Author's Note: For anyone clicking in from their Author Alert, I apologize in advance. This is a vast departure from my usual writing style and the Phantom fandom It's my first attempt at Glee, my first attempt at femslash, and my first attempt at Faberry…so to anyone giving this a try, I hope you won't be too disappointed.

Summary: One pivotal moment can change everything. From a Faberry prompt, 'Rachel and Quinn share a kiss during a game of spin the bottle. From that night forward both girls desperately try to deny what they felt; what they feel. ..The other Glee kids know what's up and attempt to play matchmaker.'

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or the characters, just like to play with them. Credit for cover image to tayloryorks.

This Kiss

It's that pivotal moment, it's impossible.

~This Kiss, Faith Hill

Rivers In Egypt

Quinn watched in horror as the menacing green bottle that had been merrily spinning in circles just seconds ago, slowed to a drunken wobble before coming to a dead stop with its damning neck pointed directly at her. It was kind of like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.

She was only vaguely aware of the sudden roar of laughter, underscoring a few shouted 'woos,' but she definitely heard the 'so fucking hot' from Puck, of course, and a 'hell yeah' that sounded suspiciously like Santana. What came out of Quinn's mouth, instead of the 'fuck no' that ran through her head—because really, a good Christian girl did not say that word, even if she had partaken in the unfortunately named (one time only) act that led to her spectacular fall from grace—was "no way." More specifically, "No way in Dante's nine levels of hell am I kissing Berry!"

She'd known this party was a bad idea. Anything involving Puck and alcohol had the word danger flashing in bright red neon with big ass arrows pointing straight at his stupid, mohawked head. But everyone from glee had been going, along with a surprising number of cheerios and jocks, and Sam had wanted to go so he could try to get on Puck's good side—even though Quinn was still undetermined as to whether or not Puck even had a good side, let alone why Sam would care so much to be on it. But really, who was she to say no? She figured that she'd be safe enough this time, with Sam on her arm to keep her from doing anything foolish, or potentially life altering.

For and hour or so, she'd been having a perfectly good time, avoiding the alcohol that was flowing freely while enjoying the spectacle her friends made in their various degrees of drunkenness. Then Puck had suggested a glee only game of spin-the-bottle, and Quinn had known from the devious gleam in his eyes, and the smirk on his face, that he was looking to cause trouble. After all, most of the glee club was coupled up, and alcohol plus jealousy equaled potential disaster. Especially when the most annoying and disastrous couple was only just barely back together again after a bitter, jealousy fueled break up.

Puck had cranked up the music, set the other jocks and cheerios off in a game of beer pong, and then proceeded to corral all the gleeks up, and gather them into a circle in his living room. Doing his duty as host, Puck had slapped down an empty bottle of Rolling Rock and given it a spin. He'd laid an obnoxious kiss on Brittany, stopping only when Artie loudly cleared his throat. Brittany had offered the boy a quick peck to placate him before she'd managed to expertly spin Santana, to the obvious delight of all the guys, and the embarrassment of Finn, who'd looked to be having one of his 'mailman' moments. Santana had kissed Mike, maybe a little too enthusiastically for Tina's taste, although Artie had seemed to enjoy the little fight that had followed. The brief tension between the Asian couple had passed pretty quickly after Mike had spun Rachel and been forced to lay an awkward, blink and you missed it, closed-mouth kiss on the diva. In a show of sympathy for the boy, no one had made any comments about it not being a real kiss. And now here they were, with Rachel's spin landing on Quinn, who was not amused at all, and Rachel looking wide-eyed and fearful that Quinn might magically produce a slushie to hurl at her.

"Spin again, Treasure Trail." The insult slipped out without her even thinking about it, and she felt Sam stiffen at her side.

"Way harsh, Quinn," he muttered under his breath. She shot him a glare, but he only shook his head in disappointment, and she was reminded again that her boyfriend was deep into some sort of bromance with Finn, and therefore had decided that he should actually try to befriend Rachel Berry. He just didn't get how wrong that was.

"You don't get a veto, Q. The hobbit spun you, and now ya gots ta kiss her. Them's the rules."

