Glee 1. Chapter 1

Rated M for minor sexual descriptions and drug use

_I knew I could never have you  
__I knew that before you did  
__Still I'm the one who's stupid_

* * *

To dance was to live. In Mike Chang's mind it was simple as that. It didn't matter what kind of dancing was being done, Mike danced at every opportunity he could. He didn't really care for the hyper-fast dubstep that seemed to dominate every club in the city, but he could dance to it and that was good enough for him.

The club they were at tonight was nicer than the ones he normally went to. Some guy at the hostel he was staying at knew some other guy who knew someone else who got them into this place. The drinks were more expensive and there were better clothes on the prettier people which the rest of the group loved, but none of that mattered to Mike. He wasn't looking for someone to bring back to the hostel. All that mattered was the dancing.

Dancing, to Mike, was the universal language he chose to express himself with. Some people used music or photography or oil paint, but he danced. He loved the way fast movements could drive away a dreary day or how he could bring people to tears with contemporary dance. Of course, there was none of that slow, choreographed dancing in the club. It was all flying limbs and sweaty bodies grinding so close together it was like they were trying to disprove the scientific theory that two bodies couldn't occupy the same space.

The first time he saw her he was dancing with a random woman and he didn't actually see her, just her blonde hair. It was amazing how a few weeks away from the US could change your perception. Instead of every other woman being a bottle blonde like back home, Paris was full of brunettes which made the light hair stand out. That was only part of it though. The other part was how motionless the hair was compared to everything else in the club and his eyes kept being drawn back to the unmoving blonde object past the bodies on the floor. Even so, he wasn't in any rush to get a good look at her face because there wasn't a point. He wasn't coming back to the club after tonight. Plus, he wouldn't be staying in Paris for much longer. There were still half a dozen cities in Europe he wanted to visit. Still, he did kind of want to see what she looked like but after two songs the blonde hair was gone.

The disappointment he felt didn't last long as a beautiful woman began to grind on him. After they had danced together for a song, she said something in French which he assumed was a "thank you" since she then planted a kiss on his cheek and danced away, allowing him to appreciate her firm ass in a different way. He really loved women who danced.

* * *

Mike could have two drinks that night and two drinks only. It wasn't because he was trying to stay sober because he did want to get drunk. It was just that his first drink at the bar was so expensive he had to recalculate how much he could spend for the rest of the night which came out to be one more drink. And it had to be one of the cheap ones. But he could only get that drink if he could get the bartender's attention.

"Hey!" he said as he waved his hand around. "Hey!"

He was pretty sure the bartender was actually ignoring him now because he was waving his hand around pretty hard.

Someone tapped on his shoulder as he heard, "Pardon." When he turned to look, he saw blonde hair attached to the most gorgeous face with the most gorgeous smile he had ever seen. He wanted to say something smooth and cool but the problem with that was she was speaking to him in French and he had exhausted all of his trying to get the bartender's attention. What he needed to do was interrupt her and try to get her to understand that he didn't speak French but he didn't ever want her to stop speaking.

But she did and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry, I don't uh— English?"

Her eyebrows came together for a second as she looked at him funny then came the laughter. Mike wasn't the greatest with the ladies but he never had any trouble talking to them and he certainly never had one laugh in his face like now. Part of him wanted to crawl into a ditch a die but another part told him to look at her eyes and the way the skin next to them was crinkled in amusement.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh."

"You speak English."

"I speak English," she said with a smile and it was only then he heard the lack of an accent. He had gotten so used to English being spoken with one that it surprised him when it wasn't. It felt good to hear. "American?"

"Yea."

"Sorry, not too many come to this club so I thought…"

"It's okay. I enjoyed the French even if I didn't understand a word of it."

"Oh, I see I've wasted my time since you like French girls," she said with a mock frown as she began to walk away.

He grabbed her arm, pulled her back, and said, "Hey, lemmie buy you a drink."

Coming much closer to him than she had to, she said, "No thanks. I saw you trying to buy one earlier." She turned toward the bar and snapped her fingers, making enough noise to be heard even with the music playing. "I'm buying."

The bartender appeared in front of her like magic and she spoke to him in French, too fast for Mike to catch any of the words.

"How'd you—" he said after the bartender left and she turned back to him. "I tried for like hours to get him—"

Grinning up at him, she said, "Don't worry about it."

Before he could think of anything to say, the bartender came back with two champagne flutes filled with a bubbly pink liquid and set them down on the bar. She nodded her head at the glasses and waited for him to pick up his glass before she picked up hers. They clinked glasses and she drained the entire thing while he just took a sip of the rosé.

She put her glass back on the bar and looked at him like he was a piece of meat. "So, where are you staying?"

He stammered out the name of the place where he was staying.

Giving him a curious look, she said, "Never heard of it. Is that a hotel?"

"No, it's a hostel," he said, not embarrassed but not proud of it either.

She pursed her lips for a second then said, "I guess we're going back to my place." He coughed on his drink and she smiled. "Finish your drink."

"Are you serious?"

The only response he got was her tongue slowly tracing the top of her upper lip. He coughed on his drink again then drained it. That brought a smile to her face as she dragged him away from the bar.

"Wait, aren't you gonna pay for the drinks?"

"Don't worry about it," she said looking back at him.

Mike normally wasn't the type of guy who slept with random women he had just met but he hadn't gotten laid in a long time and the woman who was dragging him along was really beautiful and it wasn't like that was some sort of unbreakable rule of his. The fact that they didn't even know each other's names kind of bothered him, but she really was beautiful. And he hadn't gotten laid in a long time.

So his mind was elsewhere when the Mercedes Benz S-Class pulled up to the curb as soon as they stepped out of the club. It also didn't help his thinking when she straddled him and locked her lips onto his the moment they got into the car. It really didn't help when he could feel her heat as she started to grind on him. When he moaned into her mouth she just pulled back and smirked for a second before kissing him again. His mind was still lust addled when they pulled up to their destination and he didn't really notice that it was a luxury hotel or that they took the elevator up to the top floor and entered an enormous suite. All he could think about was the end of the surprisingly high bed she pushed him onto. That is until she dropped to her knees, undid his pants, and pulled off his jeans and boxers.

Although he had gotten better blowjobs, this was still one of the best. Like every good one, she started slowly and used both her mouth and hands to tease him while looking up at him every so often. Varying the length and depth of the strokes of her hands and mouth, she sped up her actions and stared right at him as the city lights softly lit up her face and the room. With every passing second she felt and heard him react to everything lick, stroke, or touch. She remembered which ones made him moan, or jump, or twitch and went back to them regularly until his hips jerked from everything she did.

Her cheeks caved in and her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, bringing past the point of no return as he clutched onto her head with his hands, not to push her down but just to hang on to. He moaned out a warning but her cheeks caved in even further which he didn't think was possible and he exploded into her mouth. Her throat rippled after every jerk of his cock while she kept her tongue moving along the bottom of it until he couldn't take it anymore and pushed her head away. She stood up and smirked at him before licking her lips.

He dropped his head back onto the bed and decided that was the best blowjob he had ever gotten. When he looked up again she was gone. Not that he cared since he was still basking in the afterglow. After a minute or two, she came back and her right hand came up and pulled on the string behind her neck. Without that knot, the dress slid down her body and pooled around her feet. She had nothing on underneath, and he felt himself twitch.

Just when he thought he had never seen anything sexier than her body being silhouetted by the lights of the main room, her head tilted back as she drank from a bottle of water she held in her other hand. He twitched again, and for once he felt lucky that he hadn't had sex on this entire trip, as she drank the entire bottle in one go. She placed the bottle down on the table next to the doors then looked over at him.

"Guess you liked the show."

Kicking off her high heels, she walked over to the side of the bed and leaned over onto her hands. She looked at him and said, "Fuck me."

* * *

Mike woke up to an empty bed which he didn't mind since it was the softest one he had slept on in a month. Oh, and he had had the best blowjob of his life last night. And the sex after wasn't bad either.

He looked around and saw that her dress and heels were gone. He couldn't remember if she fell asleep with him because the last thing he remembered was her looking at him as he drifted off. The only trace of last night was the empty water bottle on the floor and the damp spot he felt on the bed. For a few seconds he thought he might have been stuck with the bill for this expensive looking room but he heard someone talking out in the main room.

After putting on his clothes, he walked into the main room of the suite which was huge, something he was too busy to notice last night. There was another set of doors, directly across from the bedroom he slept in, through which he saw a messy bed with the dress from last night draped along the bottom. The blonde was sitting at a desk typing on a laptop and talking to someone in French. When she noticed him standing there she interrupted whoever she was talking to and then hung up.

"There are croissants and coffee if you'd like have breakfast," she said as she gestured towards the food.

"Great," he said as he walked over. "I'm starving."

She smirked.

Her phone chimed and she glanced at it before saying, "I'll be in meetings all day." It was only then that it clicked into his mind that she was wearing a business suit. "Will you be dancing somewhere tonight?"

"Probably."

"Do you know where?"

He shook his head.

She pulled out a business card from her purse and wrote something on the back before holding it out. "Be there at 11:30 and give this to the doorman."

He took it from her and looked at it. The business card was completely white with two French words printed in black on the front and what looked to be a street address. On the back was more French, only in elegant written cursive. He didn't understand any of it. Before he could ask her about any of it, she stood up, picked up her laptop and began walking towards the entrance.

"I have to leave, but you may stay if you'd like," she said as she walked through the doors.

He had no idea what to do but he didn't come to Paris to sit in a hotel room all day long, even if it was the largest and most luxurious one he had ever been in. After eating and showering, he went back to the hostel where the guys there make a few jokes in multiple languages at his expense. It seemed like the only mission the guys there had was to sleep with as many French women as possible before they had to go back to wherever they came from. It got around that Mike hadn't spent the night away from the hostel the entire week he had been there so he expected the jokes to come and he didn't mind.

After some sightseeing alone during the day, the guys he hung out with the most decided they wanted to go clubbing. He came along because he had nothing to do and they had the same taste in clubs. All of them preferred places that weren't too packed for different reasons. They liked them because they thought it was easier to pick up women and he liked them because there was more room to dance.

As with every other instance, he lost track of time as he danced and before he knew it, it was 11:15 and had to decide whether he even wanted to go. He didn't know or owe the blonde but the sex was pretty damn good so the choice was easy. He rushed out of the club. It took a few minutes to track down a taxi and many more minutes for the taxi to bring him to the address on the card. By the time he arrived, it was just past midnight.

He had hoped to walk right into the club but there was a doorman dressed in a black suit at the front of a line of well-dressed people that stretched to the next block. There was a moment of panic before he remembered what she had said and walked up to the man. He could feel the eyes of every single person in line on him as he handed the card over. The man read the back of the card then looked him over and Mike felt more and more underdressed in his jeans and polo shirt by the second with all those eyes on him.

Finally, the man spoke into his radio. When the reply came, he opened the door and waved Mike in, much to the ire of the people in line. There was another man in a black suit inside, holding open an elevator, who told him to go up to the top floor.

The first thing he noticed when the doors to the elevator opened was how much quieter it was compared to the first floor. Instead of dubstep trying to jam itself into his brain, a soothing trance beat filled the air which was a nice change from what he normally heard. Taking a few steps forward, he looked around for the blonde but all he saw were dancing people. Wandering around the dance floor, he wondered if the blonde had already left. She seemed to be the type of person who got what she wanted the moment she wanted it. Although, he had been let into the club which he took as a good sign, so he continued to look.

Like the day before, he saw her blonde hair before anything else. As he got closer he found her dancing with some guy in the middle of the floor. The guy was grinding on her pretty heavily but she didn't seem too interested. Jealously didn't even enter his mind since he had just met her and didn't really know what the hell was going on.

The one good thing about being so underdressed was he stood out and she spotted him as he walked towards them. Without a word to the other guy, she left him and began to walk towards Mike.

"You're late," she said as she pushed him backwards.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. "Couldn't decide if I wanted to come or not."

