#memorable scenes

There’s no question in Rachel’s mind of which skirt she intends to don for this little activity of theirs. She quickly grabs the yellow and black plaid that had been one of her favorites back in freshman year—the same one Quinn’s attention had lingered on yesterday—and a matching soft yellow sweater that thankfully hadn’t been thrown out. There’s a brief moment of regret that it doesn’t have a bumblebee sewn into the front, just to give Quinn the full Rachel Berry Experience, but this will just have to suffice. 

Tossing the clothes onto her bed, she rummages through her dresser drawers in search of any appropriate accessories to the ensemble. She squeals in triumph when she not only finds a yellow headband but a pair of yellow and black argyle socks.  “Perfect,” she mutters to herself, throwing them onto her mattress next to her outfit before eagerly stripping out of her current clothes. She pauses for a moment at her underwear, considering, before she decides to strip them off as well. She has a feeling Quinn will appreciate the easy access and she knows she certainly will. A heavy spike of arousal zings through her, and that’s without even thinking of Quinn in her uniform. 

She’s not completely disconnected from the less fond memories of that uniform. She has a complicated relationship with the red, white and black of their alma mater for numerous reasons, not all of them related specifically to Quinn. But when Quinn had mentioned that her mother still had her old uniform—well, the rush of heat that had overtaken her at the image of Quinn in that skirt had not been the least bit unpleasant. 

Rachel tosses her discarded clothes onto the closet floor, unconcerned with neatness for the moment, and grabs a pair of Mary Janes before she closes the door again. She reaches for her skirt first, tugging it up over her hips, relieved when the zipper closes without incident. (Her workout regime really has paid off in the best of ways.) She pulls the sweater over her head, and although it seems a little more snug around her breasts than she recalls, it still fits comfortably enough. The socks and shoes come next, and after quickly brushing her hair, she slips the headband into place, eyeing her reflection in the full length mirror. 

Okay, the Catholic school girl thing that Santana occasionally teases her about is not entirely undeserved. “Were these skirts always this short?” she wonders out loud, unsuccessfully attempting to tug the material down another inch. While she suspects her breasts have actually gotten fuller since she was fifteen, she knows she hasn’t gotten any taller. Laughing, Rachel shakes her head. “No wonder Quinn was so enamored with this look.” It makes her legs and ass look fantastic. All in all, Rachel is very pleased with the effect.  

The sharp knock at her door tells Rachel that the object of her musings has arrived, and her heart begins to race with excitement. She can’t wait for Quinn to see her. She can’t wait to see Quinn.  A second impatient knock sounds at the door. 

"Open up, Berry. What did I say about keeping me waiting?"

Rachel rolls her eyes at her girlfriend’s impatience, but she can’t deny that the commanding note in her voice is doing things for her. Just the thought of Quinn barking out orders in that uniform—

She shivers visibly before she draws in a calming breath and wills herself to get into character. Setting her face into a serious expression, she opens the door. "Really, Quinn? It would behoove you to practice your patience as well as your scales."

The words are out before Rachel has a chance to fully take in the vision before her, but when she does, her mouth goes instantly dry while parts further south do the exact opposite. She’d somehow forgotten just how that uniform had looked on Quinn up close and in person. The sleeveless top shows off her wide shoulders and strong arms. One hand is propped on her hip in a familiar pose, and the position stretches the fabric tight across her breasts. Was the top always that tight? Quinn’s enticing curves are obvious even under the WHMS insignia, and Rachel can immediately tell that her girlfriend isn’t wearing a bra. Her fingers itch to go exploring despite the rough polyester fabric. Her gaze dips even lower to the short red skirt that clings to Quinn’s hips. The pleats do almost nothing to hide the entire length of Quinn’s smooth, muscled legs from her view.  

Rachel’s fingers tighten around the doorknob as she struggles not to simply throw herself at Quinn and kiss her breathless. There’d been a small worry niggling at the back of her mind that the vision of Quinn in this uniform would bring back enough bad memories to dull the attraction she feels, but apparently that’s not an issue at all. (In fact, she’s suddenly worryingly aware that the remembered meanness might actually add to the overall appeal of the fantasy, but she’s not willing to unpack any of the potential psychological implications of that at the moment.)   

"I…I like your sweater," Quinn stutters out, endearingly awkward for just a moment—enough to remind Rachel that this isn’t the same scared, defensive girl who’d worn this uniform in high school. 

The words are achingly familiar, and Rachel’s heart takes flight at the memory of their very first meeting.  She smiles when she realizes that Quinn is clearly appreciating everything she’s seeing as much as Rachel is. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. 

Lifting a hand to her chest, she slowly drags it down over her breasts and watches hazel eyes follow the motion with delight. "Why, thank you, Quinn. And may I say, you look very,” her hungry gaze drags over her girlfriend again, a dozen adjectives jumping forward in her mind: gorgeous, powerful, sexy, ridiculously hot, but she settles for, “spirited in your uniform." She somehow manages to keep a friendly smile on her face when all she really wants to do is drop down to her knees and find out exactly what’s under those pleats. "Do come in," she invites, opening the door wider and gesturing for Quinn to come inside.