Title: Don't Hide Your Love
Author: Frensayce
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Spoilers: Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU
Disclaimers: Not mine.
A/N: Halloween prompt from forever ago. From my livejournal, here for you. :)

She blamed Kurt. And Tina. This misfortune could have easily been avoided if they'd just abided by her instructions instead of taking things into their own hands and sewing machines.

It began weeks ago. Noah's annual Halloween party was by invitation only and finally she'd received one, personally. She could have done without the leering and lewd suggestions the mohawked young man made, but it was rather flattering. It was nice to feel desired, more so now that she and Finn were done for good. Whatever spark they'd had sputtered out and extinguished before it had a chance to reignite. They agreed to be friends. They worked better like that anyway.

What was not working, however, was the costume she'd been planning in the meanwhile. Rachel's mind rolled back to Kurt Hummel and Tina Cohen-Chang. Enlisting them for their knowledge of design and fashion did not turn out to be the brilliant idea she'd assumed. Kurt constantly volunteered his candid critiques, as expected, while Tina took measurements, accompanied her to pick out the rich ebony fabric, cut the pattern, then sewn and fitted the dress within a hairsbreadth of her petite figure, thus creating the gorgeous gown she was supposed to be wearing tonight. Nevertheless, Kurt, as he was wont to do, interfered when Rachel wasn't looking.

Now, the virtue of her elegant Victorian inspired dress was besmirched and unsalvageable, dismantled and resembling the outfit she wore in attempt to seduce her ex-boyfriend during their sophomore year, the day before he called her a sad clown hooker. Gone were the floor length petticoats, slashed by a snooty schoolboy with scissors and a seam ripper, leaving it shorter than the candy striper getup Santana wore around school during that strange mononucleosis epidemic. She remembered it because it was bizarre, not because she found the sight of caramel colored toned legs and the sway of the cheerleader's hips appealing.

She sighed, spotting the snarky young woman across the room. Santana was beautiful, but too much of a bitch for Rachel to hold any real attraction. Well, that may not be all true. There was one bitch the brunette couldn't get out of her head. Her thoughts drifted to the person whom constantly pervaded her mind before she pushed them away. Thinking about the latest object of her romantic obsession was futile so she returned her attention to Santana, appraising her costume. Dressing as Amy Winehouse not only complimented her dark good looks, but was a fitting tribute to the late artist she idolized. She sincerely hoped Santana was wearing a wig, otherwise she saw a hellish deep conditioning treatment in her future.

Suddenly, Super Girl flew in from nowhere holding two shot glasses and wearing a big smile. "Hi, Rachel!"

The brunette started. Her persona for the evening was of course in homage to Broadway: going to a costume party as Christine Daaé from Phantom of the Opera was an obvious choice—the show's masquerade ball was a pivotal scene—but adding the Venetian mask was her own Rachel Berry twist on the character. Pastel lavender to match the accents of her black, off-the-shoulder dress, it had a mosaic of hand sewn black beads and gold sequins and tied around her head with two strips of black ribbon. More than the traditional eye mask, but less than a full face one, the faux fur lined accessory covered almost her entire visage. It revealed enough of her mouth to speak and drink, but her identity remained protected. She was positive no one would guess she came as the heroine of the legendary musical, thus winning the competition she was sure happened at such parties, but when she saw the full disguise in her bedroom mirror, she wondered if anyone would be able to recognize her as herself, either.

"How did you know it was me?"

Brittany shrugged. "Easy-peasy. You're so uptight and your body looks all statue-y and stuff." The tall blonde threw back a shot of the clear liquid she held, then offered the other glass to Rachel. "You should really relax. Or else tonight you're gonna be you instead of a slutty princess."

The diva's mouth dropped open. Agreed, her outfit concealed very little, less than her normal skirts or the little black dress she'd worn for glee club's exercise in theatricality, but she didn't think she looked like a harlot, royal or not. "A slutty princess?"

