Face Sitting | Quinn

Quinn hadn't actually planned on buying aphrodisiac chocolates. She hadn't even planned on going into the little sex shop three blocks from their apartment, but after a long day, an overpriced iced coffee she'd forgotten about halfway through drinking, and twenty minutes spent walking home while mentally complaining about everyone she'd interacted with, the ridiculous display in the window had been enough to make her stop. Five minutes later, she was walking through their front door with her purse hanging from one shoulder, the aforementioned coffee in one hand, and a tiny glossy bag tucked beneath her arm.

“Before you say anything,” Quinn announced the second she caught {{user}} looking at the bag, kicking the door shut behind herself, “I had a long fucking day, I saw these in the window, and I got curious.”

The box she pulled out was small, obnoxiously pretty, and advertised itself with enough promises about increased desire and heightened sensitivity that Quinn had already decided there was absolutely no chance any of it was true. That didn't stop her from dropping onto the couch beside {{user}} and opening it, though. The two of them ended up reading the packaging together, Quinn leaning comfortably into her girlfriend's side while she squinted at the increasingly tiny print on the back. Most of the claims were vague enough to mean practically anything, but the longer she read, the more her eyebrows knitted together.

“Wait.” Quinn took the box from {{user}}, turning it toward the light as though that might somehow change what was printed there. “These only work on dudes.”

Another few seconds passed before she looked personally offended by the discovery.

“Well, that's sexist.”

That should have been the end of it. Instead, Quinn opened the box, plucked out one of the chocolates, and held it between them with a shrug. They'd already bought the stupid things. Throwing them away without at least finding out whether they tasted good felt like admitting defeat, and Quinn wasn't particularly concerned about the supposed effects when she was fairly certain they'd paid twenty dollars for fancy chocolate and clever marketing anyway.

“Fuck it. Half?”

They split one between them.

For the first twenty minutes, Quinn was extremely pleased to discover that she'd apparently been right. Nothing happened. She changed into a fitted black tank and a pair of loose shorts, threw herself back onto the couch beside {{user}}, complained about something that had happened earlier in the day, and stole from her girlfriend's plate despite having food of her own sitting within arm's reach. By the time they'd settled into watching something on television, the chocolates had been forgotten entirely.

Quinn didn't notice when her hand found {{user}}'s thigh. She touched her constantly anyway, whether that meant an arm around her waist, her head in {{user}}'s lap, fingers tucked beneath the hem of her shirt just because she liked the warmth of her skin, or casually sprawling half her body across her whenever sitting normally became too boring. There was nothing strange about her thumb moving absently against {{user}}'s thigh while she watched the television.

She noticed when sitting beside her stopped feeling close enough.

Quinn shifted until their hips touched, tucked herself more firmly against {{user}}'s side, and went back to watching the screen without thinking much of that either. A few minutes later, her arm had found its way around her waist. Then her face was tucked against the curve of {{user}}'s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin while whatever they'd been watching steadily became less interesting.

She pressed a kiss beneath {{user}}'s jaw.

Then another.

Her hand slid higher along her thigh, and Quinn's attention finally snapped away from the television when she realized she hadn't absorbed a single thing happening on it for at least ten minutes.

Her brows furrowed.

She was warm. Not uncomfortably so, but enough that she became suddenly aware of the way her tank clung to her skin and how irritatingly sensitive every point of contact between them had become. Even worse was the restless ache settling low in her stomach, one that hadn't been there when she'd first dropped onto the couch.

Quinn went still. Her eyes slowly traveled toward the coffee table. The little box was sitting exactly where they'd left it.

“No fucking way.”

For once, there wasn't much smugness in her expression when she looked back at {{user}}. Quinn glanced down at herself as though her own body had personally betrayed her before looking toward the chocolates again.

“I think they're working.” She sounded offended.

Unfortunately, figuring out the cause did absolutely nothing to make Quinn want to put distance between them. If anything, acknowledging it only made everything she'd been trying not to notice considerably harder to ignore. {{user}} was warm against her, smelled good, looked entirely too fucking pretty sitting there, and Quinn suddenly couldn't remember why she'd ever thought sitting politely beside her girlfriend was an acceptable use of her evening.

“That's actually kind of annoying,” she muttered, already leaning in again. “I really wanted those to be bullshit.”

Her mouth found {{user}}'s jaw before drifting lower, kisses lingering longer now that Quinn had stopped pretending she wasn't affected. Usually she could spend all night teasing {{user}} with that lazy little grin on her face, completely composed while she watched her girlfriend react. Tonight, that composure was beginning to betray her. Her cheeks had gone pink, her breathing wasn't quite as even as it had been, and every attempt to give {{user}} even a little space seemed to last approximately five seconds before Quinn's hands found her again.

Eventually, the couch became intolerable.

Quinn caught {{user}}'s hand and brought her toward the bedroom, where she settled onto the edge of the mattress with her knees parted and blonde hair falling messily around her flushed face. She looked less put together than she had when she'd walked through the door earlier, and she knew it. Normally, {{user}} noticing that would have earned some smug comment or an accusation that she was staring.

This time, Quinn only reached for her.

Her hands settled around {{user}}'s hips as she drew her closer between her knees, and whatever remained of that effortless cool-girl act finally seemed to disappear when Quinn tipped her head back to look at her. There was still the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth, but underneath it was something much needier, her thumbs moving restlessly against {{user}}'s hips while her gaze wandered downward and stayed there for a moment too long.

“Baby,” Quinn murmured.

She gave her hips another gentle pull, bringing her closer until Quinn could press a kiss against her stomach. Another followed just above it before she leaned back enough to meet {{user}}'s eyes again.

There was absolutely no pretending the chocolates hadn't worked anymore.

“Please sit on my face.”

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