Warnings: sexy eyeball licking action
Spoilers: vague spoilers for 2x08/Furt
Summary: When you’re dating Quinn Fabray, sometimes you go slower than you want to, and sometimes she’ll let you lick her eyeball.
AN: I still write slow. I'm always happy to recieve concrit.
The first time Sam said it, Quinn laughed. She laughed because it was just so weird and wrong, and it had probably taken every pervert on earth to come up with something as… as wrong as that. She laughed because Sam was obviously just joking.
She laughed to silence the small part of her mind that knew he wasn’t.
They’d been relaxing together on Quinn’s bed (with the door wide open, of course) watching reruns of some stupid vampire show when Sam had suddenly turned away from the TV to just stare into Quinn’s eyes.
“What are you doing, Sam?” She pushed at his shoulder playfully to try and distract him from the growing blush on her cheeks.
Sam, however, couldn’t be moved. “You really do have the prettiest eyes, you know,” he said, bringing his hand up to cup the side of her face. Quinn leaned into his touch but lowered her eyes from his intense gaze, focusing instead on her pink and white comforter. “Sometimes I want to—I don’t know,” Sam hesitated. “Just lick them.” Predictably, Quinn’s eyes widened and immediately rose to meet Sam’s.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a good thirty seconds before Quinn forced out a breathy laugh. “You’re not serious,” she told him, her voice gentle but firm. Then quieter: “Are you?”
Sam pulled a goofy ‘I’m Thinking’ face, squinting his eyes and stroking at his imaginary beard (he’d tried to grow one once, but then he’d realized that he didn’t know how to bleach beard hair), causing Quinn to break out into giggles.
The moment, whatever it may have been, was broken. Sam turned back around to catch the end of the show.
The second time Sam said it, Quinn had been, well, curious. Not that curious, of course, but the idea began to seem infinitesimally less freaky than it had the week before. Not that she’d ever thought about it, except for that one time—ugh, never mind.
They’d been doing what any normal teenagers would do on a Sunday afternoon while their mother was out at a wine tasting event: making out and sloppily grinding on each other through their clothes in Quinn’s bed with the nearby painting of Jesus looking on disapprovingly. That is, they had been, but, as usual, once Sam’s hand strayed too far up on her thigh and grazed against her panties, Quinn pulled away and said disinterestedly that those who were chaste would lead more successful lives.
Sam groaned, not even bothering to sit up. He unceremoniously rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into one of Quinn’s pillows. Quinn just rolled her eyes, fighting a smile, because sometimes her boyfriend was ridiculous. She lay down near Sam and, after not a moment’s hesitation, decided that his back was the perfect spot for her legs. Yeah, maybe Sam made Quinn feel a little bit ridiculous, too. Maybe it wasn’t even so bad.
“Hey.” Sam’s voice was muffled by the pillow. He turned his head slightly to the side and tried again, “Quinn, are you okay?”
“What? Of course.” Quinn hadn’t been silent for that long, had she? “I was just thinking,” she said, tilting her head to meet Sam’s gaze.
“About me, right?” Sam teased.
Quinn very nearly snorted. “You wish.”
“Well, what, then?”
Quinn sat up on the bed and stared down at Sam, still trapped under her legs. “Why do you want to know so badly?”
Sam lifted his face from the pillow at last, leaning up (carefully, because of course he didn’t want to disturb Quinn’s legs) and propping his head on his hand. “I like hearing about your thoughts, even if they’re really boring or random. It’s kind of like telepathy, you know?” Sam said seriously. “I’d be just like Jean Grey.” He hesitated, “Except maybe only a Delta Mutant. And I’d have better abs. Uh, my point is that I think it’s sort of cool to know what you’re thinking, you know?”
Honestly, Quinn didn’t know. She’d lost Sam’s point completely when he had started talking about mutants. Smiling despite herself, she said, “Yeah, I know.”
Sam smirked. “Good. So that means you have to tell me what you’re thinking of right now.” Quinn mock-glared at him for about a second and then gave in and focused on her thoughts. She stared, unfocused, at Sam’s face, looking deep into his eyes (didn’t he say that he wanted to—).
“Did you mean it?” Quinn asked before she even fully knew what she was saying.
“When you said you wanted to, you know…” Quinn’s voice trailed off, and she made a meaningless gesture with her hands that looked somewhat like she was imitating an angry cat.
Sam’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “No. I definitely don’t know.”
