Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and encouragement to keep at this story! You're wonderful and I love you for it. And I apologize for the delay. Moving to NY and settling in has been more tasking than anticipated.

A/N: For all the porn I write, this was the most difficultly with a scene I've ever had. Hope it lives up to your expectations.

Quinn thought about replying. But Rachel wasn't asking her to speak. So she kissed her, kissed her with everything she'd held back during their last night together and everything that had built up while they were apart, today especially. Kissed her as though she never would again. Kissed her in prayer that that wasn't true.

Desire filled her veins, banishing all fear of losing her children but failing to allay the concern of what morning might bring. When Rachel's fingertips moved to one ear and her mouth went to the other Quinn forgot what fear was and groaned in pleasure. Hot air rushing over her skin and the resumed rocking of hotter hips drove her to the edge of reason until all she had left was the animal need for her wife she never stopped feeling. Her emotions, and Rachel, ruled her now. And although Quinn wasn't the greatest at discussing her feelings, she knew how to act on them. When she let herself. Which was usually when she was too far gone to control herself, often to the point of being unhinged. And here in this moment her defensive need to control everything around her fled.

Faster went Rachel's hips and harder became Quinn's grip. She helped the effort, raising her body to meet the brunette's while bringing Rachel down to grind on her abdomen. The taut muscles greeting her wife's core triggered a stronger spasm, but when Rachel switched ears, Quinn didn't slow their momentum. Biting. Sucking. Revisiting well known tricks used to soak Quinn's underwear. Her mouth found Rachel's jawline, leaving her own kisses and soft nips on her path to that tantalizing neck. Smooth and glistening with the finest sheen of emerging sweat it stretched to give Quinn more room for exploring, for tasting, for leaving marks on Rachel which weren't enough to dissuade her from wanting to see the four words that should be etched into her wife's ring finger.

Though thinner, Rachel's hands were still soft and gentle in their hurried need to strip Quinn down. She couldn't say her own hands weren't doing the same thing. The blonde ripped at the lacy straps of an old red camisole, wrenching them over tan shoulders as her mouth followed, first one then the other. Rachel slid her arms out of the straps and pulled the cami up and off. Sweet Jesus.

Quinn instantly latched on to a pebbled nipple and loved how it further hardened in her mouth. Laving and sucking, she worked her tongue over and over, feeling the fingers in her hair and the heavy breaths when she migrated to the other. Why did Rachel have to taste so good? Years of loving this woman never curbed Quinn's appetite for her. She nuzzled, trailing upward with little licks along Rachel's neck and kissing under her chin. Still tasting. She'd never be full, never grow tired of devouring her wife in every way. They may have suffered through droughts, some longer than others, but it was time for a revival. Time for a resurgence of what they'd once had and the passion they shared.

Impatient hands finally lifted off the old Yale t-shirt. Quinn hadn't bothered with a bra when she left the apartment and each woman moaned as their naked torsos met for the first time in months. Moans that were swallowed by a new onslaught of kisses and probing tongues. Those hands palmed her breasts, alternating massaging then pinching her nipples without distracting from their joined mouths. Short nails scored down her stomach and Rachel adjusted her seating, bracing on Quinn's abs harder than earlier. The doctor hissed in pain.

All movement stopped and nothing but panting breaths and Quinn's new grunt of discomfort was heard until Rachel asked, "What's wrong?"

Quinn shook her head. "I'm fine. Just need a second."

Both women stared at her stomach. Quinn already knew what it looked like. Rachel, however, was aghast. The wide bruise from a shoulder charge that would've sacked the best of football quarterbacks cut across her midriff. It was a dark, nasty purple with lighter plum and raspberry colored accents, and not alone. Smaller but just as vivid against her white flesh were scattered discolorations in the shape of her best friend's fists. Santana Lopez could have made a great career as a linebacker or a featherweight champion boxer. Sylvester would've been more proud of San's refusal to accept defeat than of Quinn's lucky-landed haymaker.

"Oh my God. Quinn," Rachel said, voice cracking with emotion. "Why didn't you—oh God, am I hurting you?" She fell to the side and onto the couch, sitting next to the blonde.

The loss of her wife's touch hurt worse. "I said I'm fine, Rach."

"Quinn," the brunette looked around for a moment then picked up the blankets and covered herself before attempting to cover Quinn. "Clearly you're not fine. What was I thinking? You're injured and I'm...I was..."

"Riding me?" She gave a wicked grin, too amused by Rachel's behavior to focus on her twinging abs. It not as though she was suddenly an invalid. She just needed to go slower.