The difference between the way you danced to dubstep and trance was what each type of music allowed. Dubstep was solely comprised of fast beats; trance could range from even faster beats to something that bordered on slow. While he would never consider trance to be romantic because of the heavy bass line, the slower trance songs could be much more sexual than the always fast dubstep. The blonde seemed to understand that too.

Mike wouldn't have called her the best dancer he knew, but she was more than competent as she ground against him and ran her hands up and down his body. He returned the favor and she moaned into his ear when his hands grazed the more sensitive parts of her body. He didn't know how many songs they danced like this for, but her moans had turned into whimpers and he could see her nipples more and more prominently against her dress.

When she grabbed his hand and pulled him off the floor, he figured she couldn't take it anymore and they would be heading back to her place. Instead, she pulled him to a corner of the floor into a secluded booth where she shoved him onto a seat where they couldn't be seen by the people dancing. His brain couldn't believe it when she undid his belt and pants and pulled down his zipper. Her hand reached into of his boxers and stroked him a few times, making him groan. After smirking at him, she pulled his cock out and stroked it a few more times.

She straddled him and he could feel her heat pressing against him. When she rocked back and forth, they both groaned out of pleasure and frustration. Her hand reached down between them, gripped his cock, and settled it just inside of her. She sank down and they groaned again, completely out of pleasure this time, not stopping until he was completely inside of her. Rocking back and forth, she pressed her mouth against his neck to try and keep quiet. He gritted his teeth as he moved his hips up and down as best he could, trying to drive himself deeper and deeper into her. They had already run most of the marathon on the dance floor so this was just a mad sprint to the finish. His shoulder in her mouth. Her hair in his hands.

He could feel a rhythmic ache in his shoulder from where she had bit him. It matched his pounding heart and heavy breathing as he recovered from their race. Her breathing was just as hard as she continued to slowly grind in his lap, trying to prolong her pleasure. Dropping his face into the crook of her neck, he could smell cherries with a hint of vanilla. And the slight musk from her sweat. The combination was intoxicating.

His lips touched her neck, just behind her right ear, and he tasted the salt on her skin. She trembled on top of and around him. Her breathing slowed and she whispered into his ear, "Now, aren't you glad you came?"

That double entendre drew a tired chuckle from Mike before he said, "I don't even know your name."

There was a long pause before she said, "Quinn."

"I'm Mike."

"I never asked for yours," she whispered. "Now, I'm going back to my place. Are you going to come with me?"

He could feel her laughing at her little joke and it made him laugh too.

* * *

They repeated these things, with minor differences, for a few days. He hadn't planned on meeting anyone on his European trip, but the sex was great and sleeping Quinn's hotel room was infinitely better than the hostel. Plus, whatever this was couldn't be serious. All they did was meet up at a club of her choosing. She would drop whatever guy who was dancing with her to dance with him and then go back to her place to have sex. He hated to sound like such a douchebag of a guy but his situation was fucking awesome.

By now, he was comfortable enough to take a shower before he left which was nice because the community shower in the hostel lacked hot water. Some days Quinn would be gone by the time he woke up but she always left him a business card for the club she wanted him to be at that night. Other days she sat at her desk, typing on her laptop and talking on the phone, while he ate as much as he wanted to before leaving. He noted with a bit of embarrassment that she had more and more food on the desk with each passing day.

About a week of this went by until he found her standing in the doorway to the bedroom one morning when he opened the doors.

"I need to go to Berlin for a few days," she said.

Like that, his time in heaven was over. He knew it couldn't have lasted forever but he still felt disappointed that this was over. Although, it was probably for the best considering he didn't know her at all.

"Oh. I guess—" he started to say before she stepped up to him, pressed a hand to his chest, and grinned.

"Would you like to join the mile high club?"

* * *

From the acts of public sex she had initiated, he figured that she would have some plan to get them both into one of the restrooms in the first class section of the plane. He was unprepared as the Mercedes Benz drove past the main terminals, down a restricted road, and stopped inside a hanger. He slowly got out of the car, not quite able to believe they were parked next to a private jet. It made complete sense though as he stood there and thought about it.

"She's beautiful isn't she?" someone said with an accent he couldn't place.

His eyes were drawn to Quinn in one of the endless number of dresses she owned.

"Yes, she is."

"She's a Gulfstream G550, best jet in the world," the man said taking a few steps towards the plane.

Mike had to stifle a laugh when he realized the man was talking about the plane and not the woman beside it. He couldn't hide the grin when he saw the contrast of their luggage, his ratty backpack and her suitcases made by a company he had never heard of, as people carried it towards the plane.

"Amused by something?"

"My backpack doesn't really belong here."

"You're right. It doesn't," she said so matter of factly it was like calling the sky blue before turning away to speak with the man with the accent.

That accent turned out to be German as Quinn began speaking to the man in the language. He had to stop himself from staring too much at her in wonder. She noticed him anyway and gestured for him to come closer.

"Time to go," she said as she walked away, just as he approached her.

The interior of the plane was the bordered on being as luxurious as the hotel they had just left with a leather l-shaped sofa lining one side of the plane and a bar behind a pair captain's chairs on the other. Plush carpet lined the floor and there were a pair of flat screen TVs at either end of the cabin. Not for the first time, he wondered just who she was.

Quinn took a seat on the sort section of the sofa and he joined her. There were no seatbelts. The German boarded the plane with another person and they went into the cockpit. After a minute the plane began to move and he heard the briefest pre-flight announcement ever which just said they would be taking off shortly and the flight time would be about an hour and a half.

"That gives us about an hour. Can't really do anything on the descent," she said as she ran her hand up and down his thigh. "We'll be too tired."

He chuckled and started pulling up the hem of her dress. "Does that mean takeoff is fair game?"

Without a warning, the plane's engines powered up and pressed them back into the sofa.

Leaning over, she said, "Wait until we're in the air. Wouldn't want your application into the club to be interrupted." She gripped him through his shorts. "We'll have to make sure to be thorough."

* * *

Their time in Berlin was just like their time in Paris. Only, she was gone from their enormous suite every day until late at night which meant they didn't go dancing and, when she did get back, she went directly into the other bedroom without a glance at him. Obviously, that meant no sex. So, it really was nothing like Paris.

His days were wandering around the city as best as he could without any information about it and wondering what the hell he was doing here. He never thought he'd be the type of person that was swayed by a bit of money and a vague of promise of sex, but here he was walking alone by the Olympic Stadium. At least he was getting to see Berlin for almost no money.

The food from room service was befitting for the luxury hotel they were staying in and he had been slowly working his way down the menu. Tonight, he ate steak which he was halfway through when he heard the door open. Quinn hadn't come back this early since they arrived in Berlin, so he was surprised, and a bit amused, when she sat down next to him and stole his fork. Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she ate the piece of steak on it then held out the fork.

"More?"

She nodded as best she could. He cut off another piece of steak and handed the fork back to her. They repeated this process until the steak was gone and she was flailing a hand around for the nonexistent next piece.

"Sorry, all gone."

She lifted her head up and glared at the empty plate like it had wronged her. That made him laugh which brought the glare on to him which made him laugh even harder. Instead of being upset with him, like he figured she would be, she stood up, stripped off her suit jacket, and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"I'm still hungry," she said, leaving a trail of clothes on her way to his bedroom.

* * *

They flew back to Paris the next day, not quite repeating what they had done on the previous flight but coming close. Quinn wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong with his membership.

The car brought them back to the hotel she was at before. The bellhops quickly transferred their things to a cart and went off ahead into the lobby. Mike waited for Quinn, but her phone rang and she told him to go on ahead and get the room since she needed to take the. He shrugged and went into the lobby then realized he had no idea how he would get that room. All he knew was her first name and he didn't even know the room number since there was nothing written anywhere on the top floor.

He could see her standing outside on the phone while the bellhops stood there looking at him. Figuring it couldn't hurt to try he went up to the front desk and tried to get a room. Thankfully, everyone there spoke English. That didn't help with getting a room though, since everything was booked.

"Did you get the room?" Quinn asked as she walked up next to him.

Mike jerked his head towards the man behind the desk and said, "He says everything is booked."

Quinn narrowed her eyes and then spoke rapidly in French to the man. It sounded like they were arguing and the man eventually went back into an office.

"I hate incompetence," she said.

After a minute, the man came back out, talking with a woman. The woman's eyes widened when she saw Quinn. She rushed over to the desk and Mike could kind of make out that she was apologizing quite a bit while typing on the computer. He also heard "Mademoiselle Fabray" being used a lot and he figured that Fabray was her last name.

Quinn held up two fingers and the woman placed two key cards onto the desk. Quinn picked one up before sliding the other over to Mike and saying, "This is my friend Mike. I assume you understand what means?"

"Of course mademoiselle," the woman said with a nod. "Enjoy your stay and sorry for the confusion."

The woman resumed berating the man in French again, but that faded as they walked to the elevators. When they entered the suite, Quinn dropped what little she carried, immediately went to the desk, and pulled out her laptop. Mike stood in near the entrance, only moving when the bellhops entered to drop off their luggage.

"Hey," he said, picking up his backpack. "I think I should go back to the hostel."

"Why?" she said, not even looking up from her laptop.

"This…isn't quite what I had planned for my trip."

"You'd rather stay in a hostel than here?"

"Well, no…but—"

"Then stay here," she said as she closed her laptop and stood up. "I'm going to have a bath. If you do decide to stay, order us some dinner."

He didn't even know why he had done that. If he had told his past-self where he was staying, he would have been thrilled to not be at a shitty hostel and then punched his present-self for even thinking about leaving. So after pausing for a minute, he ordered dinner.

* * *

"Escargot and cassoulet?"

"When in Paris…"

She sat across from him with still damp hair. "I don't think I'll be able to move after we eat."

That was the most personal thing she had said to him and it caused him to stare at her. Their conversations up this moment had consisted of things like, "hello" and "goodbye," or the words that only came when two people were fucking and nothing else.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just—"

"Worried you won't be able to sleep with me tonight?"

"That's not—"

"Don't worry." Her foot began a trip up his leg. "You can still have me."

* * *

Mike watched as Quinn, back arching and eyes fluttering, found her release as she ground against him. The heat and contractions around his cock were too much and he followed her. She fell onto his chest and he could feel aftershocks coursing through her body. After a minute of heavy breathing by both of them, she rolled off to his side.

"I love your abs," she said as her hand found them.

Laughing, he turned his head and found her staring at him. Even with the air conditioning, there was a slight sheen of sweat covering her entire body that glimmered under the city lights from the window. There was just something about a woman in the afterglow of an orgasm that made them even more beautiful. He figured that those few seconds were the only time when nothing else was on their minds, just the feeling of release. Her face, worthy enough to launch a million ships for, held a small smile but it eventually disappeared.

Not knowing why, he closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. After a few minutes he felt the bed shift, heard a rustling of clothing, and then after a few breaths the doors closed.

His eyes opened again and it would be a long time before he could fall asleep while staring at the empty space next to him.

* * *

A/N: Trying something a little new here. Let me know how you like it. Also, I'm desperate for a beta. Shoot me a PM if you're interested.


	2. Chapter 2

Things weren't the same back in Paris. Quinn no longer went out for meetings and spent most of her time in the suite on her laptop and phone. Mike still spent the days wandering around the city although he couldn't do much more than look. Even though he had been paying no money for the room, he still had to watch how much he spent. The money he saved from work would only last so long.

"What's for dinner?" Quinn asked as he came over and sat down on the sofa.

To save some money, he skipped lunch and sat around sipping a drink in some café he found before coming back to the hotel in the afternoon where he ordered food from the restaurant in the lobby. Their food turned out to be much better than they got from room service which was saying something. Quinn seemed to take his return as the point to stop whatever she was doing and joined him for these early dinners. Although, when he came in today she was already on the sofa.

"Don't know. They're just sending some stuff up."

The TV was on and showing some mindless movie that he didn't really care about. When an upbeat song began playing under the dialogue, his leg began to jump. He couldn't help it; it was just who he was.

"You never stop moving do you?"

He chuckled. "No, I don't."

"Well, I've got a new club picked out for tonight."

