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fic: Exceptions

Pairing: Quinn/Blaine
Rating: R
Word Count: 2800
A/N: Future fic, spoilers for S4 so far

Quinn doesn’t know what she expects to see when Blaine picks her up at the airport, but the first thing she notices is the fact that his pants actually touch the tops of his shoes.

Then he pulls her into this giant bear hug and lifts her off her feet with a ‘looking good, Fabray’ murmured into her ear and she’s too busy laughing to notice much else. They claim her one bag, which Blaine insists on carrying and stand on the platform for the train downtown. This line runs right past his campus and he claims at this time of day, it would be much faster than taking a cab.

Overall, she has to say that college looks good on him. Blaine looks older, with the angles of his face more pronounced and a noticeable layer of toned muscle under his navy sport coat. Somehow though, he still has that boyish charm that made nearly every girl at McKinley swoon sickeningly over him.

Blaine seems to be the only person in his class who realized there are post-high school options besides Lima, New York and clear across the country, so he ended up at Penn, while as Brittany, Tina, Artie and Sam scattered to LA, San Francisco, New York again, and Portland respectively. That’s part of why she’s visiting him. She has an interview for a prestigious summer program with the department of Archeology and Anthropology tomorrow and since she’s already got several thousand dollars worth of debt piled up in student loans, her tight budget makes it optimal for her to impose on an old teammate when she’d rather check into a hotel. Blaine had been so excited to play host when she told him, that Quinn didn’t have the heart to even try and refuse his hospitality.

His last email ended with, So excited for your visit. You’re going to have the best time in Philly.

Maybe it was presumptuous, but going by the things they had in common, Quinn expected to be taken to museums, out of the way coffee shops, maybe an open-air music festival. She would not have expected their actual itinerary. It’s fairly early when they get to his apartment. It’s small but extremely well furnished with a little grey kitten lounging in a patch of sunlight on the windowsill. He sets her bag down just inside the living room and beams at her.

“You should change before we go out.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean you should put on jeans. You do own jeans right?”

That’s ridiculous. Of course she has a pair of jeans. “Yes? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, but trust me you’re going to want to wear pants.”

Quinn shakes her head and goes to her suitcase to pull out a change of clothes. She figures any place not conducive to skirts probably isn’t the best place for suede wedges so she grabs her favorite brown leather boots with the low heel that doesn’t bother her back and heads into his bathroom.

By the time she’s done, Blaine has changed into jeans and a heavier hooded sweatshirt. There’s a suspicious lump in the pocket, but Quinn isn’t even going to bother asking the international man of mystery to explain himself.

They take the subway because Blaine has a thing for public transportation and has a pocket full of tokens ready for her in addition to his own monthly pass. It’s funny because she would never just hang around in New Haven, but Blaine has taken to this city like he was born there.

The train is crowed so they stand close and he grabs her hand so they don’t get separated when they need to transfer. It’s nearing the end of the line when Blaine pulls something red and white out of his pocket and tugs it over his head. It’s the same jersey several other people on the train are wearing.

“You’re taking me to a baseball game?”

“Yep. My dad got me season tickets so we have something to do when he visits. It’s one of the few things we have in common. You’re in luck; todays game is really important.”


“Better. We’re playing the Mets.”


Blaine has gone insane. He’s screaming and yelling at the field and she’s pretty sure one of the veins in his neck is going to pop soon. This game is apparently a huge deal, but the only sport Quinn knows a thing about is football. As a girl, she had to listen to endless stories about her father’s career as a high school quarterback, then she became a cheerleader and proceeded to date a string of quarterbacks in Lima and another at Yale — honestly that should have been a sign to look at her life and her choices.

Between nearly apoplectic fits, Blaine explains the rules. He goes into great detail with the season stats for each of his favorite players and then the history of what he terms ‘the most epic rivalry in the history of rivalries.’ Up until then, Quinn completely forgot about his flair for the dramatic. Still, it is fun once she gets into the game and knows when to cheer and when to boo. About halfway through the game, Blaine goes to the concession stand and comes back with plastic cups of beer, nachos and about six hotdogs, most of which he devours himself before titling his head back and chugging two thirds of his beer. It makes Quinn wonder if she ever really knew him at all.