"Yes. I mean no. I," the actress huffed and fell back against the couch. "You're right. We can't do this."

Quinn sucked in her cheeks, resisting the habit of chewing on them. The interior cut from earlier stung even still. Of course. Now of all times Rachel just had to agree with something she'd said, even though her mind quite obviously had changed.

They sat together in heavy silence, a good six inches of space between them. It didn't seem like much but to Quinn it was miles. A light throw lay over her chest while Rachel discreetly wrapped a soft quilt around her shoulders. Hazel eyes zeroed in on the design and their owner adjusted her glasses to better see the intricate pattern. It didn't help. They were too smudged. She took them off and tried cleaning them on the soft cotton hiding her torso, which didn't work. The embroidery was thankfully easy to see from this short distance so she set the frames on the coffee table, still staring.

"What?" Rachel looked more uncomfortable by the minute.

The blonde inclined her head toward the covering. "Did you mean to grab that?"

Puzzled, Rachel frowned at her before dropping to the blanket. Her brow knitted together in confusion, then in a kind of self-chastisement. She tossed her head back and closed her eyes. "No."

Emma Pillsbury-Howell-Schuester now again Pillsbury made them that a long time ago. It was presented to them two days before they got married under some tradition that their love and devotion and the excitement of their upcoming nuptials would carry over to last the rest of their lives if they slept under it that very night. Rachel, superstitious to a fault, insisted upon doing so, too. They didn't make love that night. Not because it felt odd to do so while covered by gift from their former guidance counselor. But because they were too caught up in each other's arms, literally holding one another all night long then awakening just as tangled as how they'd fallen asleep.

"It's our wedding quilt."

"It is," Rachel said.

Quinn leaned closer for a stronger whiff of lavender laundry detergent. "Smells clean."

"It is."

"So it's been washed recently."

As if she vowed to Barbra Streisand Herself that she'd never look at Quinn again, Rachel turned away but nodded.

"I can't remember the last time it was out of your hope chest. Yet you washed it—what, last week? Two weeks ago? Why is that?" Mid-Life Crisis Quinn was nebby, far pushier than she had been as a teenager. Too pushy for Rachel to handle it seemed.

"Because I used it, okay?! Because I missed you and I laid in bed for two days. Tana took the kids for the weekend while I moped and cried and cursed you and tried my best to hate you until I had to admit I love you so much that I can't! I didn't eat, didn't drink anything, I just laid there in and out of sleep which was horrible because if I wasn't awake thinking about how much I missed you I was dreaming about you, about us, about what song I could sing which would properly traject my sorrow and devastation and longing for you to come home and how to best execute such a dramatic scene when you don't want to see me! How am I supposed to that when I don't even know what window in this city I should be standing under singing The Way We Were or Send In The Clowns—even though you don't particularly enjoy Streisand or Sondheim and now that I think about it surely some classic composition by The Beatles would be far less unavailing.

"So yes, I wrapped myself in this wishing it smelled like you instead of stale cedar wood and my tears because I was too depressed to move after a night of recording that god-awful ballad I wrote because you once broke me in the place I felt most safe and I had to build myself back up with a song that was more about us than about me! Worse! Because we all know it was to the same melody you'd been playing around with all that week and I couldn't think of something new because I couldn't get you out of my head long enough which means, ultimately, we wrote the song. And we screwed up our marriage. It was never just you or just me, it's us. Us. We're the ones who couldn't get it right then and we can't it right now, Quinn! And I still don't understand why!" Rachel was panting, her cheeks wet with her pain.

Quinn blinked, mute in her shock at the not uncharacteristic but still unexpected outburst.

She then shot forward and crushed Rachel in her arms, holding on for dear life. Not hers, but theirs. Each woman was crying and clinging to the other with grasps so strangulating they choked out any and all air between them. Full breaths were impossible as they hiccuped through tears and constricting throats while Quinn smothered her wife in kisses and they drown each other in the rivers running from their eyes. In moments she'd tossed away her blanket and was under Rachel's, her body tingling as it came into contact with her wife's. Their kisses were fierce now and Rachel pushed for more. So much so that Quinn ended up on the floor between the coffee table and the couch.

"Ow—mmph!"

Rachel followed and straddled Quinn's hips, twisting and shoving the table as far away as she could, then returned to the blonde's mouth. Longing to run her fingers through it all, Quinn freed dark hair from the headband. It curtained them from the world and she pulled Rachel closer, desperate for more of that sweeping tongue. Her wife obliged and restarted the slow grind, positioned slightly lower bring their centers together. Quinn groaned at the delicious pressure, banishing all sensation outside of her increasing excitement.