That was another thing that remained the same. They went to a new club every night to dance. Quinn danced with anyone but him for most of the night and sometimes he had the feeling that she was auditioning guys to replace him. Of course, he couldn't complain since he danced with anyone he felt like dancing with. At the end of the night though, she was always dancing with him and then dragging him back to the hotel. Or a secluded corner if she couldn't wait.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"No," he said, wondering why she wanted to know. "Well, I the one I use back in the US but it doesn't work here."

"I'll have to get you one then." She looked over at him. "You wouldn't happen to have a suit packed away in that bag of yours would you?"

If her first question wasn't confusing enough, he had absolutely no idea what to make of this one.

"No."

"We'll have to fix that as well."

The food arrived before he could say anything. One of the few things he had learned about her was that she ate in silence. If he asked her a question, she would respond but it would never be much of a response and she never spoke first while they ate. It was the complete opposite from any other time they were together and he couldn't understand it at all.

"About the cell phone," he said as soon as she put down her fork. "I don't really think you need to get me one."

"Why not? I needed to get in touch with you today and couldn't."

"It just seems like too much." She gave him questioning look. "I mean, I'm already taking up a room in your suite and I guess you're paying for my meals. I don't really need a cell phone from you. Plus, I think I'll be leaving Paris pretty soon."

"Well, when you leave you can just return the phone," she said as she went over to her laptop. "When are you leaving?"

"Don't know yet. I've gotta look up train and plane prices."

"Where are you going?"

Mike listed off a dozen random cities in Europe and she raised her eyebrows.

"Why so many cities?"

"They seemed like nice places to visit," he said with a shrug, "and I wanted to see as many places as I could on this trip. I figure it might be my only chance to see them since I'm kinda between jobs right now."

She typed for a minute before saying, "What if I took you to those places? You wouldn't have to stay in hostels and I'll pay for any minor things you require.

"Are you serious? Why would you do that? We barely know each other."

"Does this mean you're turning down my offer?"

"I don't know." He walked over to the desk. "What are you getting out of this?"

Quinn glanced up at him. "You want to know what I'm expecting from you."

It wasn't a question, but he responded anyway. "Yea, I guess I do."

"Nothing more than what we're doing right now," she said with a shrug.

"So: dinner, dancing, and sex."

Glancing up at him again, she said. "I could be flexible about dinner."

It was probably a stereotype she wouldn't appreciate, but her dry British sense of humor mixed with a hint of naughtiness brought a smile to Mike's face when she chose to show it like now.

"What if I'm not up for the other two things that day?"

"Then we skip them for that day. I'm not going to kick you to the street if you say no to me." She glanced up at him again and smirked. "Although, would you really turn down those things for long?"

He chuckled then said, "No, no I wouldn't."

She smiled back and said, "Let me know what you decide." Closing her laptop, she stood up. "I'm going to change."

Standing there, he couldn't believe his luck. Someone was offering to basically pay for an all expensed paid trip around Europe and all he had to do was dance and sleep with said person. Granted, he probably would've had a different opinion if that person was a guy, but Quinn was hot and great in bed. There was no way he wasn't taking her up on her offer.

The decision was only reinforced when he saw what she was wearing for the night: a skimpy little dress that was short, but not too short. The length of which hinted at the fact they were probably going to be in a secluded area of whatever place they went to and fucking like animals. He wondered if she knew the length of her dress gave away what they were probably going to do that night. Then he wondered if she wasn't going to use it as some sort of incentive for him to say. Then he thought it didn't matter if it was.

"I think I'll accept your offer, Quinn Fabray."

Her head jerked towards him. "I'm impressed you learned my last name."

"My French is bad, but not so bad I don't know the word mademoiselle."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"It didn't seem important," he said with a shrug.

Her eyes dropped and after a second she said, "What's yours?"

"Chang. Mike Chang, Jr."

Lifting her eyes, she stepped forward and extended her hand. "Nice good to meet you Mike Chang, Jr."

He took her hand and, for the first time, realized just how soft and smooth the skin was. Unable to help himself, he used his thumb to rub the back of her hand which brought a small smile to her face.

"And it's good to meet you Quinn Fabray."

* * *

There was a brand new iPhone sitting on Quinn's desk the following morning which she slid towards him as he walked up. They sat in silence as he set up his new phone and she typed on her laptop. They both ate away at the pile of croissants between them, him much more than her. When he finished most of what he wanted to do with the phone he put it down and really began to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her roll hers and close her laptop.

Standing up, she said, "Time to get a suit."

"No," he said with a mouthful of croissant.

"No?" It looked like she was fighting back a grin. "Too bad. You need a suit for what we're doing tonight."

Like most men, Mike hated to shop. The sheer number of items available hurt his head and the boredom that came with trying things on was not worth it. Suits were even worse since he flat out did not like wearing them. He kind of knew what looked good on him so he went straight for those things to get in and out of stores quickly. Quinn did no such thing. Apparently, she wanted him to try on every suit in every shop in Paris.

The worst part was with every suit he tried on she only glanced at him, pursed her lips, and said it was no good. To his eye, every suit mostly fit and looked the same. If it were up to him, he would've bought the first thing he tried on. Something told him that he couldn't afford any of the suits he was trying on though, probably the lack of prices anywhere in any of the stores they visited. He had no idea what she was looking for, but they hadn't found it when lunch time came around.

As usual, they ate in silence. Even though he was just eating a soup and salad it might have been the best thing he had ever put in his mouth. If and when he stopped traveling with Quinn, the food would be one of the things he missed the most. He had always thought of food as something he had to have to live. It wasn't like he stuffed himself with junk food and TV dinners, eating health was a requirement for dancing, but he never thought that food could be this good.

Her phone rang just as she finished her soup. A glare that he hoped would never be shot at him was directed at the phone and she picked it up.

"Sorry, I have to take this," she said as she walked away.

One of the best things he had learned about French cuisine was using the bread that came with every meal to sop up the leftover sauce or soup in whatever container the kitchen had used. He spent a few minutes doing that until his phone chimed and he saw a text from Quinn telling him that they had to leave now.

That was fine with him except for the fact that the bill hadn't been settled and all he had on him was a few euros and an emergency credit card that he really didn't want to use. He started to say this in a reply to Quinn but stopped. She was giving him a place to stay, paid for every single meal that they had had, and was going to fly him around Europe. The least he could do was pay the bill for lunch, so out of some stupid feeling of not wanting to feel emasculated, he handed that credit card to the waiter.

That turned out to be a horrible idea when the waiter returned with the receipt for him to sign. He almost spit out the mouthful of water he had in his mouth when he saw how much their lunch had cost. It was the largest lunch bill he had ever seen and that included a few times when half of his dance company went out to lunch together. It was also over a tenth of the money he had left but it was too late to do anything about it now.

What he could do was mention it to Quinn which led right back to feeling he wanted to avoid in the first place. Not that she seemed to care since all she did was blink twice at him and say, "Okay," before getting into the car. Their next stop was their first stop where she told the proprietor to send the first suit he tried on to their hotel. That didn't make him too happy since he had wasted half the day trying on suits for no reason, but she had a reason for it. Dropping him off at the hotel, she said she had some things to take care of before tonight and to be ready to leave at 8 o'clock. As the car drove away he felt like a dog being told to stay.

* * *

The suit she chose for him was a simple black one. If he remembered correctly from the morning, the jacket was slightly small up top and the pants a bit too long, but those issues had been fixed before a porter brought the suit up to their suite. Obviously they were going to some sort of party and, when that thought hit him, he realized he needed much more than just a suit. A suit was worthless without the proper accessories.

He scrambled out of the suit, flung it onto a hanger, and tossed it into his walk-in closet. After closing the door to it, he paused and reopened it. Hanging beside the suit was a clean white dress shirt with a black tie draped around the collar. Underneath the shirt was a pair of black wingtips in his size with a black sock tucked into each shoe. Looking around the bedroom, he found two boxes and a black folder sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. In one box there was a pair of simple silver cufflinks. In the other, a Movado watch sitting on top of a leather wallet. The folder contained an American Express Centurion Card or, as they were known to the hip-hop world, a black card with his named stamped on it. Two packets detailed all of the benefits he would now be able to enjoy, along with a handwritten note from Quinn that said, "It's linked to my account. Try not to spend too much."

He took it back. He didn't feel like a dog being told to stay. He felt like a Ken doll being dressed up. Not that there was much wrong with that. If the price to pay for a life plenty of people would love to life was being given expensive clothing to attend a party, he would pay it. Although, he didn't feel that great doing it when he saw the cologne sitting on the sink in the bathroom.

Showered, cologned, and dressed, Mike stood in front of the mirror in the main room adjusting the skinny black tie Quinn had provided him when the doors opened and closed. He turned around and forgot to breathe. Her hair was done up in a fancy bun, revealing the nape of her neck. Diamonds glittered on her earlobes and left wrist. A set of pearls hung around her neck. But the blue, ankle-length evening gown that didn't reveal too much skin, but clung to all the right places, outshone everything else.

"I knew you'd clean up well," she said as she walked up to him.

"Not so bad yourself."

That drew a smile from her and, after appreciating the view for a few more seconds, he turned around and began to fiddle with his tie again. The only time he wore these things were for the few performances that called for an outfit that needed one. Otherwise he hated wearing something around his neck and that meant he didn't really remember how to put one on.

"Here, let me," she said as placed a hand on his arm. He turned around and she gently loosened the knot in the tie until she could lift it off of him.

"You shouldn't use a simple knot for formal occasions," she said as she undid the knot then lifted his collar. "A Windsor knot is preferable, but since this is a skinny tie we'll use a half-Windsor."

He stood there patiently as she looped the tie around his neck and began going through the process of tying whatever a half-Windsor was. There was something relaxing and…pleasant about having a beautiful woman standing in front of him and folding a piece of fabric over itself over and over again. A flash of pain flew across her face. He was about to say something but she pulled the knot up against his neck and ran her hand along the tie, down his chest. She looked up, smiled at him, and fixed his collar.

"There, all better," she said before grabbing the suit jacket draped across the sofa and holding it open for him, one arm at a time.

He buttoned the jacket and looked at himself in the mirror. It wasn't a tuxedo, but what he was wearing was pretty close. She stepped next to him and said, "You're right we both clean up well."

He didn't see it that way as he offered her an arm and compared the two of them. As he looked at their reflections standing next to each other, the feeling that, wherever they were going, he was going to be completely out of his league began to creep into his mind.

* * *

One second he was sipping on champagne and eating whatever hors d'oeuvres he could get his hands on and the next Bono and George Fucking Clooney were standing in front of him talking to him about Darfur. It was all he could do to not have champagne and half-chewed bits of canapé dribble from his mouth onto his new suit. It was one thing to think he was going to be out of his league at this party, but it was another to have a pair of the biggest stars in their respective industries standing in front of him.

They must have mistaken his silence for an implicit statement to continue because the pair in front of him kept going on about the atrocities in Darfur. It had to have been a rehearsed act, or one they did many times, because they both smoothly picked up the ball when the other stopped talking. It was uncanny to have two utterly charismatic guys acting as though he was the only person in the room and giving him their undivided attention when he absolutely nothing to say.

Eventually they stopped talking to him and it seemed like they expected him to say something which was a problem. He felt an arm hook around his and he whispered a word of thanks to whoever was up there for having Quinn come back when she did. Except, it wasn't Quinn. Instead of cherries and vanilla, he smelled lavender.

"Santana," George said with that smile of his. "How nice to see you again."

"The pleasure is always mine." Mike turned his head and saw that a Hispanic woman in a smoky red dress was holding onto his arm. She had flawless, olive skin with shimmering hair. Like Quinn, she had pearls around her neck but instead of a single diamond stud in each ear, there was a trail of four going up her right earlobe and a single one in her left along with a ring going through that part of the ear in front of the ear canal, or the tragus, taught to him by the med student Mike dated for a few months who loved when he played with them. Also like Quinn, she was beautiful but in a more sultry way. Her eyes though, looked dangerous as they narrowed when she looked at him. "I see you've met my friend."

"Yes," Bono said, "we were just explaining the current situation in Darfur to him."

"We know all about it," she said. "That's why we're here."

