Title: Third Time's The Charm

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4,682

Pairing(s): Some Quinn/Finn, Quinn/Puck, Quinn/Rachel, slight bits of Brittany/Santana and some Quinn (unconsciously and sometimes consciously) perving over other Cheerios.

Spoilers: Tiny hints of Preggers but nothing huge really

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything Glee related… This would have happened already if I did LOL

Summary/AN: Prompt from the livejournal community glee_Kink: The 2 times Quinn faked an orgasm and the 1 time she didn't. Un-beta'd because I don't have a beta, but if anyone would like to volunteer to beta for me, I may write more =D

***

The first time Quinn has sex—or a real sexual encounter rather— it's with Finn and it's directly after an especially vigorous cheerleading practice.

She can't quite put her finger on it but there's just something about their new routine that gets her blood flowing. Maybe it's because a slight miscalculation in choreography somehow landed her at the bottom of the pyramid for once and she's so used to being at the top of the pyramid that she's forgotten how much effort and adrenaline it takes to be the foundation holding the pyramid together. Or maybe it's because the routine, as Coach Sylvester had so eloquently put it, "reeks of victory and trophy polish with a hint of saline tears the other squads will be crying once they see it." Quinn's not entirely sure but whatever it is by the time she leaves practice her entire body is humming with this sort of energy that accumulates and settles in this deep rhythmic ache between her thighs, which explains her actions when she uncharacteristically shoves her boyfriend, Finn, up against the row of lockers she finds him leaning against in the boy's locker room.

Finn looks mildly shell-shocked, glancing around the locker room like he doesn't know full and well that football practice ends a whole half hour before Cheerios practice which means that all the guys— as well as Coach Tanaka— are long gone and probably half way through their post practice snacks by now.

Quinn kisses him despite his seeming hesitance, fisting her hands in his practice football jersey and tugging until he gets the hint that for once, she wants this—she needs this.

His kisses are as sloppy and as overenthusiastic as always; he uses way too much tongue and he obviously hasn't been using that ChapStick she bought him forever ago but at this moment she doesn't even care, not even when he practically paws at her breasts through her cheerleading top.

It's all so frustrating though—the kissing and the fawning and the touching—because it's doing nothing and all Quinn desperately wants is for Finn to just alleviate that dizzying rush and consistent pounding between her thighs that's making her feel woozy.

She tugs at one of his hands, guides it beneath her uniform skirt and rests it upon her spankies hoping he'll get the picture but he just stops everything all together, his expression turning fittingly clueless.

"Are you sure you want to do this Quinn?" He asks, in a way that would be endearing if her body wasn't aflame with arousal right now. She nods, pressing his hand firmer into her, and God, it lessens the aches just a little. His hand still remains immobile beneath hers though and she bites back a frustrated growl as he appraises her like someone has suddenly replaced his usually straight-laced girlfriend with a robot or something. "Here?" He asks and Quinn actually does let out that little frustrated growl because she knows Finn wants this—she can feel it pressing against her thigh through his football tights—she just wishes he'd take it like she knows he has been wanting to for the past few months.

"Finn! God, yes, here!" She growls out, pressing his hand against her once again.

He finally relents and slips his hand beneath her spankies. His fingers are cold, calloused, and the rough edge of them makes her jump a bit.

She's pretty sure she's never been this wet before— not even that one time when she was thirteen and she accidently watched that porno that she found hidden among her dad's Bible Stories on DVD collection—and she's pretty sure that because she's this wet it shouldn't be hard to get her off but Finn is clumsy; he can't seem to breathe and touch her at the same time and he even prods her with the blunt edge of his nail a few times when trying to find her entrance.

He finally finds it though and slides two fingers in knuckle deep.

Quinn let a rush of air slip past her parted lips, her fingers instantly clawing into Finn's jersey and her head moving to rest against his chest. It hurts—his fingers inside her—in fact, it's not even a pain; it's more like a slow torturous burn that seems to flare up even more when he twists his fingers and reenters her, starting a slow awkward thrust. It's supposed to hurt though, she thinks. At least that's what her mom used to say. She can distinctly hear her mother's voice echoing in the crevasses of her brain: "It's not supposed to feel good. It's going to hurt, a lot, even more do when you do it before marriage Quinn." And that voice is definitely not helping.

She takes quick small breaths and bites into her bottom lip, trying everything she can to withstand the pain; she can't do it for long though. She finally smoothes her hands along his jersey and pushes against his pecks.

"Finn, stop!" she breathes out. He does, almost instantly, his face quickly adopting that clueless expression again.