“You said you wanted to lick my eye!” Quinn whisper-shouted in a rush. “You said that. Did you mean it?”
“I did.” He rolled onto his back and repositioned Quinn’s legs on his stomach. Quinn waited for Sam to continue, but he said nothing else.
Finally, she got sick of waiting. “Why?” she asked.
Absently rubbing Quinn’s calf, Sam said, “I just think it’d be hot, really. Like, kind of a turn-on. I won’t push you to let me do it, though. It’s probably kind of weird. I can be kind of weird sometimes.” He smiled, proud of the fact. “I just don’t want to hide it from you, either. ‘Cause then you’d find out later on and be all creeped out and dump me, and that would really suck.”
“It’s not that weird,” Quinn said. She frowned. “Well, okay, it’s little weird.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
Quinn ignored that. “So, you won’t hate me if I say no?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, uncertain.
Sam squeezed her knee gently. “Of course not. I love you, Quinn.”
Quinn felt a flutter in her chest, a blush on her cheek, heard the familiar voice in her head chanting too fast too soon too fast too soon. “Uh,” she stammered, panicking.
As Quinn struggled internally, stuck between saying ‘I love you too’ and ‘I can’t fall in love right now’, Sam, hiding his disappointment, brushed her legs off his stomach and sat up to face her, finally placing a quick kiss on her cheek to break her out of her trance.
He looked deeply into her eyes and said in a serious voice, “Let’s watch Fellowship of the Ring,” and, God, it was just so random that Quinn had to laugh in his face.
Sam rolled sideways off her bed and, just before crouching down to Quinn’s DVD rack (after a heated debate, he’d managed to convince her to go out and buy some Sci-Fi/Fantasy to keep around her house just in case), he turned his head back to Quinn and stuck out his tongue playfully.
That was about the point where Quinn blanked out.
She knew the movie was playing, and she knew Sam had seated himself beside her, but she honestly just could not focus on anything other than the thought of Sam’s tongue. Quinn wasn’t usually the type to sit around and fantasize about sex, but she just couldn’t help it (it was Sam’s fault, really, because it only happened when he was around). She stared unfocusedly at the TV screen and thought about Sam’s tongue touching her own gently, Sam’s tongue tracing the side of her neck, Sam’s tongue brushing lightly against the surface of her eye as his fingers kept her eyelids from fluttering—
Wait. Quinn stopped that thought in its tracks. She was clearly just still caught up on the conversation she and Sam had just had.
But, the thing was, once the image had gotten into her mind, Quinn couldn’t get it to go away. She couldn’t stop thinking about Sam licking her eye, tasting the most vulnerable area on her body, while she helped him by holding her eyelids open with one hand and guiding his face with her other. She couldn’t stop wondering what Sam’s tongue would feel like against her eye—whether it would hurt, whether it would feel good, whether she’d even feel it at all. She couldn’t stop imagining the way Sam would smile and move in closer to her face until she could no longer distinguish his features and she could feel his hot breath against her skin.
Quinn swallowed thickly, trying to clear her mind. She could not be thinking this. Ever. But still the sinful thoughts filled her mind, tormenting her. Feeling the onset of a headache, Quinn brought her palm to her forehead and groaned.
“Something wrong?” Sam said somewhat distractedly without looking away from the movie.
Quinn could not even deal with this right now. “I think my mom’s coming back early today,” she lied. “You should probably get out of here before she sees you and finds out we were alone.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh, okay then! Uh, bye!” He kissed her on the cheek and scrambled off the bed and walked to her door, quickly turning around to wave goodbye again (he’d never said anything about it, but Quinn suspected that he was kind of terrified of her mom).
And so Quinn was left with her confusing, infuriating, kind of sexy thoughts.
The third time Sam said it… well, actually he didn’t say anything. Quinn did.
She’d been standing in the hallway outside his bedroom door for almost ten minutes now, staring down at her sneakers nervously. His mom, who was attempting and failing to be subtle, had been staring at Quinn from the other end of the hallway for the past few minutes. It was starting to get really awkward.
Finally, Quinn decided that she wouldn’t be able to gain any more courage from just standing around and stalling, and so, after quickly checking over her clothes to make sure they hadn’t gotten messed up while she was standing around, she opened the door to Sam’s room and went in.
As usual, she found her boyfriend lying on the floor doing sit-ups (he was at least wearing a shirt this time, which Quinn almost found disappointing), keeping count under his breath.