"Of course and we thank you for being here," George said. "We'll leave you two alone now and I hope you enjoy the dinner."

Mike finally forced down the food and drink in his mouth and gaped at the woman next to him. "That was Bono."

"Yup."

"And George _Fucking_ Clooney."

"I don't think that's his middle name, but yes it was." She let go of his arm. "They like to glad hand the donors before the dinner. See if they can't squeeze some more money out of us."

_Donors? Money?_ Mike had no idea what was going on since Quinn had left him in this enormous hotel ballroom the minute they got there. This Santana had told him more about this party/dinner in a few seconds than Quinn had all day.

"I'm Santana Lopez by the way." She held out her hand.

He took her hand. "Mike Chang, Jr."

"So," she said, looking him up and down, "what fine piece of ass let you out of their sight? I'd be happy to take you off their hands."

"I'm here with Quinn Fabray."

She arched an eyebrow. "Ooh, you must be Q's new boy toy."

"Uh…"

"Not much of a talker are you?"

"Uh…"

"So what industry is your family from?"

"Uh…the insurance industry back in America?"

"Ooh, an American. Q hasn't had one of those in a long time. What do you do? Leech off mommy and daddy here in Paris?"

"Not quite, I dance."

"Exotic?" she said with a wicked grin.

"What? No. A bit of contemporary. A bit of hip-hop. A bit of everything really."

"One of the big companies here in Paris?"

"I wish."

She shot him another look. "You're a bit out of your league here aren't you?"

"Yea I am." She tilted her head back and roared out a few laughs. "Have you seen Quinn?"

"She's in the back, probably getting ready."

"Ready for what?"

She shot him an amused look. "Nothing." She hooked her arm with his again and started pulling. "Come on. You're sitting at my table."

Her table was front and center in the ballroom. Bono and George Fucking Clooney were sitting there as well acting like the world's great used car salesmen as they talked with the people at the table. Mike was even able to carry on a conversation or two them without sticking his foot in his mouth but the ability to make everyone feel comfortable around them was what made them stars. Santana's flirtatious behavior with everyone, man and woman, at the table also helped Mike feel at ease, even if it didn't help the older men and women at the table.

Santana was in the middle of whisper a filthy joke into Mike's ear about the older couple across from them when he saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. Quinn strode to the podium at the front of the room and waited for the conversation to die down. It quickly did and she began to talk. She didn't speak for long, but her voice was full of emotion as she described the atrocities happening in Darfur and he could hear people sniffling behind him. She finished by saying how grateful she was for everyone who came tonight. With a final thank you, she invited Bono and Clooney to speak and stepped down to applause.

"Great speech," he said as she sat down next to him.

"The people of Darfur deserve more than a great speech. That is why we have our guests."

The guests gave great speeches as well, but not as great as Quinn's speech in his mind. Although that might have been due to the fact that Santana was constantly whispering into his ear about how she slept with both speakers. Apparently, George Fucking Clooney was a pretty good description of the man. Bono, not so much. It probably wouldn't have been good if he burst out laughing because of Santana's description of Bono's performance in bed which made it hard to pay attention to the speeches.

With the smirk she had on, Quinn didn't seem to mind that Santana was whispering to him every few minutes. He recognized that smirk and it said it would be a long, exhausting night. Not that he minded. Between the whispers and the looks Quinn was giving him, he didn't realize the talking was over until he saw and heard the standing ovation from the rest of the crowd. His late reaction drew a few snickers from Santana and an amused grin from Quinn.

Dinner continued much the same way. Although, with Bono and Clooney sitting at the table again, Santana's stories became even dirtier. As usual, Quinn didn't talk much but still chimed in when it seemed like the conversation was dying down. She always seemed to know what to say to keep it going. It was pretty impressive actually.

The food portion of the evening flew by with the conversation and soon people began getting up from their tables and heading towards the back of the ballroom where a string quartet had begun to play. Quinn didn't bother with restarting the conversation when it died down again so everyone at the table stood up to join the increasing number of people wandering about the ballroom.

"I'll see you later," Santana whispered into his ear before darting off to speak with Clooney. She ignored Bono.

Quinn took the other woman's place by his side as they started to walk towards the back of the room. "I see you've met Santana."

"You two know each other?"

"She's my best friend. Otherwise I wouldn't have let you talk with her."

"I wasn't exactly talking to her." She laughed. It started loudly, but quickly quieted down as her eyes darted around as if she was looking to see who had seen her. "And now you're picking who I can and can't talk to?"

He meant it like a joke, just like his previous comment, but her eyes narrowed. He quickly threw a stupid smile on his face and she rolled her eyes before smiling back at him. She excused herself, saying she needed to make the rounds. That left him alone for a bit as he slowly made his way near the string quartet since it wasn't often that he got to see classical music being played right in front of him. It wasn't the type of music he usually listened to but he could appreciate it like he appreciated ballet.

Lavender hit his nose before he felt a certain someone take his arm. Maybe it was just the lifestyle these people led but they seemed to get very friendly, very quickly. Or maybe it was just the two specific people he had met. Whatever the case, he hoped that Quinn really was okay with this but Santana was her best friend so…

"Like the music?"

"Yea, the only thing that would be better is if you could dance to it."

"That," she said as she walked towards the quartet, "can be arranged."

Mike watched as she waited until the players finished their current song then whispered something to the first violinist. A vaguely familiar tune began to play as she walked back towards him. When she reached him, she ran a hand down his chest and said, "Hope you know the tango."

He grinned. "They taught me a thing or two in dance school." He took her hand and pulled her toward an area that the crowd had cleared out. From what little interaction he had with Santana, he thought that the tango would be the dance she chose. Hampering things were the lack of choreography, rehearsal, and an ankle length evening gown but they made do with the basic steps and moves. Ignore that last reason. Mike hadn't noticed the slit of her dress that ran almost to her hip. That would make things easier.

The playfulness and sexiness that were inherent in the tango played to her strengths and she was an experienced, if not technical, dancer, taking his lead with every squeeze of her respective hand. They turned and spun. He dipped her. She ran her leg up his and she was pretty freaking flexible. It wasn't until a minute or so into their dance that he saw Quinn staring at them. She didn't look upset or angry, just indifferent. She even clapped along with the rest of the people after Mike dipped Santana for a final time.

"Nice tango," Santana said as they walked off the makeshift dance floor.

"Thanks for the dance." He turned his head to find Quinn but she had disappeared. "Can Quinn dance?"

"She can. We had to learn in school, but don't bother asking. She doesn't dance with anyone." She looked at him and smirked before he could say anything. "Well, at least not at these types of things."

He felt disappointed for some reason. "Oh."

"C'mon," he heard her say before he could think of anything. "I bet you're bored out of your mind right now."

"Yea, a little." She started pulling him towards the exit. "Wait, shouldn't we tell Quinn?"

"Nah, she'll know where we are."

Where they ended up was the penthouse suite of the hotel where the ballroom was located. He didn't think it was possible but it was more luxurious than the suite where he was staying. Abstract art hung from the walls. A crystal sculpture went almost to the ceiling in a corner of the room. Long, leather sofas lined the room. Of course, he didn't notice these things at first since the first thing he saw were two gorgeous women on the sofa kissing each other.

"God," Santana said as she punched him on the arm. "Every guy stares."

"What?"

"Nothing." She punched him again and grinned. "They are fucking hot though, aren't they?"

Besides the two women on the sofa, there were about a half a dozen young and beautiful people in the room doing various things from talking to doing what the two women on the sofa were doing. A couple rocked in a hammock—A fucking hammock!—passing a joint back and forth. Sitting on the table, surrounded by bottles and glasses filled with various amounts of various types of liquor, and dominating the center of the room was mirror with a mound of white powder and small lines of the substance arranged next to it. He hoped that it wasn't what he thought it was but was proven correct when a guy knelt beside the table and snorted one of the helpfully prearranged lines.

"It's not polite to stare," Santana said with a glared until she punched him yet again. "But what the fuck do I care?"

A loveseat sat next to the sofa where the two women were making out and that was where Santana dragged him to. She shoved him into the seat and sat half on one of his legs, half on the loveseat. That didn't seem to strange compared to her behavior during the dinner but he jumped out of surprise when she began nibbling on his earlobe.

"Watching them kiss makes me hot," she whispered before nipping at his earlobe. "Watching them fuck makes me hotter."

"I'm not sure…"

"Worried about Quinn? Don't be. Q and I love to share things. Sometimes, even at the same time."

Every guy had dreams and fantasies about having two incredibly beautiful women at the same time and he was no different.

"Can you imagine," she whispered into his ear, "what it would feel and look like to have both of us on our knees as we licked and sucked you dry? Or maybe you'd like to fuck me while I ate Quinn out? Or maybe you'd like it if we played with each other for a while before you fucked the both of us any way you wanted?"

Mike let out a mental groan as he pictured each of Santana's positions in his mind.

"But," Santana pulled back, smirking at him like she knew the image he was painting in his mind, "Quinn has to say yes and I hope she does."

He mumbled something and even he didn't what it was.

Santana laughed. "God, hint at a threesome and a guy's brain turns into a puddle of goo. Hopefully the rest of you doesn't."

He couldn't really argue against that and her nibbling at his earlobe and running her hand up and down his thigh didn't help him form any thoughts he could use. They spent a few minutes in this position before she jumped up and told him that she needed to change before disappearing into a room. She came back out in a short skirt, loose white blouse, stockings, and what he could only describe as stripper heels. She pranced around the room and then spun around in front of him fast enough that her blouse billowed and revealed a tattoo on her lower back. After that little display she resumed her former position.

"Um, shouldn't we not have drugs in this place?" he said out of a need to say something.

"It's alright. Q doesn't care."

"What's she got to do with it?"

"It's her family's hotel."

"What?!"

"Yup. Big fat discount for the charity. It's why she holds her charity dinners here and not the hotel she stays in. Well, one of the reasons. Bigger ballroom too. "

"Oh."

They heard the doors open and Santana looked up. "Speak of the devil." Mike looked over and found Quinn staring at them. Without saying a word, she went into the same room Santana did then came back out in one of her usual dresses. She took a seat, directly across from the, on the sofa on the opposite side of the room. Santana resumed her activities and he just stared at Quinn, looking for any kind of reaction. She didn't have any.

A guy came around with a small mirror that had lines of coke on it. Mike shook his head but Santana took the guy up on his offer and did a line. The hardest drug he had ever done was weed back in college and he had never even seen someone do coke before tonight so he was kind of curious as to what it would look like up close and personal. There wasn't really much to it though.

Her eyes closed and a small smile appeared on her face as she tilted her head back and the drug hit her system. When she looked at him again, her eyes darted around before focusing on him. There was a look on her face that made his brain scream, "Danger," but he didn't do anything about it before she went back to nibbling and rubbing, only much more vigorously.

Except, Mike had stopped paying attention to Santana since he was watching as the guy made his way across the room and paused in front of Quinn. She turned him down and Mike let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The guy tried offering it to her again. She turned him down again and he just shrugged. The guy put the mirror down on the table and took a seat next to Quinn. He watched as the guy began to run a hand up and down Quinn's leg. She didn't seem to react but he didn't like it at all. He pulled his eyes away from that and found the guy was pretty much mirroring Santana's actions with regards to Quinn's ear as well. Another thing he found was Quinn's eyes on him with an expression he couldn't read.

Movement out of the corner of his eye told him that a pair of people had wandered off to one of the attached rooms to continue their activities. Santana must have noticed his inattention because she said, "I get real wild when I fuck on coke." She nipped at his ear again. "But from what Q says, you can take it."

He felt Santana shift slightly and found her looking at Quinn. He looked over at Quinn and caught her giving an almost imperceptible nod. Santana shifted again, this time not so slightly as she straddled him. "God, I love it when Q lets me play with her things," she said before planting her lips on his. He felt her tongue assaulting his lips and just gave in, thinking Santana probably wouldn't take it very well if he denied her.

She was a great kisser which probably came with the copious amounts of experience she almost definitely had. Quinn seemed to be okay with it so he really couldn't complain. Santana on the other hand seemed to feel like he wasn't moving fast enough since she grabbed his hands and planted them on her firm, but soft, ass. He squeezed. She moaned and began rocking in his lap.

