bakerstreet | mmmhmmm

(ooc; let me know if this isn't ok!)

(It was pushed all the way to the back of her closet, forgotten and practically invisible. Her old Cheerios uniform, retired after she had graduated and given to her as a gift. A not so subtle reminder of the girl she used to be, beautiful and invincible, running the school with an iron fist and a false smile.

Found entirely on accident while she was attempting to clean out her closet, it brought back a million fond (and a few somewhat less than) memories, and the urge to try it on proves a little too strong. Call it an experiment, to see just how much she's changed in the years since she had to wear it every day.

It still fits exactly as it used too, may even be a little too big, and that knowledge alone is enough to have her holding her head a little higher. The queen bee ascending her throne once again. She's modeling for herself in front of the mirror when he comes home, so lost in her old high school fantasies that she doesn't hear him enter. Doesn't actually mean for him to see (this time anyway) the way she twirls in front of her reflection, the skirt flaring out as she does. It's all about the teasing, and not about the pleasing.)

(OOC: Oh, interesting! Works great for me.)

(There are too many things going well in Neal's life at the moment for him to feel comfortable being too nostalgic about the days of crime and cons and straddling the law. But one thing he finds himself readily admitting to missing is the unexpected. Oh, without a doubt, work has its surprises from time to time, but the feeling of being really caught off guard is rare.

So when he catches a peek at Quinn trying on the old cheerleading uniform that he's only heard about and seen a few yearbook photos of, it delights him in several ways. Honestly, Neal was only going to compliment her on how great she looked, but then she twirls, flashing him just a little and it summons up his playful side. Neal leans against the doorframe and grins.)

Why if it isn't Quinn Fabray, captain of the squad. What did I do to deserve a visit from the most popular girl in school?

(ooc; I honestly have no idea where any of this came from, tbh.)

(The voice is far too familiar to actually scare her, but it does manage to startle her, skirt flying out once more (unintentionally this time) as she whirls to face him. It's embarrassing, maybe even a little pathetic, to be caught the way she is. Already able to feel the flush creeping up her throat, the instinct reaction is to change back into her regular clothes, but something about that grin on his face keeps her where she is.

Standing up straighter (posture was all important for a Cheerio), one hand went to rest on her hip, lips twisting into a smirk that was more amused that she would have been back when she had used this outfit as her own personal body armor.)

Coach thought I should come and see you. (Lips turning down at the edges, she took a shuffling step towards him. Wringing her hands together in front of her, all concern.) I messed up on that last basket toss, so she sent me to see you. (Stopping just in front of him, wide hazel eyes looked up from beneath too long lashes.) She said you might be able to give me a little...motivation.

Edited 2014-01-22 05:02 (UTC)

(OOC: It's neat, and totally out of left field in the best way.)

(Neal's ready to back off when he sees the embarrassed color start to seep its way into Quinn's cheeks, but then he sees something definitely click behind her eyes. Suddenly, there's a different kind of confidence in her step than the usual quiet determination that he likes so much ordinarily.

No, this must be more like what the 'old' Quinn was like, in the years she talks about as though it were another life. Neal shivers inwardly. No wonder she was a queen bee. If he was sixteen, he'd have followed her around like a puppy.)

Did she? I haven't got any tips for your stunts, I'm just... (Think, Neal, think!) the trainer around here. Although if you need to relax your body, maybe... work out some kinks? I might be able to help. Why don't you have a seat?

(Another life. That's exactly what it felt life. Certainly it had been another version of her. One who wore her confidence so well nobody ever would have guessed it to be an act.)

Now that you mention it, I have been really stressed out lately. We've been working really hard to get to the Invitational, and finals are coming up... (Let it never be said that Quinn Fabray does not give 100% to the lie, no matter how trivial.)

Do you really think you can help me? (Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a nearby chair, smoothing the skirt (god, were they always this short?) down over her thighs as she sat.) Whatever you have to do. I want to make sure I'm performing at 100%.

Edited (sorry for the multiple edits. reasons I shouldn't try to tag late at night!) 2014-01-23 05:10 (UTC)

(Now that the scene's set, going along with it is as easy as breathing for someone who used to slip on other people's lives like a tailored suit. And although this is for fun and not work, he's not going to get in trouble this time.

