her hands move to his back as he shifts to brings his legs up slightly, pushing hers further apart, and he feels her teeth graze his shoulder as he lowers his head into the curve of her neck.
She's not exactly vocal, but she's not completely silent either, the occasional muttered yes or swear word falling from her lips in between gasps and whimpers as her fingers press into his back, holding him tightly.
He can feel his orgasm close, and he pushes up onto his hands, needing to make her come before he does.
He shifts to support himself on one hand, and lets her leg fall to the bed as he brings his other hand between them, rubbing his fingers against her clit as he keeps up the movement of his hips.
A slightly strangled fuck slips from her before her mouth falls open, her head tipping back as her hands drop to the bed.
The last time she'd slept with her professor was the first time she'd had an orgasm that wasn't brought on by her own hands between her legs, but if the jolts of pleasure delivered by Will's fingers, tingling all the way to her toes, are any indication, this is going to be much better than any she's had yet.
She swears once more, vaguely aware of her own voice gasping yes over and over again, and then she's coming hard, gripping the sheets in her fingers as her back arches, her toes curling so tight they almost hurt.
It hits him that she's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, so exposed and vulnerable, and above all, so trusting, and he swears as he comes, crying out and gritting his teeth as his head falls forward.
He drops to one elbow, his head still bowed as he runs his hand through his hair, waiting for his body to calm.
After a moment, he lowers himself further, shifting down and bringing his hand to her side, fingers splayed and pressing a little into her skin, as he touches a kiss to her stomach.
He smiles when he feels her fingers in his hair, and kisses her stomach once more before he moves to lie beside her, his hand sliding to her back as he pulls her close.
His smile mirrors hers, and he bends his head forward to kiss her forehead.
"What about your professor?" he murmurs against her skin, his thumb rubbing absently over the small of her back.
She shrugs. "It was just casual; we weren't like, exclusive or anything. Honestly, after that argument we had, I wasn't sure what things would be like when I got back." She giggles softly. "I'll just tell him I got together with a guy from school while I was home for the holidays."
"I just don't want him to take it out on your grade or something equally vindictive."
She laughs softly. "It'll be fine."
They're quiet for a moment, and then he smirks. "Now we just need to figure out how long it is to get from New Haven to D.C."
"About five and a half hours," she answers without hesitation.
He stares at her in surprise, and she lifts her gaze to his face, looking a little sheepish.
"I may have already checked after I found out that's where you were."
He laughs and holds her closer, kissing her forehead again, and then says, "Well, that's almost 12 hours round trip, which is just way too much for one day, so the only solution will be for us to stay together for a whole weekend."
"What a tragedy," she murmurs, grinning as she looks up at him again.
"I'm absolutely devastated," he replies, grinning back before pressing his lips to hers.
Quinn shakes her head as she stalks into the hallway, her cheek still stinging from Santana's slap.
"Projecting," she mutters, starting in the direction of the bathroom. "She's just jealous."
"Quinn?"
She jumps sharply at the familiar voice saying her name, and spins to find Will standing right behind her, so close that she almost runs into him.
His hands rise to steady her, and for a moment he's holding her in place, his body mere inches from hers. She can feel his warmth, can smell his cologne when she takes a deep breath through her nose, and feels something begin to unravel inside of her.
Speaking of projecting, she thinks, giving herself a quick mental shake as she steps back.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he says, moving back a step too. "I just heard you sort of... mumbling to yourself. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she mumbles, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "Santana and I just reunited in our customary fashion."
A small frown creases Will's brow as he looks at her a little closer, raising his hand to her chin and tilting her head slightly to the side.
"I can see that. Are you okay?" he asks again.
She moves her head from his touch, forcing a smile as she meets his gaze briefly before looking away.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I, um, didn't think you'd be here. Finn said you were in Washington on some panel or something."
Will nods. "Yeah, but I wanted to come back and see the kids at Sectionals. What about you, how's Yale?"
"It's fine," she says, flashing another quick smile.
He frowns again. "Quinn, are you sure you're okay?"