"What?" He asks, and Quinn only just notices how flustered he looks, his face covered in a light sheen of sweat like they've been at this for hours. "Was it good?" He asks, pulling out of her, much to her relief. "Did you- you know?" His face looks so earnest, so eager to please that it breaks her heart a little.

She forces a smile, unwilling to break it to him.

"Yea…" she nods, patting his pecks. "Yea, I did,"

He grins at that, one of those genuinely happy smiles and she really just can't bear to be around this atmosphere anymore.

"Look, I have to go study," she quickly says, dashing out of the locker room and deliberately ignoring the echoed "for what?" that chases after her.

---

The second time Quinn has sex—and it's really sex this time—it's with Puck and it's directly after walking in on something she honestly never thought she'd see.

She's already half passed tipsy when she stumbles into bathroom only to find Brittany propped up on the ceramic sink countertop with Santana between the v of her thighs kissing her feverishly.

It takes her all but a second to take it all in—the connection of lips (it doesn't look wet and sloppy like it feels when Finn kisses her), the way Santana arches into Brittany (like she actually wants her to touch her), the eagerness with which Santana's hands roam, wandering up and down Brittany's thighs and legs (her skin is probably soft to touch, in fact, Quinn knows it is, she's let her fingers and palms linger over smooth ankles when steadying a girl or two during pyramid formation)— before she realizes that that feeling that blooms in the pit of her stomach isn't disgust and with that realization breeds the actual disgust.

"Eww gross!" She speaks loudly enough that the two cheerleaders pull apart, finally aware of the intrusion. "Get a room! And don't let anybody catch you doing that or they'll think the whole squad is like that," she manages as much indignation as she can even with that steady pulsing that has already flared up between her thighs. "Perverts," she snarls, distress tearing through her as she quickly exits the bathroom intent on leaving this stupid party this instant when she bumps right into the party's host.

"Where are you going?" Puck asks, placing his hands on Quinn's shoulders to steady the obviously tipsy girl.

"Home," She yells over the heavy base of loud techno music.

"Nuh uh, not like that you're not." Puck yells back. "Where's Finn?"

"I'm not his keeper Puck!" She says, crossing her arms indignantly.

"Come on!" He grabs her by the wrist, pulling her through the crowd of people. He takes her into a room at the very end of a hallway where the music only sounds like a distant memory. It's a big room, with a king sized bed and soft yellow painted walls. "You can lie down in my mom's bed until your less drunk." Puck says, still yelling even though there's no longer a need to.

Quinn rolls her eyes but she acknowledges for once that Puck is only trying to help, with good reason too because now that she stops to think about it (stops thinking about Brittany and Santana being all over each other in the bathroom) she really is in no condition to drive home.

"Puck," She calls, before her boyfriend's best friend can depart. "Thanks for this," she says genuinely. She goes to hug him, at least she means to hug him, but something—maybe it's the fuzzy lightheadedness from the alcohol, or the odd fluttering low in her stomach, or even the way Puck feels the way she's sure she's supposed to like—makes her tip up on her toes and press her lips to his instead.

It's supposed to be (or at least she thinks it's supposed to be) a chaste thank you kiss, but they've obviously had too much alcohol between them because with her tipsiness and his added liquid courage, neither of them think to stop when they tumble backwards on the bed with Puck resting heavily atop her.

His kisses are more controlled than Finn's, less sloppy, less wet but still not right. It's all pressure and not enough passion but she lets him forge on anyway, lets him drag his lips down the column of her throat and even whimpers a little when his tongue flicks out against her pulse point.

If there's anything Puck's an expert in, it's undressing them both in record time and when he rest atop her again, naked and clearly aroused, she realizes just how heavy he really feels on top of her.

He is experienced though. He knows not to savagely paw at her breasts and how to apply just enough suction with his lips that she feels it but it doesn't bruise, and when he finally slips inside her—and he does it bare and without warning— it doesn't hurt as much as Quinn expects it to, but it's not entirely painless either.

It stings a little at first. He's a lot bigger than Finn's two fingers and she can feel herself stretching to accommodate the width. She supposes it'll feel better after a few thrusts and she's right, kind of. After three or four heavy thrusts, it doesn't hurt anymore, but it doesn't feel good either, not to her at least; Puck on the other hand is grunting and groaning as he pushes into her and for a second she has to actually peer between their bodies to see if he's actually inside her and not just caught between her thighs or something because she literally feels nothing.