By the seventh or eighth inning, she’s not sure; a definite chill has set over the stadium. Between that and the hard uncomfortable seats, she’s grateful Blaine warned her that her sundress was not a good call. She’s rubbing her hands over her arms and jiggling her legs to stimulate circulation when Blaine’s elbow catches her in her side. He strips down to his undershirt and hands her his sweater with a little smile. He shrugs the jersey back on, but not before she notices the firm muscles of his arms and back. His hair is a little mussed now and she’s so glad he stopped with the gel. But now he literally looks about twelve years old and she kind of wants to hug him. So she does.


“No problem.”

His arm settles across her back and silently urges her to lean into him. He’s radiating heat so she just rests her head on his shoulder and stays like that the rest of the game.


A sleepover with Blaine is eerily similar to having one with the girls in her sorority.

She listens to him explain the complex relationships of people she doesn’t know and give updates on people in Lima she barely cared about when she was there. He finally admits to having a crush on Sam and she commiserates with him on that one, acknowledging the entire experience as pretty much one huge maelstrom of affection and attraction liberally laced with secondhand embarrassment.

They didn’t get in from the game until late and they both have commitments tomorrow so it’s not long before they call it a night. Unfortunately, Kelly the kitten, who Blaine has been secretly feeding parts of his grilled cheese sandwich, decides to throw it up all over the couch, right where Quinn is supposed to sleep. That’s how she ends up sharing a bed with Blaine.

It’s not weird. For one, years of cheer camp, cramped hotel rooms at Glee competitions and the general requirements of being Brittany’s friend have pretty much beaten the need for personal sleeping space out of her. Besides, if anyone is going to be uncomfortable in this situation it’s going to be Blaine, so she just burrows deep into the blankets and makes sure to stay firmly on her side of the bed.


The unexpected feel of an erection is a sensation that Quinn thought she would never have to experience again. And yet, she wakes up in the middle of the night with Blaine against her back and what is probably not the remote control rubbing against her thigh.

She gently sits up from where Blaine has wrapped himself around her. His arm falls from around her waist and causes him to wake up.


Her face must give something away because he freezes in the act of rubbing his eyes and starts apologizing profusely.

“It’s fine,” she laughs. “I hope it was a good dream.”

“There’s something I haven't told you.”

There’s nothing a person is supposed to say to that so she keeps quiet and waits for him to continue.

“You know that I’ve kissed Rachel, right?”

“Yes, when you were drunk.”

Oh god, please don’t let him have been dreaming about Rachel with her in his bed. Yes, he’s gay and she’s over her high school drama, but it’s four in the morning and the very idea of that insults her to the core.

“And well. At the Sadie Hawkins dance last year, Tina was going to kiss me.”

That’s definitely news.

“Well the thing is I almost let her. I wanted to kiss Tina. A lot…and I kind of want to kiss you.”


“And nothing is different. I’m still gay. Mostly, I don't know. I tried watching regular porn and it made me nauseous.”

“Regular porn makes everyone nauseous. Except maybe Puck.”

“What I’m saying is that I’m gay. I still love guys. Just, sometimes want to kiss and… touch certain girls.”

He looks really upset. Like he’s going to have the identity he’s fought so hard for entirely stripped away for something so trivial.

“Look, I’m going to tell you something that no one knows. I slept with Santana at Mr. Schue’s almost-wedding last year.”

“You what? Santana?”

She waits for him to close his mouth. It’s too annoying that he’s gaping at her like a fish on land. Largely because shows he’s not picturing a mailman, but is genuinely trying to wrap his head around it.

“Relax. This isn’t me coming out to you.”

“It’s not?”

“Blaine. Sweetie. I’m trying to make a point here. I didn’t have sex with Santana because I’m gay. I had sex with her because she’s Santana. She’s my best friend. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“No. I’m sorry, not really.”

“What I know now after all the crap I’ve been through is that sex is no more and no less than what we make it. My mistake was expecting too much, where most people expect too little. The line between platonic and not platonic isn’t so rigid that it can never be bent or crossed. And if you loved Tina the way I love Santana, those feelings could just as easily be an extension of that.”

“What about this?” He gestures to his lap and the impressive bulge there.

“That is…flattering. It’s also something we could take care of. If you want. “ He only mulls it over for about five seconds and that’s flattering too.

“Are you sure?”

“What can I say? I like bowties. And guys who hold doors and insist on paying for dinner even when its pretty much fast food.”