"A really hot slutty princess. You look better when you're not yourself." Drunk already, Santana emphasized her arrival with a bump of her hip against Rachel's. "And haven't you seen Mean Girls? Halloween is the perfect excuse to look as slutty as you can without being judged."

The often-bullied girl shook her head, a few loose curls falling forward from her ornately styled bun. "Forgive me for avoiding that particular film in order to preserve what little optimism about high school I have left."

Santana rolled her eyes. "First rule of not being Rachel Berry, stop talking. Or at the very least, keep it to one or two words, okay Princess Sleeps-Around-A-Lot?"

"Santana! That's highly offensive."

"Whatever." Grabbing the glass from Brittany, and instead of downing it herself, she pushed it toward Rachel, who refused. "Get over yourself already. See those two by Beyoncé and Jay-Z over there?"

Brown eyes followed to where Santana indicated. Costumed as described, Mercedes Jones and her boyfriend whose name Rachel could never remember stood next to a couple whom evidently forgot they were in public, or perhaps didn't care. The make-out session between the Teen Wolf with glasses and yellow-wigged Barbie Doll was not pretty. It was sloppy and gross.

"That's Jewfro and Sugar Motta. I'll pause so you can swallow back the vomit." She waited, but the disgusting sight hadn't provoked so intense a reaction from Rachel. Her stomach only rolled once.

"Now, you best recognize: Halloween is all about doing things you would normally never do while looking as hot as possible. So, add some sauce to this edible little tart look you're somehow rocking, and drink up." Santana held up the shot again, "One night, princess. Use it or lose it."

Persuaded by the oddly friendly peer pressure, Rachel took the glass and tossed it back like Brittany had done. She gagged. It was revolting. Yet after a few coughs and clearing her throat, it didn't burn as much. The lime the dancer handed her helped, too.

"It's okay. It takes a few before the tequila starts to taste really good." Super Girl pulled a flask out of one of her red boots and refilled the two glasses. She passed it over to Santana who muttered something about how there was nothing like having the good stuff before drinking straight from the small container. Another shot was thrust into Rachel's hand and Brittany raised a toast. "To not being ourselves! Except me, because I'm not even in costume. I really am a superhero."

An adoring smile stretched across the face of Santana Lopez. "Damn right you are, B."

The two shared a look Rachel felt uncomfortable witnessing. It was private and intimate to the extreme, the kind reserved not for lovers necessarily, but for people in love. She wished someone would look at her like that. A specific individual came to mind.

"Santana?"

The black haired girl didn't break away from the fond gaze that was slowly turning into something more. "Huh?"

"Umm, where's Quinn?"

Brittany answered, distracted. "She got really mad at San and left. I don't think she's coming back."

The mask couldn't hide her frown. This crush was more of a nuisance than anything else, lately. Regal and cold, Quinn Fabray never so much as glanced at Rachel during regular classes and barely tolerated her in glee. It was ludicrous to think they might one day stare at each other the way Santana and Brittany did. Rachel shook off the disappointment and decided she needed to cheer up. Pining for googly-eyed infatuation from the artic teen wasn't worth it; Quinn was straight. So, she needed to let go of that late night fantasy and have fun while she could.

Thoroughly converted to the girls' way of thinking, Rachel did her shot. Brittany was right: it wasn't as bad as the first one. She looked between the cheerleaders. They'd moved much closer in past few seconds. It looked like they, too, were about to forget they were in public.

Rachel relieved Brittany of her shot, drank it, then set the small glasses down on the nearby sideboard. Appropriating the flask from Santana was a little less easy, but doable: they just reached the point of not caring about being in public. Amy Winehouse making out with Super Girl was…delectable. Staying to watch would be ruinous to her forbearance. The diva allowed herself the final rush of excitement coursing through her at the sight. Smirking, she took a pull of tequila from the flask then spared one last glance at her sometimes friends before sauntering off through the house, leaving them and Rachel Berry behind.