Well not nothing exactly. She feels his heavy body, and the beads of sweat rolling off of him and onto her, and his muscles twitching with each plunge forth, but she's definitely sure she's supposed to be feeling more than that.

She thinks that maybe it's because she's distracted. She's had a long day and there's a lot on her mind and all she needs to do is relax. She closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on Puck. She slides her fingers against the muscular contours of his back, thrusts her hips up when he pushes down, groans when he groans and it all seems to spur Puck on. He thrusts harder, his hips brushing against the insides of her thighs, groans out her name like she's actually doing something and all Quinn can do is lay back and pretend like she's enjoying it.

---

The third time Quinn has sex—well, she'd rather not think about the third time she has sex but that's just the problem; the only thing she can seem to think about as of late is the third time she had sex.

The locker room has cleared out pretty quickly after practice. Quinn takes her time packing up her duffle bag, conscious of the fact that it's only her and that one new chick (who got delayed when Coach Sylvester decided to keep her 15 minutes after to practice to chew her out for a less than perfect Round Off) left in the locker room.

Quinn can see the girl out of the corner of her eye as she peels off her uniform and she can almost swear that the air conditioner has started pumping out hot air by the time her fellow Cheerio has slipped out of everything except her spankies and a lacy cream colorued bra.

The bra is the next to go and Quinn lets out a jittered breath that she wasn't quite aware she was holding.

"Are you ok?" The girl asks, turning to face Quinn, concern probably etched in her features—Quinn wouldn't really know because her eyes are diverted elsewhere.

"Yeah," Quinn answers, snapping out of it quickly and practically shoving her head into her almost already empty locker to avoid looking at anything else. "I'm fine. It's just really hot." She says, moving her tennis shoes idly around in her locker so it looks like she's doing something.

"Yeah," The other girl answers and Quinn can hear the shift of material and knows instantly that the girl has taken off her spankies. "It is kind of warm in here,"

Quinn murmurs her agreement, keeping her eyes trained on her locker as she hears footsteps and then the gentle spray of a shower.

She almost cries out in relief when she's sure the girl is tucked away in a shower stall, completely away from her wandering eyes. She really shouldn't be feeling like this; she changes in the locker room with the Cheerios all the time, and ok, she does peek sometimes, but it's because she wants to evaluate her competition, right? That's normal!

It's definitely not normal to be perving over her fellow Cheerios. She remembers that one time, a week before their qualifiers for Nationals when JewFro drilled that peep hole into one of the shower stalls from the room next door and how disgusted she was that the little perv was even getting off on that. Coach Sylvester had been furious and had vowed to go plaster the hole herself if the incompetent janitorial staff didn't get on it within due the time. The next day, one of the fundamental bases in their pyramid had broken her leg and everything got so hectic Quinn wonders if that hole ever did get filled.

It's not like it really matters that much; she doesn't even shower in this locker room any more, not when the one upstairs, the one closer to the pool, is always empty. She's a bit curious though, so she quickly zips up her duffle bag, closes her locker and dashes out of the locker room and into the open band practice room next door.

And there it is. It's just small enough to be inconspicuous—Quinn wonders how many of these JewFro and pervs alike, can having hiding among crevasses of the school—but just big enough to get what Quinn is sure is a heck of a view.

She tests it out, bending to peep through the small hole and almost recoils when she realizes that it leads to the exact stall currently occupied by the new girl.

She feels her pulse rate quicken a bit, surprised at the practically uninterrupted view she has into the girl's privacy. Her blood is pumping so fast she's pretty sure she can hear it squishing in her ears. She breathes in deeply, a telling shiver working its way down her spines as she watches water sluice down the many contours and curves of a very feminine body.

She's so focused she doesn't even hear the door open and close behind her.

"Whatcha doing?"

Quinn sucks in a deep breath, her hand moving to clutch her chest beneath which her heart has sped up to at least 100 BPM.

"Jesus Man-Hands!" She hisses, pressing her back against the wall to cover up the hole she was peeping through. "Don't tell me your dads didn't teach you not to sneak up on people like that! It's common courtesy!"

Rachel ignores her and just presses on.

"What are you doing in here Quinn?" she asks, watching as Quinn practically presses herself into the wall, obviously attempting to hide something.

"What are you doing in here?" Quinn counters. Glee didn't meet after school today which means that Rachel really has no reason to be at school at all.

"The band teacher lets me practice in one of his practice rooms since Coach Sylvester books the auditorium out even when you Cheerios don't use it! You didn't answer my question though. What are you doing here?" She sees the slight shift of skin as Quinn swallows delicately and manages to press her back even further into the wall behind her, like she's trying to phase through it or something. "And what are you hiding?" Rachel asks, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Nothing!" Quinn says, a little too quickly for it to be even close to believable.