Before things could go any further, he heard someone say, "Where you going?" then felt a hand cup the side of his face and its thumb rubbing his cheek. He looked up and Quinn was looking right back.

"Time to go," she said.

"He doesn't have to go does he?" Santana said. "We were just getting started."

"We've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Doing what?" Santana whined.

"Important things."

"Fine," Santana said as she stood up but not before she kissed him again. "But I hope we can finish this some other day."

Quinn led Mike out of the suite with an arm looped through his, but not before the guy who had offered him the coke shouted, "Get your boyfriend a suit that fits!" He felt a hitch in her step and the tension in the muscles of her arm. Looking over, though, her face was impassive as ever. She must have felt him looking at her because she turned her head and, when she did, he smiled softly and pulled her a bit closer. That brought the corners of her mouth up just ever so slightly and he took it.

Glancing back, he saw that same guy offering Santana more coke which she accepted before attacking him. The mirror holding the lines flew up into the air and a dusting of the drug fell around him like they were in some fucked up romantic comedy.

A private elevator took them directly to the lobby where she let go of his arm and walked outside. He followed and found her on the phone so he took a few steps away to give her some privacy, stuck his hands in his pockets, and stared at the parked cars in the driveway.

"You can go back up if you want."

Turning his head, he said, "I thought we had important things to do."

"I'm sure Santana won't mind the interruption and you can call the concierge on the back of the card I gave you for a ride back to the hotel."

"Nah, I'm okay," he said before turning to look at the cars again.

"Are you sure? Because—"

"I'm fine. Plus, Santana seemed a bit too crazy for me."

Feeling her presence beside him, he looked over and saw her with her arms crossed. He hadn't noticed before but the air had become a bit cool.

"Cold?"

She did nothing for a few seconds then shrugged. He fought back a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it across her shoulders.

"Better?"

Nodding, she said, "What are we looking at?"

"The cars. I don't get to see too many exotic sports cars back in Chicago."

"Oh."

Their black Mercedes Benz pulled up in front of them to whisk them off back to their hotel. As usual, the sex that night was spectacular and, as he laid there on his back after their second time, he thought about how long he would wait until he acted like he fell asleep. He had tried staying awake for a few nights but it never worked and he always woke up in an empty bed. While he had been pondering that, he hadn't noticed Quinn sliding down the bed until she took him into her mouth.

The only time they had gone more than twice in one night was that night in Berlin when they hadn't had sex for a few days and even then Quinn had let him rest for a while before demanding it again. Now she was working tirelessly to bring him back to life which, using everything she knew about him, she did. Sometimes, she let him choose the position. This wasn't one of those times as she swung a leg over him and began to ride him, slowly at first but quickly setting a furious pace. Being the third time in a relatively short period, he lasted for quite a while but she kept up her speed, only varying it occasionally to use a different set of muscles. Her face barely moved as she worked, and it _was_ work, but his body eventually responded and whispered, "Come for me," before he finished inside of her like the previous two times that night.

After three fucks in a such quick amount of time, his cock felt numb and his entire crotch are was sore, but she kept on moving until it caused him to grimace. He clamped down on her hips with his hands to get her to stop. When he looked up at her with a questioning look, she just pushed his hands away so she could slide off, leave the room, and close the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

In all the time they had spent together he had never once woken up before her. She was either out in the main room of whatever suite they were staying at working on her laptop or gone from the suite entirely. So when he stepped out into an empty room the next morning, he figured that she had already left but she walked out of her room half an hour after he had turned on the TV.

He stared at her as she walked over and said, "I called down for breakfast," before curling up on the opposite side of the sofa. It didn't take too long for their spread of croissants and coffee to arrive and be placed on the table in front of them. The food was on the side of the table closest to Mike so she had to slide closer to him. She grabbed two croissants and placed them on a small plate while he poured two cups of coffee.

She tried to take the coffee he offered her but he held onto the handle and said, "What were you trying to prove last night?"

"Nothing," she said, trying to play it off, but he had seen the flinch that came with his question.

"Really? Because that's not what it felt like."

Instead of responding, she attempted to take the coffee from him which didn't happen.

"Why'd you even give Santana permission?"

"I said you were free to go back upstairs to fuck her," she said as she tried, and failed, to take the coffee from his hand again. "If you're through with the questioning, may I have my coffee?"

He said, "That's not what I meant," before letting go of the cup.

She took a sip from the cup before saying, "Don't be mistaken. This isn't some exclusive relationship we're in."

"Really."

"Really."

"So," he said while picking up a croissant, "I could bring back some woman from whatever club we go to tonight and you wouldn't care?"

"No, I wouldn't," she said with narrowed eyes, "and I hope you don't care when I bring back a guy."

Somehow, as they began to eat their breakfast, he felt like he was back in elementary school and he was pulling Brittany's hair while avoiding her kicks to his shins. Except it didn't feel like she was saying these things because she couldn't express her feelings, it was more like he had gotten too close to a blowfish which was now trying to stab him with poisonous spines. When he looked back at this little spat in the future, it was a wonder how he didn't realize how much he wanted to pull her hair, figuratively of course, but then he had never had much self-awareness.

Making things even better, the important things that she had planned for today were shopping, shopping, and more shopping. Only this time he was shuffled off into a back room of the Versace store which wasn't really a backroom considering he was standing on a pedestal surrounded by mirrors while a master tailor took his measurements and his assistant wrote down everything the tailor said. Quinn sat on a leather sofa behind him with her laptop with the manager of the store coming by every so often to offer her food and drink. Mike didn't get any since any eating or drinking would have caused him to move too much.

The tailor measured, what seemed to be, every inch of his body, twice and he tried stepping down but the tailor stopped him and said something to the assistant who left. The assistant came back with the manager and another person who was holding a binder that was brought over to Quinn and Mike had a bad feeling about what was inside said binder. The manager began flipping through the binder, pausing every so often to show Quinn something or when she made a small gesture with her hand. After running through the decently sized binder quickly and efficiently, the newest member of the room left and brought back things which confirmed Mike's bad feeling.

Versace's entire clothing line must have been in that binder since a parade of never ending clothing started coming into the room. Thankfully he didn't have to actually try anything on as each piece of clothing was held over his body and drew a quick nod or shake of the head from Quinn. The manager made a note on a clipboard that had appeared out of nowhere with every move of her head. When the parade finished, he let out a sigh of relief. Quinn flashed him a wicked smirk at him and he got that bad feeling again.

* * *

Mike flopped facedown onto his bed and decided that shopping was the most exhausting thing in the world. After their visit to Versace, they repeated the process at Yves Saint Laurent and Burberry with a stop at a small store nestled between office buildings where he had his feet measured. Lunch was only a short reprieve before he got dragged to the Armani store. He had no idea what she had bought since he quickly lost track of what pieces of clothing she gave her approval to but he knew it must have been quite a few items.

"Get dressed."

He hadn't even heard her come in thanks to the soft, wall to wall carpet covering almost the entire suite and his voice was muffled by the bed as he said, "No."

"Get dressed." He heard the closet doors slide open. "Now."

"There's nothing in that closet except for a suit," he said as he turned his head. That turned out to be a lie though, as he saw almost a good half of the closet filled with new clothes.

"Get dressed," she said as she began to walk out. "We're going dancing."

* * *

The music in the club boomed and shook and hammered away at their eardrums as soon as they stepped through the doors. Quinn strode straight into the dance floor. Mike watched her until she disappeared in the sea of bodies then headed for the elevator. He wasn't in the mood for loud music. This was the same club they met in on their second night. They had been back a few times and he knew that the top floor was the calmest of the three. Not by much, but still quieter than the other two floors.

The other reason he wanted to be on the third floor was the VIP section that he was currently walking towards. The bouncer recognized him and let him pass. Before finding a table, he grabbed a waitress's attention and ordered four fingers of whiskey. He took a seat near the front of the section so he could look out on the dance floor.

"Where is your girlfriend?" the waitress asked with her French accent as she set his drink down.

He didn't bother correcting her. "Downstairs." Or at least that's what he thought. She could've made her way up here, but he hadn't seen her as he scanned the dance floor.

"Will she be joining you soon?"

"I don't know." He looked up at her. "Why do you want to know?"

"The other girls, they say you put on a good show."

The low light of the club hid the blush that crept up his cheeks. He had always thought they were being discrete when they had sex in public but that obviously wasn't the case. Granted, he usually had other, more pressing, things on his mind than being discrete but it still embarrassed him to know that the pretty waitresses who had served them knew, and talked, about their activities. It was also kind of a turn on to know they enjoyed watching. Not that it mattered tonight.

"Not tonight."

The waitress bent down and whispered, "Perhaps we can put on the show tonight."

He thought back to what Quinn had said and he was damn tempted to take her up on her offer. The waitresses at this club were some of the hottest women he had seen and she was no exception. He pictured what she would look like naked and on his bed and it was a good picture. He felt like being stubborn though, as if giving in and making that picture reality would have meant losing whatever fucked up game Quinn was playing with him and he hated to lose.

"Maybe another day."

After spending an hour or two sitting there and drinking, he checked his phone and found out it had only been 30 minutes. At least his glass was empty, so he ordered another. His waitress came by with his drink and whispered into his ear that her offer still stood, only he didn't hear her since Quinn was standing and staring at him just outside the VIP section.

As if she had been waiting for him to notice her, she turned around and danced her way to the edge of the crowd. Instead of vanishing like she did before, she stayed on the edges and grinded with the many eager men who approached her. Mike had never been the jealous type. He always trusted the women he was dating and that had gotten him hurt a few times, but he could never bring himself to care when other guys flirted with his girlfriends. This situation was different. Although they were living in the same suite and having sex almost every day, Quinn wasn't his anything and she was free to do whatever she wanted. That made him want to pound the guys around her into a pulp.

While he watched her as she swayed her hips, pressed up against random bodies, and had hands run all over her, she looked over at him every so often. He drained what little alcohol his glass contained and stood up. Instead of the dance floor, he began to make his way to the elevator then felt a hand clamp down on his wrist.

It was Quinn and she looked furious. "Why aren't you dancing?"

"Don't feel like it."

"Dance." The word came out hard and fast like a command.

"No."

"You have to dance." The words still sounded like a command, but there was something underneath them that he couldn't place.

"No, I don't." He looked down at her hand around his wrist and peeled it off. "Our little agreement says I have to dance with you."

Turning around, he heard her say, "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

He called the number on the back of his black card and wasn't surprised to hear the concierge greet him by name. That was just how things were done in her world. A car showed up in front of the club and quickly brought him back to the hotel. He stripped naked and stepped into the shower, wanting to wash off the stench of cigarettes and alcohol before he slept. That mission accomplished, he walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and found Quinn standing at the foot of his bed.

"You bring back someone to dance with?"

Her face twisted in anger. "Fuck you."

"What's wrong?" he said as he took a few steps towards her. "The great Quinn Fabray couldn't find anyone to sink her claws into for the night?"

Her face faltered for a second as she backed up and said, "Fuck you."

Taking a few more steps forward, he said, "Why don't you buy them some clothes and a phone? That seems to be your method."

Mike felt like the biggest bully in the world as she cursed at him again and normally would have never treated anyone like this, but he quickly stepped forward and she continued to retreat until her back hit the wall. "I don't understand you," he said quietly. "You barely talk to me but sleep with me every night. You give Santana permission to fuck me but stop it and then do…that last night. What are we doing here?"

The anger had disappeared from her face as he spoke so her face calm as she said, "You know what our arrangement is."

They stood there, staring at each other and for an instant he thought she might actually say something to him, but she kept on staring so he said, "That's all I'm getting out of you, aren't I?"

"If you care that much then you should leave." The right side of her mouth lifted up in a half smile. "Otherwise, fuck me."

He would have liked to have said he considered leaving but the thought didn't even enter his head since she grabbed his hand and shoved it between her thighs. She moaned as his fingers danced along her lower lips, letting him feel her arousal. Leaving his hand there, she ripped off his towel. Already halfway there, her hands quickly made sure he was completely hard as he pushed her against the wall, hard enough that her head bounced. Not that either of them cared as the rebound let her plant mouth onto him so she could nip at his collarbone.