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn hissed, "and God, stop with the gansta speak, already. Your father is a doctor, and you grew up in the suburbs along with the rest of us."

The Latina's eyes narrowed, and she lunged forward only to be grabbed around the waist by Brittany. "You wanna go, Tubbers?"

"Whoa, ladies. Not that a good girl fight wouldn't be smoking hot, but I'm all about the girl-on-girl lip action right about now. And Santana's got a point. Rules are rules, babe. You and Berry gotta kiss."

Quinn wanted to smack that cocky smirk right off Puck's face, and then bitch slap Santana just for the hell of it.

"They don't have to if they don't want to." Everyone turned to look at Finn, who sat red faced with his arm possessively slung over Rachel's shoulder. "I…I mean, they're totally both girls. It like, doesn't count if they're both girls, right?"

Kurt, freshly transferred back from Dalton Academy, rolled his eyes at his stepbrother. "It counted for Brittany and Santana."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what, Finnocence?" Finn glanced sheepishly at the still fuming Santana, and wisely decided not to finish his thought. Rachel seemed to finally shake off her uncharacteristic stillness, and patted Finn's hand reassuringly.

"It's alright, Finn. I am fully willing to honor the rules of the game, but I understand why Quinn may feel uncomfortable engaging in an activity which, while totally meaningless in the grand scheme of things, is decidedly outside her system of beliefs and values. In fact, her acceptance of diversity thus far has been surprisingly open when you consider…"

"Oh my God, Quinn," Santana interrupted, "just kiss her so she'll shut the hell up!"

"Fine! Whatever." Quinn just wanted this whole thing to be over now. Really, how bad could it be? One quick peck on the lips and they could all just move on. "Let's just get this over with."

"Alright! And do it right, babes. I wanna see some tongue."

"You're a pig" and "Shut it, Puckerman" were snarled simultaneously, but it was Mercedes who had the pleasure of smacking the back of his head. Puck rubbed absently at the spot, and held up his free hand in mock surrender.

"Damn, alright, no tongue. Just make sure it's a real kiss, none of that bullshit girly crap Chang pulled."

"Hey, I'm not girly. I was being respectful."

"Yeah, Mike is a gentleman." Tina rubbed her pouting boyfriend's shoulder. "You're totally manly, baby."

"Totally whipped. Ow, damn girl, stop smacking me."

"Stop being a jerk, and I'll consider it," Mercedes drawled.

Quinn rolled her eyes, rose from her comfy position on the couch, and adopted her familiar head-bitch-in-charge pose. "Just come over here, Berry, before I change my mind."

Rachel was perched on the edge of the chair she was sharing with Finn, and she threw him a questioning glance before responding to Quinn's command. "It's okay, Rach," he quietly reassured his girlfriend. "I'm not gonna be mad. It's a just party game, right?"

"Of course," she reassured him with a genuine smile. Quinn rolled her eyes as she watched the sickly sweet exchange. Rachel squared her shoulders and stood, nervously smoothing her hands over her too-short skirt before stepping to the center of the circle in front of Quinn. "I believe that five seconds would be adequate to qualify as a, quote unquote, real kiss."

"Did you seriously just say quote unquote?"

"It's a perfectly acceptable idiom."

"Do you even come from this century?" Quinn wanted to know. "Or did you fall out of some bad fifties sitcom?"

Rachel crossed her arms, straightened her back, and glared up at Quinn. "I will have you know that the nineteen-fifties produced a plethora of wholesome, thoughtful entertainment in both television and film that is sadly lacking amidst the glut of bad reality programs and melodramatic drivel rampant in today's profit driven industry. Furthermore…"

"You're such a freak," Quinn barked, cutting Rachel's tirade short.

"Hey! Bitch and Stitch, just kiss already so we can move the fuck on!"

Quinn figured that flipping Santana the bird probably didn't help with the good Christian girl image, but it sure as hell felt good. She turned her attention back to Rachel, and noticed the faint blush that painted her cheeks. Quinn sighed and stared down into an intense pair of deep, dark eyes. She felt the strangest little shiver run through her—definitely not anticipation—probably disgust. Yeah, disgust. Maybe if she could just temporarily turn off the part of her brain that was constantly manufacturing Berry-appropriate insults, she might be able to get through one kiss without gagging.