"It's obviously something Quinn," Rachel says moving closer to the blonde cheerleader.

"Jeez Berry, what are you trying to do? Rape me?" Quinn asks as Rachel advances on her. She's not sure how much it'd constitute as rape if she actually kind of invites it.

"Quinn, move!" Rachel says sternly. Since Quinn won't tell her what she's hiding, then Rachel is intent on finding out for herself.

"No RuPaul. Can't you just go away for once!" Quinn says, too nervous to actually sound angry. One more step and Rachel would actually be pressed against her; Quinn's pretty sure her body can't take that right now, especially with how traitorous it's already acting.

"Quinn, move!" Rachel repeats forcefully. She's pretty sure if she has to she can muster enough strength to actually move Quinn enough for her to actually see what the cheerleader is hiding behind her back.

She's about to actually do it, but Quinn—afraid of the repercussions of anyone even touching her overactive body now—shifts out of the way as if burned before Rachel even actually touches her.

The silence in the room is practically corporeal once Rachel sees what it is Quinn had been trying so hard to hide.

Rachel looks at the peep hole confusedly, then back at very flustered, very nervous looking Quinn. She's pretty sure it can't be what she thinks it is.

Curiously, she peeps into the hole herself and her eyebrows raise almost instantly.

"I'm checking for tattoos. You know its grounds for disqualification at most competitions." Quinn says quickly. It sounds wholly unconvincing and of course Rachel Berry of all people would be the one person to really pick up on that.

"Quinn, are you-?" Rachel begins.

"What? Of course not,"

"I didn't even ask the question yet."

"Yeah, well," Quinn itches the back of her neck in the ultimate sign of discomfort. "Whatever it was, it was ridiculous."

"You know it's ok if you are, right?" Rachel says, the words leaving her lips in one gush of breath. "I mean, I'm not gonna judge you…" she continues. "Well maybe a little for leading Finn on like that but maybe you like both… It's possible you know, to be bisexual and that's ok too, it really is and at least she's hott so you have good taste in girls and—"

Quinn's not sure what possesses her to do it—as seems to be the trend with most things she does nowadays—but she actually kisses Rachel Berry on the lips after school in a band practice room.

Rachel is completely still for a terrifying moment and Quinn is sure that she may just bolt from the room and they won't be able to look each other in the eye for the next month of so but then Rachel actually kisses back.

Rachel's kisses are more controlled than Finn's but less controlled than Puck's and that middle ground is kind of… perfect. It's not too wet or too sloppy but it is kind of sticky in the way anything would be once ChapStick and lip gloss are melded.

Rachel's mouth is smooth and silky, tasting of something sweet and familiar although Quinn can't quite put her finger on it. She tries to remember what Finn tastes like, or even Puck, but nothing comes to mind so she concludes that they really don't taste like anything.

She's vaguely aware of hands in her hair pulling at her hair tie until blonde locks cascade around her shoulders but she doesn't really pay attention to it, not until Rachel pulls her lips away from Quinn's and gasps.

Quinn thinks for a moment that maybe Rachel has finally registered what exactly is happening here , that maybe she realizes that this isn't exactly what enemies do, but Rachel doesn't run or even look mortified, in fact she looks sort of fascinated, fascinated and more than a little turned on. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted and glistening and Quinn thinks (not for the first time, if she's completely honest with herself) that she looks beautiful.

She leans forward, as if magnetized and kisses Rachel again. This time it's works perfectly, like a well choreographed routine. Rachel parts her lips beneath Quinn's instantly, her arms wrapping around the blonde's neck and tugging until they're stumbling backwards and leaning heavily against the wall.

Quinn tries to be somewhat controlled in her quest to touch so she picks a path and runs with it, letting her fingers slip beneath the scratchy material of Rachel's sweater to caress the warm flesh of her abdomen as her lips and tongue and teeth forge a heady path down the column of Rachel's throat. Her thumb draws circles across smooth skin as her fingers explore the curve of very feminine hips and the convexity of ribcage. She almost smiles when Rachel quivers beneath her fingertips and tries to bite back a moan when Rachel's own little exploration reaches a crescendo, her hands—small and soft and delicate (really nothing like man hands at all)—cupping Quinn's breasts through her top.

The small action seems to breed a sense of unspoken urgency between them because they're kissing again, hard and passionate, and Rachel's hands are moving quicker than ever, bypassing abdomen and hips— for some reason she feels there will be time to get to that in the future—and heading instantly south because it's obvious Quinn needs this.