Irritation suddenly flares within her, and she scowls. "You can stop acting like my teacher, okay, I graduated. You don't have to pretend to care about me anymore."
She turns on her heel to start down the hallway, angry with herself for letting these old feelings rise again, and wanting to get away from him so they'll go away, but then his hand is on her arm, pulling her to a stop.
"I'm not pretending," he says, frowning as he comes to stand in front of her. "I've always cared about you, Quinn, I'm just trying to help."
"Yeah, well, I'm fine," she mutters, tugging her arm from his grip.
"Look, if you want to talk, give me a call. I'm back in my apartment while I'm here."
She jerks her head in a quick nod, mumbling, "Yeah, right, okay," before turning and continuing down the hall, certain he's watching her go.
A few hours later, she awakes from a restless nap, and rolls onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.
She'd been nervous about coming back to Lima for Thanksgiving, not knowing how she might feel seeing Will again, and then Finn told her that Will was off on some panel thing in Washington, D.C.
She'd been relieved, thinking that if she could go just a little longer without seeing him, maybe her feelings would vanish.
Seeing him today had thrown her for a loop, and everything she'd tried to ignore in high school was coming back full force.
After letting his name slip one too many times while she was with her psych professor at Yale, the argument about projecting had occurred, and God, how it stung to realize how right he was.
Will is her teacher, though; she can't possibly act on her feelings for him. It probably amounted to nothing more than some silly high school crush.
It's not, and you know it, her subconscious scolds. And he's not your teacher anymore.
The last thought hangs in her mind, repeating itself over and over again, and then she pushes to stand.
She moves to her suitcase and rummages around inside until she finds her favorite white dress, changes quickly, and grabs her purse from the top of her dresser.
Her mother will never notice she's gone.
Will sits on his couch, staring pensively at the TV. He's watching with only passing interest, his mind on other things.
Like Quinn Fabray.
He supposes he should have figured she would come home for the holidays, but somehow it never crossed his mind that he might see her.
She looks different somehow, even though just a few months have passed since he last saw her, but in a good way. Her hair is longer, giving her a slightly more mature look, and there's something different in the way she carries herself that he can't quite pinpoint.
He thinks about how she snapped at him earlier when he pushed her about her argument, or whatever it was, with Santana. Her irritation confused him, especially when she'd seemed completely civil just a minute prior, if a little flustered, and he still wondered if her fight with Santana was really all that was bothering her.
Connecticut looks good on her, he has to admit, and his mind drifts to her blue dress and red sweater, that thin yellow belt accentuating her slender waist.
A beat later, he groans, his head falling back as he covers his face with his hands.
"What the hell are you doing?" he mutters to his empty apartment. "She's your student."
Not anymore, his subconscious reminds him, almost in a singsong.
His hands slide to the back of his head and he opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as this thought circles around and around in his mind.
A sudden knocking on the front door pulls him from his thoughts and makes him jump, and he frowns as he stands, wondering who it could be.
His eyes widen slightly when he pulls the door open to reveal Quinn on the other side, and for a fleeting moment, wonders if he somehow willed her here.
"Quinn," he says, surprised. "Hey."
"Hey," she murmurs, her lips twitching in something resembling a smile. "You said to call if I wanted to talk, but, well, I hate talking on the phone, so I thought I'd just – come by. I hope that's okay."
"Yeah, it's definitely okay," he says with a quick nod. "Come on in."
He stands back, opening the door wider and then closing it after she's inside, turning to face her.
He smiles when he sees she's looking at him, and starts towards her, gesturing for her to move into the living room and letting his hand rest lightly on her waist as he walks behind her.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asks as she settles on the couch, watching her pull off her coat. She's wearing a white dress that he remembers well, and he swallows hard as she twists to lay her coat over the arm of the couch. "Or eat, maybe? I ordered pizza earlier for dinner, there's still some left."
She starts to shake her head, and then raises her eyebrows. "Could I have some water?"
"Sure," he murmurs, flashing another smile before turning to head into the kitchen.