She rolled them over and licked the length of Rachel's neck, tasting the salty flavor collecting at the hollow of her throat. She smiled when a moan stirred the landscape underneath her lips. Her mouth traveled to sharp clavicles and down a smooth flat sternum, her tongue spiraling along the contours of perfectly rounded breasts topped with dark nipples. She pushed up and stared down at Rachel's wild hair and flushed face and shallow breathing. Keeping their eyes locked she dropped gentle kisses to each hardened peak, exhaling through her mouth and letting her warm breath wash over the sensitive skin.

Rachel whined and shivered then opened her legs. Quinn settled between them, a grateful prodigal coming home. Her wife rocked to meet her, gripping pale shoulders for leverage as fire filled Quinn's veins and need twisted in the pit of her stomach. The throaty moans spilling forth from parted red lips increased tenfold and gave her the extra spur to continue and take the time to enjoy it. Grinning, she kissed her again. It was languid and warm. Slower now. She moved downward, covering the expanse of Rachel's naked chest and as her back arched, stretching to meet Quinn's mouth. Her tongue traced over outlines of ribs she didn't want to be seeing but loved all the same. Rachel was thinner than Quinn realized, and not in a healthy way. It gave her pause.

"Quinn?"

She bit her lip as big dark eyes revealed themselves and roamed her face. It was nice to see the adorable furrow of her wife's brow hadn't changed, but Quinn didn't want to focus on the questions she had. Instead she dipped her head and peppered not-so-light kisses along Rachel's shoulder. Their rhythm restarted and when the arms about her tightened, and the blonde nipped her way up to a soft earlobe. She pressed harder with her hips, not wasting any time.

"Oh God," Rachel moaned.

Bracing on one hand, her other climbed up the inside of Rachel's thighs. The taller woman moaned as she encountered slick heat soaking through worn cotton pajama shorts. She teased swollen lips through wet fabric as questing hips rolled. "Tell me you want this," she said, voice chafing her throat. "Tell me this is okay."

Rachel's hand suddenly pressed firmly into hers as encouragement. "Okay," she said with a nod.

The blonde immediately tore at flimsy shorts and the flimsier panties underneath, diving into fiery silk. Quinn sealed her mouth to the spot just behind Rachel's jawline, relishing the way those hips pumped upward, searching for more. Their speed lessened, but their movements didn't fade in intensity as shaky breaths rippled over her cheek.

With a popping gasp, she pulled away despite Rachel's groan of disappointment then sat back on her haunches, ripping off the last vestiges of clothing. Her balance was forfeit as soon as Rachel's unbelievably long legs reached up for Quinn's waist. Those legs squeezed around her hips and yanked forward, barely allowing time for the blonde to catch herself and not crush her wife. Quinn supported her weight on her forearms on either side of Rachel's head, grateful for the thick rug covering the hardwood floor and carefully avoiding splayed chestnut tresses. Hair pulling was anything but new to them, but now wasn't the time. Instead she rocked forward and skimmed her lips over the body beneath her while Rachel pushed up into Quinn's hips. She placed tiny kisses all over her wife's beautiful face: from a slightly pinched forehead to a dimpled chin then soft cheek to soft cheek, subconsciously making a cross pattern. It felt like a benediction. Growing up she'd been taught to love the Lord her God with all her heart, with all her soul, with all her mind, and with all her strength. But her God wasn't that of the Church. It was Rachel. Rachel was the Absolute Being in Quinn's world. Rachel was her source, her savior, the one who taught Quinn she was better than what she'd been raised to be. And oh how Quinn had squandered that gift, that precious lesson. How could she have forgotten about this wonderful and blessed love? She didn't know, had no answer. The only things she knew right now was that she needed to worship every inch of the brunette's body and offer her own as a final sacrifice to their marriage in ultimate penance in the hope she'd be forgiven in time, forgiven for her failures. Forgiven for her shortcomings, yet not necessarily absolved of them. So, because she loved Rachel with all those things, her heart, soul, mind, and her strength, Quinn now needed to love Rachel with all her weakness, too. She owed her wife the very last of everything she had before the finality of their love set in. God, please let it be enough.

The mood changed when the brunette unknowingly broke through Quinn's plea and demanded another round of kisses. Quinn already wanted to cry in acceptance of their end, but took comfort in knowing she had one last chance to say goodbye the only way she really knew how.

Years of practice made finding the right angle all too easy.

"Yesssss."