Much to her displeasure, he removed his hand from between her thighs and had it join his other to pull up her dress which had her pulling on his hips. Bending his knees, it took a few attempts to enter her and with each missed attempt she bit him harder. Finally, he just lifted her up like they were in a dance studio, using no lift he had been taught, got lined up and filled her with a quick thrust. It must have surprised her since he felt her mouth open then she went from biting on collarbone to sucking on neck.

Unlike her last night, he didn't have anything to prove. However, like her, he quickly set a fast pace, egged on as she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his ass and pulled him into her with every stroke. She didn't have enough leverage to put much force into her actions, but using the wall behind her as a support, he was able to just pound into her, shaking her entire body with every stroke. He hoped this wasn't a shared wall because, while he didn't mind the public sex he had with her, having sex with someone still felt like an activity that should be done in private. Plus, it felt good to hear her reactions. Adrenaline and the strength he got from dancing let him continue for what seemed like hours, but that couldn't have been the case.

Her breathing sped up to match his every stroke and she let out an "oh" with every exhale. They came faster and faster until she went silent. He knew she was close and, whether it was because of the situation or this new angle, it would be a loud one. He was too, but he didn't bother varying his strokes. Instead, he concentrated on the pain from the point of one of her heels digging into the small of his back. That let him hold out long enough for an ear shattering scream roar out of her throat as he felt all the muscles in her body clench before releasing as she shuddered around him. His ears were ringing as he lost his rhythm then slammed into her as deep as he could get one last time as he let go as well.

A grin appeared on his face and he was thankful she couldn't see him as he began to slowly move in and out again with short strokes. Even though he was extremely sensitive at this point, he knew she was as well and, well, turnabout was fair play. He kept it up until she began hammering his back with her fists, apparently not quite able to speak just yet.

They were still breathing hard as the flood of adrenaline left his system and his legs shook out of exhaustion. Stumbling backwards, he had a feeling things would end poorly but the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell onto it with Quinn falling on top of him, laughing. That got him to laugh and soon they were laughing like the criminally insane. Like the Joker, only minus the psychosis.

After their laughter died, she rolled off of him and stared. "What did Santana say to you?"

It wasn't like he had anything to hide, but he still licked his lips to buy some time. "She said you two shared…things."

"Sometimes."

"And sometimes at the same time."

Her cheeks flushed, surprising him. "That only happened once."

Not even the image of Quinn and Santana together at the same time could stop sleep as it crept up on him, so he crawled up into the proper bed orientation to sleep. She followed his lead and ended up next to him.

"Mike?"

Barely able to keep his eyes open, he said, "Hmm?"

"What I said before is still true. We're not in an exclusive relationship." She paused and he heard her breathing slow. "You can sleep with whomever you want, just…not Santana. Okay?"

It wasn't much to ask in exchange for all she was giving him so he nodded before sleep overtook him, but not before he felt her feather a kiss onto his forehead and the bed shifting as her weight left it.

* * *

It Mike had thought things might have changed between them after that, he thought wrong.

Quinn began leaving before he had gotten up and going straight into her room when she returned late at night again. It was better than the situation in Berlin because he knew his way around Paris for the most part. He didn't know anyone in the city but the people where he now went knew him. He still had no idea who Quinn actually was, but he did know that her name commanded the respect and attention of the people at the high end bars, clubs, hotels, and restaurants they visited. On the off chance he went somewhere they hadn't been to together; his black card took care of everything.

That needed to change. He hadn't used the card very often but it still made him feel awkward when he used it. It made everyone in the store/restaurant/club treat him like he was part of some royal family or A-list celebrity as they waited on him hand and foot. He had never needed or wanted that sort of attention, especially after he had used his phone to check the Wikipedia entry on the thing and found out how much the annual fee was. The world he lived in now was one he couldn't even imagine living in back in Chicago. All he needed to do was call a magic number on his card and things would appear if he wanted them.

That wasn't the only thing he had checked. Quinn Fabray didn't exist online. No Facebook. No Twitter. No Linkedin. He even checked MySpace…because why the hell not. Google just returned a dozen results that linked back to the same few mentions of her on the Yale website which didn't even tell him if she was an alumnus, which he was staring at as she walked in the door.

She looked exhausted as she did her usual thing and walked into her bedroom. Except she left the door open. He tried to be as quiet as possible as he looked inside and saw her entire body sagging as she took off her clothes. She had gotten through her suit jacket, blouse, and had moved onto her pencil skirt when it got caught on one foot and she teetered for a moment before falling over in slow motion. Even though she fell towards the bed, he still sprinted over and caught her, causing her to look up in surprise.

The look didn't last long as her head lolled back against his arm before he said, "Tired much?"

"Shut up."

He had the feeling she wanted that to come out harshly but it was mumbled so softly he had to laugh as he laid her down onto the bed.

"What did I just say?" she said in that same mumble.

"You said." He began trailing kisses down her body, starting from her neck. "To shut up." When he reached the swell of her breasts, he slightly lifted her torso with one hand and used the other to unsnap and remove her bra. He continued his path down her body, kissing and rubbing every inch of her breasts, except for her stiff nipples, until she let out a frustrated groan. Going back up, he took one of her nipples into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue three times then resuming his way down before her flailing hands could clamp onto his head.

His kisses stopped just above her panties. "Want me to keep shutting up?"

From her lack of response, he thought she might have fallen asleep which would have been a terrible referendum on his skills, but she was propped up on her elbows and staring at him when he looked up.

"You don't have to do this," she said with a voice that was nothing close to a mumble. "It's not in our agreement."

He ran his hands up and down her inner thighs, barely touching her skin as each trip brought him closer and closer to his goal, and watched for a reaction. Nothing happened at first but when her legs began to squirm about half a minute later, he said, "But I want to," before slipping her panties off and lying down between her legs. His lips replaced his hands on her inner thighs and he heard her head hit a pillow.

Eating out Quinn, Mike had learned, was a lot like fucking her. She liked the foreplay to have been done in advance, like on the dance floor or at the restaurant table or on the car ride home, so they could get right to it as soon as they hit his room. He had quickly found out that teasing her, while getting her hot and bothered, also pissed her off which didn't let him do what he liked to do when he went down on his partners.

That didn't stop him now though.

She must have been more tired than she looked because she didn't say a word, only making soft noises, as he went about teasing her. He had done this enough so it didn't take too long for those sounds to become louder and more demanding as she tightened her legs around his head but she still didn't say anything as he continued to tease her. After 10 minutes, he figured she had had enough. Two fingers plunged into her, quickly moving in and out, and he covered her clit with his mouth, sucking and licking until her thighs clamped down on him so hard all he could hear was his heart beating as she bucked against him.

"You suck, you know that?" she said, after her legs relaxed while taking a deep breath between every other word.

A chuckle from him.

"I know."

He looked up and waited for a response, but she had already fallen asleep. A blanket covered the bottom quarter of her bed. The blanket didn't match the sheets or comforter on the bed and he wondered if it was one of her personal things. The deep shade of red, which he thought was her favorite color, said yes, but the age, coarseness, and off-color repair patches of the fabric suggested otherwise. In either case, it didn't matter as he pulled it off and tucked her in before leaving and closing the door to her room.

* * *

Apparently, charity dinners were kind of a thing for Quinn. After a week of barely seeing her, she slept like the dead on Saturday, not waking up until the middle of the afternoon whereupon she told him to dress nicely for the night. His first attempt was met with a roll of the eyes. His second attempt wasn't much better so she went into his now full closet and pulled out one of the six tuxedos he now had, or maybe even owned since she hadn't been clear about that. Ambiguity appeared to be the currency in which Quinn traded in.

This time, he didn't even attempt to put on his neckwear. If she wasn't happy with his previous attempt with the tie then there was no question his bow tie wouldn't pass muster. She seemed to expect this as she just smiled when he dangled the piece of fabric between two fingers minutes before they had to leave. There were no lessons as to what kind of knot to use, probably because there was only one way to properly tie a bow tie, but she still took her time with the knot and did it with a soft smile.

* * *

After his first experience with the guests who attended these dinners he was more prepared for tonight. Still, having Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt talk to him had his brain grinding to a halt as it tried to process the sight. It only got worse when Bill Gates came around to say hello.

The dinner was for the fight against malaria in Africa. He wound up sitting next to Santana again at the table at the front of the room, though she didn't have any dirty stories to tell this time. It might have been due to the mostly older crowd. Not that she seemed to mind since all she did during the dinner was stare at him with a look of lust. He wasn't sure that she was high, but along with that lust, her eyes had that unfocused look and her hand kept running up his leg, no matter how many times he pushed her hand away.

Quinn looked to be too busy talking with Bill Gates and his wife to notice or care about Santana's actions.

Santana didn't want to dance tonight but they did end up in that same penthouse suite as last time. Like last time, there were people strewn about on the pieces of furniture in the room and bottles of liquor around a pile of drugs on the table dominating the middle of the room.

The first thing Santana did was a line of coke offered by that guy who had made that comment about his suit last time. The next thing she did was give that guy a sloppy kiss before falling over onto the sofa next to Mike. The evening gown she wore made it hard for her to move around so she pulled it up to her waist and Mike tried not to stare at the lace thong she wore.

"I'm glad Quinn kept you around," Santana said as she ran a hand up and down his face. "We still have some unfinished business."

"Yea," he said, drawing the word out, "about that. Quinn changed her mind."

All movement from her stopped and a blank expression came over her face. It didn't last long as her eyes narrowed and the right side of her mouth lifted in a grin.

"You know," she said, drawing out the words, "she usually gets rid of her toys pretty quickly."

"What?"

"Yea, she gets bored and throws them away." Her eyes widened as she grinned up at him. "I hope you haven't been getting attached because she will never return those feelings. Although," she tugged at the lapel of his tuxedo, "she must like keeping you around since she buys you nice things. It's only happened a few times before."

"Oh."

"What I'm trying to say is: You shouldn't care about what she wants." She bit his earlobe hard enough to hurt. "She's just going to get rid of you anyway."

It wasn't the pain from her bite that made him jump away, but her wandering hand that had made its way to the zipper of his slacks and was busy undoing the fastener. His mind flew back to that movie with Lindsey Lohan about how terrible high school girls could be to each other. Quinn didn't want Santana to do this and yet she still tried. Mike began to understand, just a bit, why Quinn set this limit.

Santana pouted and it might have been cute but her face twisted into anger as she stood up and stalked over to the guy she had kissed then yanked him into another room, slamming the door closed behind them. Mike sat there alone as the beautiful people in the room did things to another beautiful person's body, making him feel like he had woken up and found himself in an MTV reality show.

He didn't like it very much and was thankful when his phone chimed due to an incoming message from Quinn.

_Where are you?_

_Penthouse suite_

The bad thing about text messages was the inability to see or hear the other person so he could only imagine what delayed her response.

_With Santana?_

_She dragged me up here, but she's with some other guy_

_Then you can leave. Meet me in the lobby_

* * *

They were lying in bed, post-coitus that same night. He hadn't done a good job and Quinn had to have noticed. Hopefully, she wouldn't want an explanation but those hopes were dashed when Quinn touched his arm and asked, "You okay?"

"Yea." He looked over. "Sorry for tonight."

She gave him an amused look. "I figure, after almost a month of good behavior, you can have one off night." Then grinned. "Just don't make it a habit."

"Gee. Thanks," he deadpanned.

Pretending to fall asleep had turned into a habit every night because there was no point in having Quinn lie awake with him for no reason, especially when she had to get up early. He didn't feel like doing that tonight though. He wasn't happy with his performance and he wasn't going to kid himself as to why he did so poorly. What Santana had told him earlier that night kept running through his mind while Quinn was on top of him and ran through his mind right now.

It wasn't as though he expected this to turn into a serious relationship but he also didn't expect be thrown out when Quinn got bored. He wondered how many others came before him then exactly how many guys she had bought a full wardrobe for then he stopped because he didn't like where his brain was taking things.