Neal crouches beside Quinn's chair and starts to massage her calves.) Then just relax and put yourself in my hands, Quinn. We'll have you feeling great in no time.

(Deft fingers move up her legs to her thighs, starting on the outside and then moving inward. Finally, they slip under the pleated skirt, pushing it up a few inches as Neal starts to rub the outside of her bright red trunks.)

Yes, sir. (Usually as conventional as they come in the bedroom, that had as much to do with their little act as the way he was looking at her. The kind of gaze that used to track her as she walked down the hallway at McKinley High. The kind that said all she needed to do was smile a little brighter, offer them just a little more, and they'd happily fall at her feet.

Arms falling to her sides, her fingers curled loosely around the edges of the chair, eyes never wavering from his face despite his fingers dancing along her thigh.)

Do you do this...(Her words hitched slighly as he drew closer to his goal) for all the girls on the squad?

No, this is... this is kind of an unusual technique. Not typically approved for students, but you seem like you need a little extra attention. (He adds just a touch of sheepishness to his tone, as though he'd been caught doing something... inappropriate.

Neal's fingers move further, switching from a little cursory stroking to outright cupping his hand over her mound and rubbing her in small circular motions.)

Let me make sure you're breathing properly... (Leaning in, his mouth meet's Quinn's.)

(Her hips twitch reflexively when he palms her center, thighs closing to trap his hand between them, searching for more. More contact, more friction. More everything. A whimper gets cut off when his lips meet hers, and she tightens her grip on the edge of the chair until her knuckles turn white to keep herself from reaching for him. To keep up the game.

Of course, any chance of her breathing properly has disappeared by now, so she simply parts her lips into the kiss. Tongue darting out to trace his lower lip)

(Neal catches her tongue for a second, sucking just a bit before releasing it and slipping his own into Quinn's mouth. He breathes in the tiny noises she's starting to make and starts to move his hand faster and press it harder to her body so she'll make more.

His fingers make long strokes back and forth, and soon enough, he can feel her going from warm to hot, wetness starting to form under his touch. When he speaks, it's a low, rough whisper.) You're responding very well... although there is a slightly more advanced technique for maximum relief. You'll need to take off these off, though. (He tugs on the hem of her trunks just a bit.)

(If it's those little noises he's seeking, fingers working her thoroughly even through the material of the little red trunks, then Neal would be rewarded. This has always been the one area where Quinn is entirely unable to keep her composure. Quiet groans become choked whimpers as her hips start to move against his hand. Slowly at first, a barely noticeable tilt to her hips, the first hint of her desperation showing through.

But skilled as she is in this particular game, no amount of pretending can stop her body from betraying her. Can hide the growing damp spot on her shorts, or the flush creeping along her neck. Breathing shallow when he breaks the kiss, she doesn't stand (as shaky as her legs are, she isn't certain she could just now), instead pushing herself up just enough to raise her hips, allowing him to tug the shorts off)

Whatever I have to do. Whatever's best for the team.

[Neal all but peels the trunks away from her, then slides them down her legs, tossing them aside.] That's very commendable of you. No wonder you're captain.

[He resumes his previous position, his hand now free to dive under her skirt to find, hot, wet flesh waiting for his fingers. He strokes Quinn again, this time starting off quickly and deliberately.] You're responding beautifully. We should definitely keep going.

Now his fingertips are teasing the entrance of her, moving into Quinn's body for a while. His own face flush and heart hammering, Neal's finding it hard to keep up the act. He gives in and moves in front of the seat, guiding Quinn to sit on the very edge of the chair. He lifts the pleated skirt, and closes his mouth over her sex.]

(She keeps her eyes, heavy lidded and dark with arousal, trained on him for as long as she's able, because if she looks away for even a moment she feels certain that she'll lose the thread of this little game they've been playing.

Gaze tracing the curve of his lips and the line of his jaw, her lips part in a breathless whimper as his fingers play along her slit, slow and deliberate, toying with her.

And then the game is over, on both sides, because when his mouth closes over her wet heat she doesn't even attempt to hold her composure, a muffled curse slipping out as her hips jerk against him. Instinctively her legs spread further, offering herself to him while her hands, white knuckled from clinging to the chair so tightly, go to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her while her head falls over the back of the chair.)