Rachel's hiss of encouragement sizzled down Quinn's spine. Their centers melded together, the wetness between them almost erred Quinn from her goal. Rachel's overflowing passion burned into her skin while the touch itself elicited a shudder. Gooseflesh prickled her arms and back as she established a rhythm, slow and steady. Her abs ached with each body roll but seeing Rachel's expressions change from enthralled rapture to a brow pinched in a delicious torture, from greedy anticipation then to complete satisfaction, dulled the pain. Together they rode miniature waves of pleasure: first Rachel, then Quinn following with a shaky breath that sounded like her wife's name.

Rachel sighed and took her time unlocking her legs from the doctor's waist. Mild relief spread throughout Quinn with the release the pressure. Thighs of steel, that's what those were. Never once did she try to fight them, though. She'd happily stay trapped by them forever if she had the choice, but today her injured body couldn't handle it thanks to Santana's impersonation of Muhammad Ali.

A single finger traced the wrinkle Quinn knew was etched in her forehead.

"Okay?" Rachel asked.

Ruefully she smiled, falling in love with the familiarity that was breaking her heart. "Okay."

That finger stroked her nose then abandoned her face and headed south and, joined by another, pressed directly on her clit. She bucked then dropped her head to Rachel's chest.

The body under hers shook with amusement. "Okay, huh?"

She tried to answer but one of those dexterous fingers teased up and down while Rachel's other hand gripped Quinn's thigh and spread her legs for more space. Every nerve in her body tingled and she moaned into the stillness of the room. Belatedly she realized their children were upstairs and did not, ever, need to see her and Rachel like this. Her teeth clamped onto her lower lip so as not to utter another sound. When Rachel slid inside her, Quinn bit down harder in her need for more, her need for her wife to get as deep as she could.

"More." Please, always. Always more.

Carefully withdrawing despite Quinn's whimper of distress, the brunette maneuvered their bodies on the living room floor. Rachel sat back on her haunches for Quinn to kneel astride her with desperate arms around flexing shoulders and one hand woven in the damp, dark hair at the back of her neck as the shorter woman wound an arm about the blonde's waist. Back inside went those fingers and she mewled, letting Rachel take over. Quinn could give her this, could hand over the last of her control as her wife filled her again and again with impudent slowness. Their mouths met and their tongues kept time with the thrusts and the rocking of their bodies. Quinn lost herself in the intoxicating flavor of the kiss, helpless against the persuasions of Rachel's fingers and lips until their passion mounted and she had to break away, panting her approaching release with gasping caws.

"Oh–Rach–"

Full lips closed over hers, gently at first, then with gathering passion as the digits within her curled and the pad of Rachel's thumb circled her clit. A warm cheek rested against Quinn's and Rachel drew a deep breath as if taking in her very essence. "That's it, Quinn. Come on, let go."

One last time, Rachel shattered Quinn from inside.

Wind rattled the laminated ballistic glass of the windows, its howl muted by the material's insulating features. Only heavy breathing sounded in the dampened silence of the living room. Convulsions wracked the blonde's form, making no accommodation for her age or emotional exhaustion. She was shaking like the first time, buzzed on jungle juice and a few tokes of pot, but drunk on Rachel in the cramped backseat of her car. She couldn't help her mouth curving into a satisfied smile.

Rachel returned it. Her lips, still swollen from their passion, were slightly parted and her tan cheeks faintly flushed. Yet her image soon blurred behind the veil of tears gathering in Quinn's eyes.

She couldn't find words. They were all talked out and there was nothing that would change their path. Nothing that would redirect them down an easier road. Then again, their road had never been easy. Instead she lowered her head and kissed her wife. Maybe her lips could speak without talking. She guided Rachel to sit on the couch while she stayed on her knees. The brunette tried to bring her along but Quinn wasn't budging. She took Rachel's mouth slowly, pushing her to lean back then skimmed from her mouth to her throat and down to her breasts and stomach. Then she brushed Rachel's navel with her tongue and traveled lower. The jut of hipbones interrupted her journey but, like she had when seeing the sunken outlines of her wife's ribcage, she refused to dwell on them. The evidence that Rachel had been so depressed as to drop fifteen or so pounds stared her in the face, and Quinn hated herself for it. On someone else, that may not seem like much weight at all. On someone so petite as her wife, unintentionally losing fifteen pounds so quickly was teetering on the verge of unhealthy. But did nothing to take away from the loveliness before her.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, her voice thin and ragged.

Rachel's hand swept through her hair and Quinn could see the objection forming. She nipped it in the bud, so to speak. Her teeth clipped at tender flesh and Rachel yelped in shock. The doctor soothed her lips over the throbbing skin, working to open her wife's legs wider. She was not denied as the diva relaxed and let Quinn do with her as she would.