"Hey," she said even though they were looking right at each other.

"Hey."

She had discovered that he was ticklish, but only in a certain spot on his right side. She had made a habit of teasing that spot in their afterglow, slowly tracing patterns with her finger along his skin back and forth towards that spot until he began to fidget then quickly moving her digit away. The enjoyment she got from the teasing was way too much in his mind, but he didn't care since it was one of the few times he saw her, not exactly happy, but also not emotionless. She looked as though a goofy grin—well, maybe a small one—would break out onto her face at any second while she traced.

"How'd Santana seem to you tonight?"

"Um, high. And horny."

Quinn frowned. "Did she…upstairs?"

There were only two things she could have been talking about and he didn't think she was asking about Santana coming onto him, so he said, "Yea, she did a line when we got up there."

Her frown deepened and her finger stopped its tracing. "It's my fault she started using."

"How's it your fault?"

Rather than answer him, she turned over and showed her slender back. He ignored her hint and pressed up against her, one arm falling across her stomach and the other snaking between the bed and her neck. She fidgeted a bit, not trying to get away, but to find a comfortable position for her head to rest on his bicep.

"How is it your fault?"

He felt, and heard, her take a deep breath. "I was going through a tough period in my life and…I wanted to feel good. Santana would never admit it, but I think she looks up to me, even if we stab each other in the back sometimes."

"Probably why she looks up to you."

Her body shook from laughter, but it quickly stopped. "Maybe, but she started using because I did. She's always tried to prove she was as good as, if not better than, me."

"Do you still…?" he asked after a few seconds.

"No. It was stupid of me to start. I've seen what happens to people when they get addicted and I have too many responsibilities for that to happen."

"You stopped just like that?"

"Yea, cold turkey. I can be stubborn like that."

"Don't I know it."

"Hey!" she said as her elbow dug into his ribs causing him to slide backwards a bit. Missing the contact, he half-pulled her as she scooted back until she settled, closer than before, against him again. "So, I stopped. She didn't."

The next words out of her mouth came out as a whisper.

"She's using more and more." Her voice grew louder and sharper. "And now she's with that asshole. All he does is wave that shit in front of her face. And it's my fucking fault."

As she spoke, he could feel her stomach expanding and contracting faster and faster as her breathing sped up and heat radiated from her body. Adrenaline had been released into her body and it wasn't because of the usual reason. His fingers stroked her stomach until he felt her calm down and she tried to press up even closer to him, as if she wanted occupy the same space as him.

"What's his name?"

She spun around to look at him again.

"Mason."

Mike made a face and said, "With a name like that, he has to be a douchebag."

Her face lit up as she smiled the biggest smile he had seen yet and it held her face hostage for an instant before she tilted her head back and roared with laughter.

"Yea," she said when she had recovered, "his parents are okay but they never spent time with him and just let him run amok."

They spent the next minute watching each other breathing.

"Dumb question: You've told her that she should stop, right?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. "That _was_ a dumb question."

He laughed then pressed his forehead against hers before whispering, "It's not your fault."

As though she wanted to hide, her head ducked down and tucked itself underneath his chin. "Yes it is."

It had taken a while, and he thought it might never happen, but this was the biggest sign that Quinn finally seemed to be opening up to him. There had been smaller signs: more smiles thrown his way, a comment or two on how her day had been, and even a bit of banter that didn't revolve around their sex life. But, nothing had ever been so personal like this and it came out of nowhere so he didn't know how far he could take things.

He did know that he wanted her to open up to him—no, he wasn't talking about her legs, even if that did happen on a regular basis—and he didn't find it strange. They had been doing this for almost a month and he still had no real idea what she was like other than when they were in a bedroom at the same time…which made complete sense if she was just going to get rid of him after she had had her fun. Still…she was telling him things and that had to mean something.

"You can't control what other people do."

That had been too far since she didn't answer him. Though, she didn't pull away. In fact, her arms wrapped themselves around his body as she brought her head up to move closer to him. Their chests played a bit of tug of war, her taking in a breath as he let one go then doing the reverse, as they breathed silently.

He heard her take a few sharp breaths, and each time it seemed as though she might speak, but no words ever came and her breathing went back to normal. The silence told him all he needed to know. If she didn't want to talk then he wouldn't talk. He pulled his arms away and moved back, but she wouldn't let him as she kept hers around him.

"I know that," she said after taking a breath and holding it for a second. "But she's my best friend and…"

"And you don't want to see her like that."

"No, I don't."

Apparently, that seemed like a good place to leave things for Quinn since she pulled back which meant he'd be alone with his thoughts, probably the last thing he wanted to do.

"Did Santana…do anything else?"

Never mind. Actually talking about it with Quinn was the last thing he wanted, but he figured he could say enough without telling her the most important thing Santana had said.

"She tried to sleep with me again, but I told her you changed your mind. Then she went off with that guy and then you texted me."

He hoped that would be enough.

It wasn't.

"What'd she do after you stopped her?"

Mentally flailing about, he tried to come up with something, anything, to tell her, but that pause before he spoke gave him away.

"Tell me the truth. Please."

She had rolled over onto her side to look at him again and had a look on her face that made him not want to lie to her even though every brain cell screamed at him to not tell the truth. Scientists had put forth the theory that men actually became dumber in the presence of a beautiful woman and Mike believed them at that moment as he tried to decide what to do.

Her face won the battle.

"She said that you'd get bored with me then get rid of me."

Her eyes looked away and she slowly licked her lips as if she wanted to buy herself some time, but he took care of that as he kept talking.

"Also got the feeling that I'm just one of many." She kept her eyes off of him. "Not that I mind. I wasn't expecting or wanting anything serious."

Finally looking back at him, she said, "Good. That's good."

It had to have been in his head, but it sounded like she didn't quite mean the words which was ridiculous. She had done this before. She had brought other guys into this same bed before, bought clothes for them, took them to parties, dinners, and balls. She didn't care about them and she wasn't going to care about him.

One last thing though.

"She said I shouldn't get attached."

That made her look away again as she rolled onto her back. "That's good advice. You should keep it in mind."

"Getting attached hadn't even crossed my mind until she mentioned it."

He felt the bed shift in that familiar way that announced she had gotten up.

"Good. That's good." Her voice, soft and muffled, as she faced away from the bed and it continued to be that way as she said, "I'm tired. Goodnight."

Before he could say anything, she left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Dreams were funny things. Sometimes they showed a person's deepest desires. Other times, the images were just the surrealist imaginings of the subconscious. Whatever the case, external stimulus had a way of sneaking its way into dreams and becoming a part of them. That was how Mike's mundane dream of sitting on an airplane watching some terrible romantic comedy turned into a pornography film as a stewardess, who looked an awfully like Quinn, spilled a drink in his lap. They must have been on an Air France flight since she began to apologize with a French accent to him while patting his lap with a napkin. Those pats turned into rubs and the napkin turned into her bare hand.

Sex dreams weren't unfamiliar to Mike and he supposed it was only a matter of time for Quinn to show up in one. He just didn't think it would have been one that took so long to get to the best part, not that he minded that much since her hand felt so good. Dream-Quinn must have felt like teasing him because she took her time slowly stroking him through his pants. He felt himself reaching out for her, his dream-self tired of waiting, and had his hand smacked away. Only, he felt and heard the smack too clearly for it to have been part of the dream.

In that state of being half-awake, half-asleep, he continued to feel a hand on his crotch which was strange. Quinn had never been in the same room as him in the morning, much less waking him up like this. All their sexual activities were confined to the afternoon and night. He moaned out her name and a laugh came back. A laugh that was much too rough to be Quinn's.

Mike shot up and slid to the other side of the bed, saying, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sure there's at least one part of you that knows," Santana said, waggling her fingers on the hand that had just been rubbing him.

He repeated himself as he stood up and started to look for his pants when Santana whistled.

"Nice. I can see why Quinn wants to keep you for herself."

"What?" Santana's eyes slowly dropped and he started to look down before he realized he had been sleeping naked. Never had a reason to get dressed again before sleeping in this bed until now and now that she had seen everything, he wasn't going to freak out and run around. He figured that was exactly what Santana wanted to see out of him and he wasn't going to give her that pleasure.

"Although, she doesn't seem to be doing such a great job if you're waking up in that condition."

"A good night's sleep does wonders for a guy," he said, kneeling down as he finally found his boxers. "Turn around."

"Ooh, you want me from behind?" She stood up, planted her hands on the wall, and spread her legs. Glancing back at him, she brought one arm back, ran it up her leg, and pulled up on her skirt as she said, "You can spank my hard ass as hard as you can." Her hand moved across her bare midriff, up her shirt, and he could see the word "Lucky" tattooed on her lower back. "Maybe you wanna pull my hair while you fuck the shit outta me?"

Mike tried his hardest to keep a straight face at her latest unsubtle attempt before he said, "Not quite."

Santana dramatically sighed and turned around to stare at him as he pulled them on. The boxers didn't really do anything to cover things up and she just grinned wickedly as she stared.

"I could help with that."

"No, thanks," he said continuing with his search for more clothing.

"What if…," she trailed off and waited for Mike to look at her before she slowly licked her lips, "I got my tongue pierced?"

He froze for a second as he pictured her with the piercing and his eyes tried to escape their sockets. Even though plenty of women had teased Mike before, none had ever done it so blatantly or skillfully as Santana. She seemed to have no filter for her words or actions and not even her best friend's wishes mattered. Her eyes remained locked on to his tented boxers and he couldn't tell if they were glazed over from drugs or not. For Quinn's sake and Santana's, he hoped not. He also hoped that she didn't notice but her grin only got bigger then her face went blank. He knew that she knew she made him flinch.

"I hear it feels a lot better," she said absent mindedly as she looked her fingernails then polished them against her top. "You know, when I suck dick." She smirked at him. "Your dick."

This little game of chicken had lost what little appeal it had for Mike. "I'm taking a shower."

The right side of her lips pulled up as she smirked in victory and she took one last shot at him: "Make sure it's a cold one."

After his shower, a nice cool one, Santana had taken up a position on the sofa stuffing her mouth with the croissants and fruit that Quinn had ordered. Glancing up at him as he walked in, she just grabbed another pastry from the platter before turning on the TV. At least she had ESPN on. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about Santana and what she was doing, but his stomach demanded otherwise and he snatched away the platter, much to her loud and lewd objections, and took a seat on the love seat opposite of her, wondering for the hundredth time if she had an actual reason for being here.

In Mike's mind, sexiness was a combination of three things: the physical attributes of beauty, the self-awareness of said beauty, and the confidence to use it. Santana met all three requirements and used it to her full advantage at every second. This second was no different as she lazily stretched out onto her back on the sofa then spread her legs, lifting the short skirt she wore even higher. That movement drew Mike's attention away from the TV and, as the skirt revealed more of her legs, he saw she had nothing on underneath, just smooth skin. He quickly looked back at whatever baseball highlight ESPN was showing.

"You can keep looking…or do more than look. I won't tell Quinn."

"Is this really why you came over?"

"Yea, I had nothing better to do."

He ignored the rustling of fabric and the images that popped into his head as best as he could. It wasn't as though he felt a sense of loyalty to Quinn, but he had given her his word and he would keep it. No matter how many soft noises Santana made. Or how they became increasingly loud and erotic. He kept his eyes on the TV, knowing if he did look at her, things might go her way and he didn't want to chance it.

"Fucking A," she said after multiple segments on SportsCenter had aired, all while she kept up the sounds. "You're really not going to fuck me are you?"

"No, I'm not. Quinn asked me not to, so I won't."

"Jesus, you're the first guy that she's been with who hasn't jumped my ass the first chance they had."

"Well, that first time we met…," he said as he finally looked over at her and saw that she looked completely normal, as though she hadn't just acted like she rubbed one out.

"That doesn't count," she said, waving her had dismissively. "Quinn gave us permission."

"Aren't you with that what's-his-face anyway?"

"Who Mason?" He nodded and she shrugged. "He doesn't care. We have what you'd call an open relationship." She turned her head and looked right at him. "That means I get to open my legs up for whoever I want."