“Hey, Sam,” she said. No response. Typical. She knew that he had trouble counting and listening at the same time. “Sam!” she called a little louder.
“Huh?” Sam turned his head towards the noise (instantly causing him to lose focus and fall over onto his back, of course) and smiled when he recognized Quinn standing in his room. “Oh, hey!”
“Come here. Right now,” Quinn said, trying to sound confident in herself, as she walked over to his bed and sat at the corner. “I want to talk to you.”
With an eager nod, Sam scrambled up from the ground and sat on the bed beside Quinn, turned to face her.
Quinn opened her mouth, hesitated, licked her lips, and then decided she didn’t actually want to talk at all. Instead, she cupped the back of Sam’s neck and brought their lips together in a harsh kiss. It started out pretty bad—Sam always took a few seconds to recover after something mildly shocking happened—but after a few seconds Sam finally reacted and began to move his lips against hers.
Quinn tilted her head to the side and deepened the kiss, flicking her tongue against Sam’s lips until he parted them with a moan. This was familiar territory to Quinn—just sitting on Sam’s bed, kissing with no further intent, playing with his hair and running her hands along his back. But something was different this time, and Quinn knew it. She wanted more. She tilted her head back as Sam trailed kisses along the side of her neck, thinking (in between her mental invocations of God) about how excited Sam had been when he told her why he was so fascinated with her eyes, about how… excited she’d gotten as well when she thought about it, about how she’d crept into her bathroom late at night, washed her hands, and then watched her reflection in the mirror hold her eyelids open and timidly press a damp finger against the surface of her eye just to feel what it was like.
With a moan, Quinn let her palms slide to the front of Sam’s shoulders and pushed him gently away. Before he could even try to act as if he wasn’t disappointed, Quinn said, “I want to.”
Sam frowned. “Huh?”
Quinn wanted to yell at him for a moment for not following the conversation, when she realized that she hadn’t actually said anything about it before. “The other day, when you were talking about—do I have to say it?”
Sam looked confused.
“Okay, fine.” Quinn could see she wasn’t going to get through to him. “I was thinking about what you said, about my eyes, and I want to try it.”
“You mean,” Sam said cautiously, “you’ll let me lick them?”
Quinn looked around Sam’s room quickly (she can never know when her mother will be listening in on her conversations, of course) and then nodded. “I want you to.”
Sam gaped at her for a few more seconds, then just sort of squeaked, which caused Quinn to nearly snort in laughter. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying and failing to appear angry, but then smiled, jumped to his feet, and ran from the room. Quinn heard the sound of running water—presumably from the bathroom down the hall—and the faint humming of an electric toothbrush.
A few minutes later, Sam was back on the bed, eyes wide, still somewhat resembling an overexcited golden retriever. “I gargled really good with some tap water,” he said. “I didn’t want you to get toothpaste in your eye.”
“Oh. Good,” Quinn said awkwardly, honestly unsure what to do in this situation.
Luckily (or unluckily), she wasn’t alone. “So.” Sam tapped his hands against his thighs. “Should I just… do it?”
“I think so? Yes.” Quinn laid back against the pillows and opened her eyes really wide. That was erotic, right? She watched as Sam’s face got closer and closer, his lips appearing larger than she’d ever believed possible. A thought popped into her head. “Wait.”
Sam pulled his face back a bit to look Quinn in the eye. “What?”
“Am I going to go blind from this?”
“No. You’re not going to go blind.”
“Just so you know, if I go blind, I’m breaking up with you.”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?” Quinn tried to lean up on her elbows but couldn’t move far with Sam leaning over her.
“You just seem nervous,” Sam said. “Close your eyes, and we’ll start off easy, like we always do. If you want more you can—” he blinked exaggeratedly.
“Okay.” Quinn took a deep breath and shut her eyes. For a long moment, she felt nothing, and she briefly wondered if Sam had just forgotten about her. But then she felt a hand on her cheek, gently but firmly tilting her head to the side, and soft lips kissing at her jawline. The sound of her moan was almost surprising enough to cause Quinn’s eyes to open.
With a quick final nibble to the skin just under Quinn’s ear, Sam moved his attentions closer to her face, dragging his lips lightly against her skin as he moved so that she could sense where he was. He pressed his lips briefly to her temple and then moved on until his mouth was hovering over Quinn’s closed eye.