Quinn steadied herself, looking at Rachel in the most intimate possible way. She closed her eyes as her hot breath rifled through the small strip of slightly coarse black hair, preened and primed—as Rachel once joked. Faced with the pulsating center of her wife's pleasure, Quinn wished she had the patience to stay longer and admire the view but it wasn't her gaze she wanted on Rachel. Dipping her chin downward, she leaned closer to inhale something better than vanilla scented lotion. Her nostrils flared and she was through taking her time. In mere seconds, her tastebuds met with a flavor so familiar, so perfect. She flattened her tongue and licked up and down, countering the rhythm of searching hips.

Rachel bent her leg, her right foot planted firmly on the couch, giving the blonde more room. She took it, tilting her head to coerce fleshy lips into her mouth, slipping her tongue between flushed, puffy folds that parted so very easily.

Invisible figure eights decorated Rachel's legs from her knee caps, which Quinn knew were ticklish, up to where her thighs met her hips, which were equally responsive, but not in a cute, funny way. Although, she did giggle at the singer's squeal when Quinn scraped her thumbnail at the sensitive juncture. Both woman groaned as a long, slim finger entered Rachel. Quinn loved that the further in she pushed, the more wetness leaked out onto her hand. The air was full of pitiful whimpers and she added another finger, closing her eyes at the sensation. Nothing could ever top this. Being inside the woman she loved was as close as she would ever get to Heaven.

A hand knotted in blonde hair and Quinn looked up to stare into mesmerizing dark orbs. Black and wide, Rachel's eyes pleaded at her in a sweet sort of agony and her hips set a demanding pace. The doctor surged forward and sealed her mouth around the hardened bud throbbing against her lips, locking onto her wife and meeting the tempo they set. They rocked liked this, glued together by sweat and sex for a few moments longer before their rhythm quickened and Quinn's fingers slid deeper, bumping the spongy place within and making that famous voice fill the room. Short nails scraped at her shoulders while Quinn broke her hold on Rachel's clit. Her long fingers glided in and out with urgency, but soon she felt Rachel clenching in ecstasy and she slowed her thrusts, dragging it out as the woman hovered dangerously on the brink of climax.

"Q-Quinn, don't stop. I need—you have to—"

"I know, baby." She straightened on her knees and pushed more firmly into Rachel who threw her head back in surprise, tightening every hold she had on Quinn. The blonde rocked forward, forcing her wife to take it harder like she'd said she wanted this morning, harder like maybe something about this last time had to hurt physically, too. Quinn pounded into Rachel with everything she had. Every hope or dream, every fear and insecurity, her regret and her love, and each and every piece of herself she had left was given and locked inside as those beautiful features tensed and Rachel fell over the edge, coming hard and without a sound.

"I love you," Quinn said, striving to appear calm though her body trembled with a tangle of emotions unnameable.

Rachel started crying.

And she was shaking, very literally shaking.

Quinn pulled out as gently as possible and guided her to lie down on the couch. Not really thinking, she lay down and held on to her wife covering them for one final night under their wedding quilt. Her hands cupped teary cheeks and she pressed her lips against a worried and scrunched forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She repeated the apology as she desperately kissed every centimeter of Rachel's face. It was futile, she knew, but it was sincere. "I'm so sorry for everything, Rach."

After awhile, the quakes dwindled and Quinn's arms began loosening out of rational, not because she wanted to let go. But Rachel wouldn't allow it. Brown eyes still closed, the brunette all but clawed at fair skin in effort to pull her near. Scooting closer and molding her naked body against the smaller, shuddering frame, Quinn held her as close as physically possible, wishing they could just fuse into one entity. Her hand slid down Rachel's arm until their fingers laced and another round of sobs shook the dark haired beauty as Quinn's pinky looped around her ring finger.

"It'll be okay. This time it'll be okay." Rachel said gently, hot breath stirring blonde hair. Little reassurance existed in that fractured voice, but Quinn let it go, even as it cracked against her ear. "Okay?"

She cleared her throat, swallowing her own tears. How she wanted to hit herself for everything that would happen in the morning. She just made everything worse. Harder than it already was. She kissed Rachel again, memorizing the feel and taste of those lips to carry with her for the rest of her days. "Okay," she nodded, sniffling. Hazel and brown eyes closed as she stroked her nose along her wife's, easily recalling the innocent and sweet gesture from better times, then Quinn repeated the lie she knew neither believed but each wished they could. "Okay."