[Neal's always enjoyed it, but he's learned to love it particularly with Quinn. A big part of that is how it's a chance of him to see her completely surrender herself to being pleasured and enjoying herself. So he devours her, using his tongue in just the way she likes, hitting her most sensitive spots.

When her fingers slip through his hair, he smiles and hums just a little against her sex in appreciation, all while he laps at her wetness and flicks his tongue quickly across the swelling nub at the top of her slit.]

Come for me.

[It's half request and half demand, but all need.]

(There are very few areas of her life in which Quinn will allow those walls to crumble for even a few brief moments, and even less people she'll let it happen in front of. Even sex is never a guarantee, self conciousness creeping in on her more often than not, forcing her to close herself off yet again.

Charming as he was though, Neal has a knack for getting her to open herself up. In every sense of the word.

Her hips jerked against his mouth at the vibration, a choked whimper sounding in the back of her throat. The trembling of her legs would tell him just how very close she was. One more flick of his tongue, fingers curling, searching, and she's coming undone with a strangled cry. Her entire body tightening, shuddering, surging up to meet him.)

[When she crests, Neal stays right with her all the way through, following the rise and fall and roll of her hips and drinking in all Quinn has to give him. He's always understood the layers she's kept between herself and others-- who could understand better than a con man-- so he appreciates it even more when he knows she's let them go.

When Quinn's body starts to quiet, he stands and scoops her up out of the chair, carrying her to the bed and laying her down. He sheds shoes and socks and joins her, stretching out beside Quinn and waiting for her to come all the way back.]

(His ministrations draw her release out longer than she would have thought possible, and her hips still twitch slightly even after he's picked her up and deposited her gently onto the bed. The fact that she's still wearing the cheerios uniform, more defiled now than it was all four years of high school, hasn't escaped her notice, nor has the fact that he's still wearing far too much clothing.

A lazy smile making it's way across her lips, she shifts onto her side, fingers curling in the material of his shirt) I'm not so sure your therapy techniques are exactly regulation.

[With a smirk, Neal starts to give her a hand, unbuckling his belt while she took care of his shirt. He's a red-blooded American male, and so of course the sight of a glowingly post-climax Quinn in her uniform works plenty for him, but Neal does wonder about her, knowing what it had once meant to her.

He rises just enough to shrug out of his shirt for her, then to wriggle out of his pants, leaving him in just low-slung black trunks.] No, they're kind of radically experimental. They and any techniques beyond them are strictly prohibited. Unless, of course, you think you still need more.

[Neal reaches out and runs a finger along the edge of her top, his eyes silently asking if she'd feel better taking the old uniform off.]

(Put simply, what the uniform had once meant to Quinn was....everything. It was the epitome of all she had striven towards for so many years. A paragon for teenage girls everywhere. And yet, much as she still loved it, thrilled as she was that it still fit, she wasn't a teenager anymore. Something that was becoming more and more clear each day. And as much fun as defiling the uniform had been, it was time for it to go.

Pushing up into a sitting position, her hands joined his at the hem of the top, inching it up so that his fingers weren't running along the edge, but along the tanned strip of skin uncovered as it was pulled up.)

You know, I'm not so sure I want to be a cheerleader anymore. (Stripping off the top, she tossed it over her shoulder with a devilish grin. Left only in the skirt and her bra. Pink and lacy and so very Quinn.) Why mess with perfection, right?

[Returning the smile in kind, Neal leans in and finds her mouth with his. He kisses her with care and just enough intensity to let her know there's plenty more where that came from if she wants it. While that happens, his arm reaches around and undoes the fasten on the back of her skirt so she can wriggle out of it.]

You are pretty amazing, Quinn. [Neal lowers his voice and whispers in her ear.] But not exactly perfect... which is why I like you so much.

[And it's the truth. He's learned to accept a lot of himself by seeing things reflected through her, and he's so grateful for that.]

mmmhmmm

How do these look?

wonderful! starting with 1 and we'll just...see where it goes from there.

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Sorry! Going to the ER really puts a damper on your RP time.

Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry to hear that! Are you alright?

Yeah, clean bill of health for now. Thanks :)

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