Studying Rachel, she tried to pick out something good to focus on. Well, she supposed her outfit was moderately fashionable for a change. Plain black mini skirt, no questionable plaid or argyle patterns, a lack of knee socks, and hey, even a solid green scoop neck blouse with no puppies or kittens or ponies. At least Quinn wouldn't have to feel like she was molesting a five year old. And okay, Rachel was having a pretty good hair day, even if Quinn wasn't really a fan of the bangs. Her gaze unconsciously fell to Rachel's lips, which really did look kind of soft. Like, really soft, and sort of kissable. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She leaned forward. Rachel rocked up, and…

Oh.

Oh! As soft as they look…

•••

Rachel had kissed exactly three boys in her short sixteen years. Finn had been her first, although that kiss had been the very definition of stolen. After all, he'd been dating Quinn at the time, but Rachel had never really had any problem ignoring her fickle moral code if it meant procuring something that she really wanted or felt that she deserved. That kiss, however imperfect it may have been, had been everything she'd ever dreamed that a first kiss should be—well, at least until Finn had run out on her.

Kissing Noah had been nice enough, but there had been absolutely no emotional connection, and Rachel had realized pretty quickly that she needed more than just a hookup. He hadn't been the boy she'd wanted, and she certainly hadn't been the girl that he'd wanted. Luckily, they'd both realized that pretty quickly and spared a bucket full of potential drama, seeing that Noah had turned out to be the real father of Quinn's child. And as for their very brief, completely insignificant regression just before Sectionals—well, that was never to be mentioned again.

Jesse—Jesse had been just like her. Talented, driven, and completely unapologetic. He'd been her perfect leading man, and they could talk for hours about music or their future stardom, but even though she might have been a little bit in love with him, kissing him hadn't resulted in fireworks or violins playing in her head.

She'd only glimpsed that elusive magic with Finn—that rush of happiness that had come from finally claiming the boy that she'd wanted all along. She would have sworn to anyone who would listen—which turned out to be no one really—that kissing Finn was almost as amazing as being on stage in front of a cheering audience, even if it wasn't exactly the perfect movie script romance that she'd once imagined. After all, he had thrown his virtue away on the school bicycle, and then proceeded to lie to her about it for months, crushing Rachel's self-esteem, and exacerbating her distress by failing to acknowledge his own culpability, thereby sending her into Noah's arms in an ill-fated act of angry desperation that—again—was best forgotten. She and Finn had only just reunited, but they were stronger for having worked through their difficulties, and she had come to realize that having someone who'd seen her at her best and worst, who knew her and still loved her, flaws and all, was the real magic.

Or so she'd thought, until the moment that she'd kissed Quinn Fabray.

Rachel had fully intended the barest of contact—a closed mouth kiss, during which she would count slowly to five, and then, probably after some insult to her femininity from Quinn, Santana, or more likely both, she could return to Finn's side and forget the whole thing.

What she had forgotten instead was how to count and breath and possibly her own name. That first brush of soft lips hadn't immediately registered as anything other than mildly pleasant, but then Quinn had tilted her head just so, and her lower lip had fallen between Rachel's, and a little zing of electricity had short-circuited her brain. All she knew was soft and sweet and magical…

Rachel's eyes fluttered closed, and every cliché that she'd ever heard seemed to happen to her all at once. Her knees went weak, butterflies were turning pirouettes in her stomach, her skin was tingling, blood singing, fireworks were exploding behind her eyelids, and—screw the violins—there was a symphony playing a romantic overture loud enough to drown out the catcalls and whistles of their friends. As they fell deeper into the kiss, Rachel's arms somehow slipped around Quinn's waist, and Quinn's fingers sank into thick, dark hair, and neither of them seemed aware that they'd inadvertently honored Puck's request for tongue. At least until Rachel heard and felt a moan that she was fairly certain was not her own, and she crashed into full awareness.