Quinn watches him go, and then blows out a nervous breath as she pulls her skirt over her knees, trying to calm the anxious pounding of her heart.
Her burst of impulsivity had brought her all the way here, but now her confidence is beginning to fade, and she wonders if she'll be able to tell him what she feels like she needs to confess.
He returns with her water, handing her the glass before settling beside her on the couch, and she smiles her thanks as she takes a sip.
"I'm sorry about earlier," she says when she lowers the glass. "For acting all pissy. It's like Santana always knows just how to get to me. Like knowing just where to stick the dagger so it goes right between the ribs and into the heart."
She makes a stabbing, twisting motion with her hand, and grins a little when he laughs.
"So what happened, exactly? I mean, if it was serious enough for her to hit you –"
"Well," she says, shifting a little, "I sort of may have hit her first."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Then it really was serious."
"Yeah." She shrugs. "Finn picked me to mentor Kitty, and then Santana came in, saying Kitty was a bitch. I said I didn't think she was that bad, and I told her she was projecting her feelings for Kitty on to me, that she was just jealous of me, you know?"
Will nods, listening patiently, letting her get it all out like he was always good at.
"And then –"
She breaks off, frowning down at her water glass, and takes another sip before continuing.
"I learned about projecting in my psych class at Yale, and, well – I'm dating him. My psych professor."
Concern transforms Will's face, though she thinks she sees something else there too.
"Quinn –"
"The thing is," she continues, speaking over him, looking down at her hands again. "I told Santana that she was projecting, but I think the only reason I thought of that word – projecting – was because of an argument he and I had just before I left to come here."
She hesitates again, and then pushes to stand, suddenly feeling restless.
"I've talked about you, you know. With him. You and everybody, those 'getting to know you' sort of conversations, but it's like he saw more than what I thought I was really saying. He interpreted everything I thought I had pushed away, and he said that the only reason I was with him was because –"
She pauses abruptly, unable to believe she's about to admit this, and fighting the sting of tears rapidly rising in her eyes.
"It's okay, Quinn," he says quietly, his voice reassuring. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. You know you can always tell me anything."
She gives a short, humorless laugh, raising a hand to her face. If he knew what she was about to say, he might not be so willing to listen.
"Because," she finally says, taking a deep breath, "I was projecting my – my feelings for you onto him."
She chances a glance at his face, not knowing how to interpret what she sees there, and then pushes on, needing to get this out now that she's gotten the ball rolling.
"It – it started junior year, I think. You were so nice to me when I was pregnant, sort of like the one person I knew was always on my side, and I don't know how, but my feelings just like – exploded or something, and I had this crush on you, and I always kind of wished, or wondered, I guess, if you felt the same, but I know that's ridiculous."
She's rambling now, and can feel his eyes on her, but he's so quiet, and she can't bear to look at him, doesn't want to see rejection there, or worse, pity.
A beat passes, and she shakes her head, moving to snatch her coat and purse from the couch.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles, hating the tremor of emotion in her voice. "I shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."
She hurries for the front door, needing to get out of here and wondering if it's possible to book a last minute flight back to New Haven for tomorrow morning, and hears him stand, hears his voice behind her.
"Quinn, wait –"
He catches her at the door with his hand on her arm, and turns her to face him.
She stares at his chest, still not able to meet his eyes, and he lifts his hand to her chin, tipping her head up with his fingers.
His eyes search hers, and her heart leaps at the slight curve of his lips.
"It's not a mistake," he says softly, his thumb drifting over the edge of her jaw.
She stares at him a moment, hyperaware of his thumb still stroking her skin, how close he is to her and the warmth of his body.
Her fingers twitch, and then she throws caution to the winds, dropping her coat and purse to the floor as she takes his face in her hands, pulling him to her for a kiss.
He kisses her back, his fingers sliding into her hair, and then she pulls away slightly, taking a breath as her hands fall to his shoulders.
She's not sure where this is going, though she's very aware of what her body is telling her it wants, and if she's honest with herself, she's not inclined to ignore it, especially after so long of wanting it.