“I’ve never— “

“Had sex with a girl? Well I can tell you from experience, the first time is always the scariest.”


Blaine finds himself laughing despite his lingering embarrassment. He doesn’t think most people get that Quinn is funny in a very dry way. He waits for her to make the first move, which leads to an awkward pause because she’s clearly wafting for him to make the first move. When he does she smiles up him in this serene, supportive way that he likes but also hates.

He has a frigging erection that’s getting really uncomfortable and she should be just as hot and bothered as he is.

He sits up to lean against the headboard and pull her into his lap. She settles right on top of the area that needs stimulation the most and he can’t help the way his hips tilt up to meet her. When she kisses him, he doesn’t think about how different it is from kissing boys or even kissing Rachel, he just sinks into her and how soft her lips are, into the warmth of her tongue as it traces his lower lip.

He wants her shirt off, because if he’s going to have sex with a girl, then he’s going to do it right. She’s still wearing a bra and he suspects that’s because of him. And that feeling that’s been with him all day finally has a name. He does care for Quinn a great deal, and maybe he’s not still fully gay or maybe he is, but the warm feeling that lodges in his chest when she presses closer and he inhales a whiff of her shampoo really has nothing to do with what’s going on between his legs.


Blaine kind of can’t stop running his hands over her stomach and breasts, mostly because she’s really sensitive and every stroke earns a little whimper or a moan. He likes that. After a well-placed pinch, she honest to god growls before pinning him with a look he’s never seen before. Her hand slides down his chest and under the waistband of his boxers. She squeezes him lightly before looking up.

“Oh wow. On behalf of straight women everywhere, I have to say it’s a shame you aren’t attracted to girls.”

Her fingers do this thing right over the tip of his cock and it’s just—god.

“I’m attracted to you, right now.” He pants out, rocking his hips into her hand and moaning when she flexes her fingers against him. It’s unreal how much he wants her.

“Is that enough?”

“More than.”

She runs her hand over him from base to tip a few more times before reaching over to grab a rubber out of her purse. It throws him for a bit; since when does Quinn Fabray just casually whip out condoms? But then he’s distracted by the way she rolls it onto his dick before rising to her knees and sinking down on top of him.

Quinn is hot and tight as she starts a slow rhythm that curls his toes. It’s not that he’s not enjoying this, but slow and steady lost its novelty about five minutes ago. He grips her hips and pulls her onto him harder and faster. With his hands occupied, he can only use his lips and tongue to tease at her nipples. Judging by the way she clutches his shoulders and claws down his back, Quinn likes that.

The scratches and the sounds they make together, his grunts, her moans, and the sound of skin against skin pushes him to orgasm faster than he’d like. It’s important to him that Quinn comes first though. Two fingers pressed against her clit along with a particularly harsh thrust have her crying out his name. Less than a minute later he’s burying in face in her shoulder as he empties himself into her.

They sit like that, Quinn snugly in his lap until they calm down. She moves off of him and he’s much more unhappy at her moving out of his arms than that he’s no longer inside of her. After cleaning up, they slide back into bed and just look at each other.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say so he doesn’t say anything at all. Neither does she. And that’s fine.

Because he wants to and he figures he’s allowed now, he scoots behind her and slings his arm around her waist. She relaxes back into him and that’s fine too.

The following afternoon, after his classes and her interview, Blaine takes her to Reading Terminal for lunch and makes sure they visit the shop with the specialty honey. She doesn’t pick the raspberry, which, more than anything that’s happened in the past 48 hours, makes him question the future of this friendship.

Blaine’s not even sure if friendship is still the right word. On the train, while Quinn was busy texting her roommate, he definitely engaged in some PG-13 eye contact with a beautiful man with the neatest dreads he’s ever seen. Just now, he saw a girl that he objectively knows is even prettier than Quinn and yet he felt nothing. So he’s still mostly gay.

But they hold hands the entire day and he loves the way they look together in the reflections of store windows.

Maybe, when he drops her off, he slaps her ass and winks, loving the little gasp she lets out and the way she looks around to see if anyone noticed. Maybe, when she’s satisfied they have the relative privacy that only an obscenely crowded airport terminal can offer; Quinn kisses him full on the mouth and tells him not to be a stranger.

Maybe, as she hefts her bag over her shoulder and disappears through security, Blaine decides to just play this one by ear.

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