She jerked herself back and away from Quinn as though she'd been burned, and stood breathless and panting as her fuzzy senses slowly began to come back into focus. She stared at Quinn, half-expecting to see anger and disgust blazing across her face, but to her surprise, Quinn looked just as dazed as Rachel felt. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath, and her arms half-raised in the air, seemingly still in search of the girl who'd just been in them.

With the exception of the music blaring from the speakers, the entire circle of friends around them fell completely silent—for about fifteen seconds before Brittany said, "that was so hot," and then everyone was talking at once…

Puck let out a loud whoop, yelling. "Fuckin' awesome!"

Kurt muttered, "I didn't need to see that. Ever."

"Da-amn, girl," from Mercedes.

Tina whispered, "Oh. My. God, " and Mike echoed with a quiet "yeah."

A "wow" from Artie.

"Way to get your freak on, Q," from Santana. "Or maybe I should say…get it on wit' yo' freak."

That comment seemed to snap Quinn out of whatever stupor she'd been in, and she turned to Santana with a scowl. "Shut the hell up or you'll be running suicides until graduation," she glanced back to Rachel in time to see a flushed and frowning Finn move behind his girlfriend, and drop a possessive hand on her shoulder. Quinn's glare turned to ice, and she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth in disgust. Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed a threatening finger at Rachel. "And don't you ever put your man hands on me again, RuPaul."

Rachel felt her face flame. She'd been expecting the insult, and it was nothing that she hadn't heard before—many, many times. So why did it make her feel slightly nauseous this time? Finn's grip on her tightened and he growled, "Hey, leave Rachel alone. It's just a stupid game."

"Yeah, girlfriend," Mercedes spoke up in an attempt to smooth over the sudden tension. "It's supposed to be fun, right?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms. "Whatever. This party sucks. Come on, Sam, you're taking me home." She turned on her heel and strutted toward the door, not even bothering to wait for Sam, who had been silently watching the entire exchange from the couch. He shook his head a little and offered a thin smile to the group as he got up.

"Uh…I guess we're leaving."

"Aw, c'mon man. Things were just getting good," Puck whined at the blonde couple. "And you're totally ruining the game, Quinn. It's your turn!" Quinn made a show of flipping him off, and then grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him out the door, making sure that it slammed shut behind them. Puck shrugged, "So who's up for Truth or Dare?"

"Jerk," Mercedes said with another light slap to his head.

"Again? Keep it up and I'll think you like it rough, hot mama."

"Keep it up, and I'll take your head off, you perv. Both of them." Puck grimaced, and slid away while everyone else laughed. Everyone, except Rachel. She forced a tight smile, but she couldn't quite bring herself to join in the humor. Her mind was too occupied with replaying the kiss, and trying to make sense of the way that she'd responded. She felt Finn shift beside her, then a gentle hand stroke along her cheek, arresting her attention.

"Hey, you okay, Rach?"

No.

"Yes, Finn. I'm having a wonderful time." She flashed him one of her practiced megawatt smiles, but she could tell by the furrow that remained between his eyebrows that he wasn't buying her act. Her smile dimmed, but didn't completely fade as she turned into his arms, her hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. "Really, I'm fine," she assured him softly. "Just a little…flustered."

He nodded, "Yeah, I guess I get that. I mean, kissing Quinn had to be totally weird for you. 'Cause you're, like, both girls and, you know, kinda hate each other."

Rachel pursed her lips, pushing out an unenthusiastic hum of acknowledgment. Weird was not exactly the word that she would use. The problem was, the words she did want to use brought up questions that she simply wasn't ready to answer. "I'd rather just forget the whole experience."

Finn grinned down at her. "I think I can help with that." He leaned down, and Rachel tipped her head back to accept his kiss. She tried not to think about how uncomfortable their extreme height difference suddenly seemed, tried not to notice the absence of softness or butterflies, tried not to compare it to—no, she was not going there. Finn was her boyfriend. She loved kissing him. She loved him. Whatever bizarre reaction she'd had to Quinn was undoubtedly a result of nerves, and that questionable punch that Noah had handed her, of which she'd mistakenly taken a few sips. It was an anomaly. A fluke. Irrelevant.

With that decided, she gave herself over to Finn's kiss completely, and ignored the little voice in her head whispering about rivers in Egypt.