His hand drifts to her neck, thumb sweeping over her throat, and her eyelashes flutter when he brushes his lips over her forehead.
His hand moves again, thumb pressing gently against the underside of her jaw, and she lifts her head, meeting his eyes once more.
Her mouth falls open slightly at the look on his face, and then his lips are on hers again, sucking on her bottom lip and making her moan.
She gasps softly when he pushes her against the door, and her brow creases slightly as deepens the kiss, sliding her tongue against his.
She grips his shirt to pull him closer, needing his body right against hers, and hears him breathe her name between kisses.
"Bedroom," she whispers, nipping at his bottom lip and grinning when she feels his lips curve.
His fingers curl around hers, and he leads her to his bedroom, closing the door behind them and moving towards her, bending his mouth to hers once more.
His hand rests on her hip, holding her close, and after a minute her hand covers his, moving it to the tie holding her dress together.
A grin lifts the corner of his mouth, and they both look down to watch his fingers pluck apart the bow.
Her dress loosens, not quite falling open, but giving him a glimpse of her body, showing him that she's only wearing panties underneath.
A sigh slips from him as he stares at her, his eyes on the just visible swells of her breasts. The fact that she's braless isn't anything new; she did that plenty when wearing all of those dresses in high school, but now he can look without feeling guilty, and her gentle smile tells him she's not at all uncomfortable under his gaze.
His fingers itch to touch her, and he reaches one hand forward, slowly slipping it between the halves of her dress, sighing again when his fingertips brush against the smooth skin of her stomach.
He lays his palm flat against it, feeling the slight rise and fall as she breathes, and then lets his hand slide to her side and around her waist, pulling her to him, loving the way her hand rises to grip his arm.
He can feel her breasts on his chest now, knows that her dress has fallen completely open, but his eyes are only on her face, scanning her hazel eyes.
Her smile hasn't wavered, and he lifts his other hand to her face, fingertips ghosting over her cheek before he pushes her hair behind her ear and lowers his mouth to hers again.
His hand falls to the strap of her dress, and he slowly pushes it from her shoulder. She moves her arm, shrugging that side of the dress off completely, and his hand drops to her breast, squeezing gently, feeling the hard peak of her nipple against his palm, and hearing her quiet moan as he passes his thumb over it.
"Lie down," he murmurs, his lips brushing hers.
He moves back a step, and she lets her dress fall off the rest of the way before sinking onto the bed and scooting back until she's against the pillows.
Her teeth press against her bottom lip as she watches him undress, feeling a small flutter in her stomach.
Over the past month and a half, she's had sex three times with her professor, bringing her grand total of sexual encounters up to four. She's a little bit more knowledgeable about her body now, has a little bit more experience, but she's still anxious because of how badly she wants this with Will.
More than anything, she just doesn't want to disappoint him.
He strips to his underwear and climbs onto the bed, moving up her body until he's over her.
She smiles up at him, and he bends to kiss her, his hand returning to her breast, squeezing and kneading, pinching the nipple between his fingers and making her arch into his touch.
Part of him wonders if she's done this with her professor at Yale, though he doesn't want to think about that at the moment.
He just hopes that she's his now, because the crush went both ways; he just had to hide his feelings, push them back and lock them away, because to act on them would have been inappropriate, not to mention illegal.
But she's here, with him in a way he only ever fantasized about in his darkest dreams, and he wants to keep her, to calculate exactly how far it is between Washington and New Haven so they can visit on weekends, to know just how much time they'll have together before they have to separate once more.
He doesn't want to think about what will happen when he has to come back to Lima, but he has her now; it's not worth it to spend time worrying about what might happen when the future's so far away.
His hand slides down her body to drift between her legs, and he strokes her through her panties, feeling the fabric grow wetter as he presses it against her.
She moans into his mouth, her legs spreading as her hips push against his hand, and he grins a little as he moves to kiss her neck, letting the quiet sounds she makes fill his ears as his fingers slip under her panties.
"Oh god," she gasps, her head tipping back when he pushes one finger inside of her.