Quinn's not even sure how she ends up being the one pinned against the wall but she is painfully aware of the fact, as Rachel presses against her, lacing kisses to her neck , that despite their differences, they kind of just fit together the way that two similar puzzle pieces really, really shouldn't. It's really, really nice though, the way that Rachel isn't heavy like Puck or enthusiastically clumsy like Finn. Rachel just is. She's enthusiastically attentive and heavy in all the right places and Quinn is sure that how much she's enjoying this really should warrant some kind of identity crisis, or something of the sort, but she's strangely ok with the fact that Rachel Berry is making her feel better than anyone ever has before. Rachel's fingers brush across flesh beneath the pleats of Quinn's cheerleading skirt, and Quinn decides that even if she were to have an identity crisis over this, now definitely isn't the time.

When Rachel's fingers actually breach the fabric of Quinn's spankies, Quinn thinks for a second that there is a huge possibility that she's dreaming up all of this but Rachel's fingers—they're wet, and it takes Quinn a quick second to realize that it's because she's just that wet—glide across Quinn's slick flesh and she's sure she couldn't dream up something so utterly fantastic even if she tried.

Rachel takes a few moments to just caress her, moving her fingers in smooth circles like she's familiarizing herself with the flesh more than anything.

Quinn's not sure if it's her body that's trembling or if it's Rachel's fingers against her; she thinks it may be a combination of both though because her body feels so alive right now that she's probably not above trembling and Rachel's making these breathy little awed sounds against Quinn's neck that probably mean she's not quite above trembling either.

Rachel's fingers slip lower and Quinn tenses up a little, expecting that hurt she felt with Finn and Puck. Rachel doesn't slip inside her though, only continues to play circles around her swollen flesh waiting for Quinn to relax again.

She doesn't though.

"If you don't want me to…" Rachel begins, her lips so close to Quinn's ear that Quinn quivers.

"I do!" Quinn says, surprised at the low, husky drawl of her voice. "I do," she repeats when it's obvious that Rachel doesn't quite believe her. "It's just…" she goes to explain about Finn and about Puck and is almost glad that she finds her potential word-vomit silenced by Rachel's lips.

Rachel does an amazing job relaxing her that by the time her fingers slips lower again Quinn doesn't even realize until two have slipped steadily inside her. That, she definitely realizes. She could compare it to Finn's fingers or to Puck's thing but she realizes there's no use. This is something completely different; this is building up to something, this is being swept up in something so powerful that Quinn can't even begin to explain it, this is Rachel Berry inside her somehow making her feel more wanted and loved and impassioned than she has ever felt in her entire life.

Rachel curls her fingers upwards, her palm brushing against Quinn in a way that's delightfully awkward and Quinn unconsciously bucks and moans, trying to hold onto the dizzying feeling that is taking over her. She feels hot and sticky, like she's on the verge of some kind of holy transubstantiation, like she may just melt into hot liquid straining against the delicious pressure of fingers and lips and hips, and everything that is Rachel Berry inside her and against her.

Rachel arches her fingers with a surprising dexterity and Quinn makes a grabs at anything she can, her fingers splaying against the wall behind her as her other hand grabs at Rachel's thigh, fingernails sinking into the slippery nylon of stockings and into flesh. Rachel actually whimpers when she feels Quinn's fingernails sink into her skin and that sound—guttural and rasping, nothing like Rachel's singing but musical in itself— reverberates against Quinn's ear and settles deep in the pits of her stomach and she just can't hold it in anymore. It's overwhelming and brilliant at the exact same time. She's so engulfed in sensations that she's not even sure which is which anymore. She finds herself having to blink back tears as her body convulses. She thinks she may fall, lapse into this feeling of intense pleasure but Rachel keeps her anchored, still thrusting inside her progressively slower while grasping onto her hip with her other hand, keeping her upright with a surprising show of strength.

The feeling eventually dissipates into small helpless shudders and gasps for much needed breaths. Rachel's nuzzled into her neck, like she's trying to breathe her in and all Quinn can do is run her still trembling fingers through dark hair, while she wills her heart to stop pounding against her breast bone.

When she finally wills herself to open her eyes, she finds Rachel smiling at her, and it's not a smug smile like she expects it to be, but it's genuinely pleased. Rachel doesn't ask stupid questions like "was it good?" or anything of the sort, she just smiles at her and holds her, and presses tiny butterfly kisses to the sweaty skin of her neck and its perfect.

The End