Quinn gasped at the feeling of Sam’s hot breath against her eyelid. To her, this whole situation just seemed so strange—so surreal--it was like something out of one of Sam’s comic books that she’d sneaked a look at once or twice. She’d never thought that she’d be in this situation for another—well, ever, really. But, still, if she was honest with herself, things weren’t as totally horrible as she’d thought they would be.
Quinn was pulled quickly out of her thoughts when Sam pressed a light kiss to her closed eye. Seemingly gaining courage from Quinn’s lack of freaking out so far, Sam then flicked the tip of his tongue against her eyelid.
It felt strange. Warm and wet and kind of tickly. But it felt good strange, and Quinn reflexively reached out and grabbed at Sam’s shoulder.
Sam licked her again, more confident now, and Quinn groaned in response. She felt his lips curve into a smile against her eyelid and then let out a small squeak when he pulled back and blew cool air onto the sensitive skin.
“How does it feel?” Sam asked.
Quinn tugged at his shoulder. “Do it again. Please.”
Sam leaned forward again, only to be stopped by Quinn’s softly whispered “hold on, Sam.” She squirmed under him and then leaned her head towards his and whispered, “I’m ready to try it now.”
“Okay,” Sam repeated, unable to hide his smile.
Quinn grinned back at him, still a little nervous, and, after making herself comfy on his pillows once more, reached towards her eye with both hands. She gently grabbed her upper and lower eyelids and pulled them apart, holding her eye open for Sam.
Quinn watched, through slightly blurred vision, as he moved closer to her, and she closed her other eye in anticipation. Her mind was running at a rapid pace. What if she was terrible at having her eyeball licked? What if she had particularly unpleasant tasting eyes? What if she hated it? Or worse, what if she liked it?
Turning her gaze upwards (she was definitely not going to let him lick anything important, okay?), Quinn breathed in deeply and then let it out in a small whimper as Sam finally touched his tongue to the white of her eye. By itself, the feeling wasn’t anything groundbreaking: just a bit of pressure and a sting so small it barely registered to Quinn. But that coupled with the warmth of Sam’s face near hers and his hand cupping the side of her face and the sound of his satisfied groan coming from deep in his chest caused a sudden and unexpected wave of arousal to wash over Quinn.
Sam started to pull away, breathing hard, but Quinn desperately grabbed at the back of his head with her free hand and pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she said, her voice high. Sam let himself be pulled back into place and then licked along her sclera once slowly and then several times faster. Quinn moaned and shifted her hips restlessly underneath Sam’s torso, seeking out any sort of pressure to relieve the sudden ache between her thighs. Her eyelids were straining against her fingers, occasionally touching Sam’s tongue, and her eyelashes were brushing against Sam’s lips with every subtle movement he made, and Quinn was not expecting this to be so good.
Sam pulled away briefly to let her blink—her eye had begun to water from being held open—and then, with a quick nod, moved back in. This time, Quinn didn’t look away. She watched as Sam’s mouth got closer to her face until his lips were just a blur in front of her eyes. She watched as his tongue slowly licked at the white of her eye, giving her that very same pressure-and-slight-pain that felt so good, and got closer and closer to her line of sight until suddenly she couldn’t see anything anymore. Quinn tightened her grip in his hair with a moan, and Sam let out a warm breath against her eye in response.
Moving slowly, Sam traced his tongue along her iris, feeling the rise of her cornea under his tongue. Quinn felt him flick his tongue right against where the (embarrassing) freckles in her eye lay once, then again, and then a third time, until her eyelids fluttered quickly against his tongue.
Sam leaned back again, leaving Quinn panting on the bed beneath him, blinking rapidly. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Quinn said, embarrassed by how breathy her voice sounded to her own ears. “I think we should stop.” She was desperately grasping for control of the situation.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. (Not that he wanted to stop or anything; he’d just figured out that, when you’re dating Quinn Fabray, sometimes you go slower than you want to, and sometimes she’ll let you lick her eyeball.)
“Give me a second.” Quinn covered her face with her hands to hide her flushed cheeks and tried hard to think of the unsexiest things possible. After a few seconds, she peeked between her fingers to see Sam still staring at her.
“How did it feel?” he asked, the curiosity in his voice making Quinn think that perhaps she’d maybe sometime kind of like to just show him herself.
“Strange,” she said, honestly. “How did it taste?”
“Strange.” Sam smiled. “Does that mean you’d want to do it again, though?”
Quinn may have said “yes!” a little too quickly and a little too enthusiastically, but sometimes Sam just made Quinn act a little ridiculous that way.