He smiles against her skin, and then scrapes his teeth over her throat, following it with his tongue, and forcing a high-pitched sound from her.
"God, Will, please," she begs, her hand dropping between them to push at the waist of his boxers.
He laughs softly, loving the way his name sounds on her lips, and pushes to his knees, reaching for the waist of her panties to tug them down her legs.
His boxers follow, and he stretches out over her again, gently pushing her legs apart with one hand on her thigh.
His hand slides underneath her to lift her hips slightly, lightly gripping her backside as he slowly pushes inside of her, and he groans at the sensation, at how good she feels.
Her hands rise to grip his arms, and he shifts the hand on her backside to brace against the mattress, keeping her leg hooked over his arm as he begins to move.
Her mouth is open, gaze lowered to watch him slide in and out of her, and he lowers his body to hers, kissing up her chest until he can nudge her jaw with his nose, tipping her head up so he can kiss her.
She kisses him back in between quick, hot breaths against his mouth, and he lets his forehead rest against hers as he continues to move, rolling his hips and pushing deep.
Maybe they could've done this while she was still at McKinley, thrown all concerns about legality and propriety out the window, but he doesn't think it would've been as good with that kind of guilt and anxiety hanging over their heads.
People will still frown upon it, but it doesn't matter now. They're not doing anything wrong, and he thinks waiting has made this even better.
Her hands move to his back as he shifts to brings his legs up slightly, pushing hers further apart, and he feels her teeth graze his shoulder as he lowers his head into the curve of her neck.
She's not exactly vocal, but she's not completely silent either, the occasional muttered yes or swear word falling from her lips in between gasps and whimpers as her fingers press into his back, holding him tightly.
He can feel his orgasm close, and he pushes up onto his hands, needing to make her come before he does.
He shifts to support himself on one hand, and lets her leg fall to the bed as he brings his other hand between them, rubbing his fingers against her clit as he keeps up the movement of his hips.
A slightly strangled fuck slips from her before her mouth falls open, her head tipping back as her hands drop to the bed.
The last time she'd slept with her professor was the first time she'd had an orgasm that wasn't brought on by her own hands between her legs, but if the jolts of pleasure delivered by Will's fingers, tingling all the way to her toes, are any indication, this is going to be much better than any she's had yet.
She swears once more, vaguely aware of her own voice gasping yes over and over again, and then she's coming hard, gripping the sheets in her fingers as her back arches, her toes curling so tight they almost hurt.
It hits him that she's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, so exposed and vulnerable, and above all, so trusting, and he swears as he comes, crying out and gritting his teeth as his head falls forward.
He drops to one elbow, his head still bowed as he runs his hand through his hair, waiting for his body to calm.
After a moment, he lowers himself further, shifting down and bringing his hand to her side, fingers splayed and pressing a little into her skin, as he touches a kiss to her stomach.
He smiles when he feels her fingers in his hair, and kisses her stomach once more before he moves to lie beside her, his hand sliding to her back as he pulls her close.
His smile mirrors hers, and he bends his head forward to kiss her forehead.
"What about your professor?" he murmurs against her skin, his thumb rubbing absently over the small of her back.
She shrugs. "It was just casual; we weren't like, exclusive or anything. Honestly, after that argument we had, I wasn't sure what things would be like when I got back." She giggles softly. "I'll just tell him I got together with a guy from school while I was home for the holidays."
"I just don't want him to take it out on your grade or something equally vindictive."
She laughs softly. "It'll be fine."
They're quiet for a moment, and then he smirks. "Now we just need to figure out how long it is to get from New Haven to D.C."
"About five and a half hours," she answers without hesitation.
He stares at her in surprise, and she lifts her gaze to his face, looking a little sheepish.
"I may have already checked after I found out that's where you were."
He laughs and holds her closer, kissing her forehead again, and then says, "Well, that's almost 12 hours round trip, which is just way too much for one day, so the only solution will be for us to stay together for a whole weekend."
"What a tragedy," she murmurs, grinning as she looks up at him again.
"I'm absolutely devastated," he replies, grinning back before pressing his lips to hers.