Mike chuckled and shook his head. "Not happening."

"Worth one last shot," Santana said with a shrug. "At least tell me I turn you on."

That drew more chuckles from him. "I think you know the answer to that."

This time it was Santana who chuckled. "You're a good guy, Mike, so I hope you keep in mind what I said."

"About not getting attached?"

"Yea." She was staring at him again. "Quinn _will_ get rid of you."

"That's fine," Mike said with a shrug. And it was fine. "I have to leave by the end of summer."

Even with the almost complete lack of expenses on his part, his savings were slowly dwindling because he didn't feel comfortable putting everything onto the card she had given him. He had to make sure he had enough left over to buy a ticket back to the States which would be expensive since his job hadn't said anything about coming back yet, but he knew it was coming and he knew he would have to buy at the last second.

"I'll be impressed if you last that long." She stood up, walked over, and looked down at the last croissant. He shrugged. She swiped it and, before she ate it, said, "So, what're we doing today?"

* * *

Being friends—if you could call it that—with Santana was an interesting experience. She belched in public when her mouth wasn't occupied with saying filthy things about everything around them, including him. The wealth of baseball knowledge inside her head easily surpassed his and that of everyone else he knew, but she seemed to hate every single team and didn't even like watching games when they were on TV even as she spat out facts about the teams and players onscreen.

In some ways it was like hanging out with another guy. Only, the guys he hung out with didn't dress like they were going to a club looking to pick up other guys. Well, some of the guys didn't do that; he was a professional dancer after all.

In others, it was like dating a woman from one of those terrible romantic comedies. She showed up at random times during the day to drag him to some ridiculous mid-day social event where she promptly left him alone to spend most of her time flitting from person to person with Mason trailing her, trying to attract her attention and failing miserably. The only time she seemed to care if he was around was right before they went into some private room and she came out with her pupils dilated trying to drag Mike into the room with promises of dirty acts. He never gave in and she ended up in a room with Mason, most of the time.

Where ever they ended up during the day, Santana always came back with him when he returned to the hotel but always left before Quinn came back.

When he told Quinn about Santana, she didn't seem thrilled about it and saying that he wouldn't sleep with her best friend didn't help. She only got unhappier when she heard about Santana's continued and regular drug use. Mike wouldn't fight about it if Quinn asked him to not hang out with Santana, but he had to admit it would be nice to have someone to hang out with during the day. The only thing that kind of mollified her was him saying that he could kind of look out for Santana if they started to hang out.

He was pretty sure that was the only reason she told him she didn't care who he hung out with during the day.

* * *

"Fuck. I fucking hate the Yankees."

Sometimes, like today, Santana didn't feel like going out and she spent the day lounging around the suite. He spent the day fending off her early advances before settling down to lounge around with her, usually to order room service and watch TV. He didn't mind that they basically did nothing since she never took cocaine when all they did was sit around in the suite.

"Is there any baseball team that you do like?"

"No. I hate baseball."

"Then why do you know so much about it?"

She snapped her gum at him then said, "None of your fucking business," before snatching something out of her purse and walking out onto the balcony. There, he could see her partaking in yet another one of her vices, smoking, as she leaned on the railing.

Quinn and Santana both had subjects they wouldn't talk about it. The difference between them was their reactions. While both didn't talk to him when he occasionally wandered into said subjects, Quinn just ignored his question or comment and changed the subject. Santana always chose to storm out of the room. In either case, Mike knew his best choice was to not bring up the subject again.

It didn't take long for her to suck down a cigarette or two and he could smell it on her when she came back in. She tossed her vintage cigarette case and cheap plastic lighter onto the table—one of Santana's least interesting dichotomies—and resumed her former position on the couch, trying to get into his pants came with that. But they had played that game enough for Mike to easily deflect all of her advances. She quickly tired of that and went back to complaining about the Yankees and, when the game finished, she stood up and gathered her things.

"Let's go. We've got shit to do."

"Uh, we do?"

"Yea, you look like a scrub so we gotta clean you up for tonight."

This was new. Santana never made nighttime plans. That had always been Quinn's domain.

"What's going on tonight?"

Santana smirked down at him and said, "It's Quinn's birthday."

* * *

What could he get for a woman who could buy damn near everything she could want or need? Santana had told him that Quinn's family could buy hers a few dozen times over and still have enough left over to buy a few dozen islands. And Santana's family was rich—the kind of rich that, while it didn't start with a "B," was good enough to last her family generations upon generations. Quinn had access to more money than Mike could even imagine, with that came access to things that he didn't even know existed.

Santana had helpfully told him that he didn't need to do a damn thing since Quinn hadn't said anything to him. That made sense, but he still wanted to do something for her. At the very least, it would be a sign of appreciation for everything she had done for him, since he was definitely getting the better of their arrangement. Too bad he still didn't know what she liked after all this time, except for great croissants and sex. Neither of which would have made good presents. Well, sex might have counted as a good present if he didn't think that they would be already having it at the end of the night.

Plenty of people had learned that the hard way, including him, that casual sex didn't provide anything other than physical pleasure and release. But daily contact, combined with sex, with a person had a funny way of creating a deeper attraction that neither party wanted. If Santana had been telling the truth, then Quinn knew that and he wondered if giving her a present would be crossing a line she didn't want crossed.

_I need something simple_.

The thought came to him while he sat at a café near the Eiffel Tower people watching, sipping on a glass of wine, after Santana's forced internment at a salon had concluded. The leisurely European way of life appealed to part of him and probably to most people. Who wouldn't want to finish their workday early in the afternoon to sit around drinking with friends until dinnertime? If the person was alone, like Mike was, the time to just sit and think and relax wasn't bad either.

Something big and meaningful—not that he could think of anything that would meet those descriptions—definitely would cross the casual sex line so a simple gesture that said, "Happy birthday. No big deal," would be perfect. He ruled out things like flowers and chocolates for obvious reasons. A card in their arrangement seemed inane and stupid. That left some sort of random trinket as the only real option which led to two problems: One, he still had no idea what kind of trinket to get her, and two, there was a lack of any personal items in the entire suite, unless she kept all of them hidden in her bathroom or purse. Neither seemed likely, which meant if he gave her something random it would end up in a trashcan which, as he settled his bill and thought about it, was probably for the best.

The weather was too good not to walk back to the hotel so he took his time admiring the old architecture as he strolled. Normally, he didn't think about buildings much, but that was probably due to the youth and utilitarian nature of the buildings in the United States. Every country and even every city in Europe seemed to have its own style, created centuries ago back when there were no such things as countries and left, relatively, untouched by the modern world.

Even with all the fantastic architecture, one structure dominated the Parisian skyline and the bridge Mike was in the middle of crossing held one of the best views of it. The juxtaposition between the Eiffel Tower and old buildings made it appear as though Tower was growing out of the ancient city. The setting sun, just starting to pass below the horizon, made the view even better and, from the number watching, plenty of people agreed with him.

He couldn't linger though; it was getting late and Quinn would soon be done with whatever she did during the day. A sight caught his eye before he left the bridge; dressed in a light trenchcoat with shoulder length hair and a tiny smile playing across her lips. The epitome of the modern European woman had stepped out of fashion magazine and was now leaning against the stone railing of the bridge taking in the sights.

The international version of the iPhone helpfully didn't have a shutter sound so he could take a picture of her without interrupt whatever musings were happening. As he snapped, he realized he had a great present right in his hands. The smartphone held hundreds of photos he had snapped during this trip. Most were random sights and objects he found interesting, but those weren't important right now. The important photos were candid shots of Quinn he took without her notice.

Mike figured that an album of those photos would be the best he could do and he hoped she looked through them before deleting them.

* * *

It felt like the entire club had been rented out just for Quinn's birthday as a steady line of people paraded themselves in front of where they were sitting to wish her well. Mike had a feeling that, from their behavior, some people would have knelt down and prostrated themselves if they wouldn't have looked like a fool. And, from the look on her face in between well wishes, Quinn had gotten tired of the entire thing after the first group of people wished her a happy birthday.

Santana had helpfully taken to telling Mike all about the people who came over, but eventually he came to the conclusion that it was only so he could make sense of the biting remarks she added to her commentary. He had to give it to her though, she was funny and the comments had even Quinn smiling. Eventually, the line of people trickled to a stop and the trio sat alone in the VIP section with the two women idly chatting about things he had no idea about and generally ignoring Mike.

"Jesus," Santana said, "stop being such a bitch."

Things had continued during the night pretty much the way things had started, but one moment the two women were talking and laughing and, the next, he was in the middle of an escalating argument. Well, it escalated on one side. Quinn coolly took Santana's increasingly bitter and vulgar comments with only a few eye rolls which did anything but calm Santana.

"Puck was right. You are a fucking ice queen."

That got Quinn's attention as she slowly turned her head towards Santana and said, "The reason I don't talk to you when you're emotional like this is because you don't listen to anyone." The volume of her voice dropped, but it was still loud enough to carry her words to her tablemates as she said, "Puck was right about that too."

Whatever, or whoever, Puck was sounded like a festering wound between them and Mike had a feeling this same argument had played out multiple times before. It would end with one of them, definitely Santana, walking away and the two not speaking to each other for a while. And it would keep happening until they sat down and actually talked things through. That probably wouldn't happen for a while.

From the look of things, his predictions were well on their way to becoming true before Santana jerked her head towards him and said, "Let me fuck him and we can forget about this entire thing."

Quinn glanced towards him before she said, "No."

"Are you fucking serious?!" Her face twisted in rage, but there was also a bit of pain mixed in as well. "You'd fucking choose him over me?"

"When you're like this? Yes."

"You're a fucking cunt, you know that?" she said as she shot up from her seat before turning to him. "Hope you enjoy what little time you have left with this bitch."

He kept silent after Santana left, not knowing what to say to Quinn nor believing she would want him to say anything, so he fiddled with the stone coaster that came with his drink while he sat doing nothing but listening to the heavy beats coming from the speakers. Only one song played before she tapped his forearm and asked him to get a drink. They both knew her request was an excuse for her to be alone, so he did as she asked.

All of the bartenders of the clubs they frequented knew name and who he was with, but he waved away any offer to get him a drink a few times to give Quinn more time with her thoughts. Leaning against the bar and with nothing else to do, he watched people dance while he waited. After a decent length of time, he ordered two drinks: a glass of bourbon and one of rosé, before making his way back.

Quinn had left the VIP section and was walking in his general direction. She wasn't alone. Some guy he didn't recognize was walking next to her, trying to talk to her. From her actions, it didn't look like she knew him either. As he approached, she noticed him, quickly closed the distance between them and took his arm before shooting a look at the new guy who followed her.

"Like I said," Quinn said, "I'm with someone."

"You're with this scrawny guy?" It figured the guy would be a drunken American. "Come on baby, I'll show you a better time than he ever could."

"Oh," Quinn said after she took her drink and sipped on it, "I sincerely doubt that. He's more of a man than you'll ever be."

A lecherous grin appeared on his face as he said, "Why don't we see about that?"

"No, thanks. With all those muscles, you're probably compensating for something." Quinn smirked then said, "Something small."

Mike saw the guy reaching for Quinn and his hand shot out, grabbing the guy's wrist. Maybe he didn't have the visible muscles like the guy across from him, but a decade plus of dancing had definitely given him strength in more useful areas. One of those was his hands and wrists which easily held on to the other guy's wrist even with all the effort being used to try and remove it.

"Let go of me asshole."

"Back off."

"Fuck you."

In a fair fight, Mike would have lost. Those flashy muscles were far more useful in combat than the ones he had developed through dancing, and he was giving up half a foot and at least 20 pounds. At best, his superior speed and stamina would be the attributes he had to rely on to win the fight. Any drawn out affair would favor Mike and his stamina while a short fight probably meant that Mike took a few punches to the face and was down for the count. But then, this wasn't a fair fight.

The other guy was drunk which meant he would be uncoordinated and uncontrolled. Mike hadn't been in any real fights before but he figured that, like dancing up on stage, staying calm and being focused were the key to doing a good job. If Mike kept those two things in mind, his speed would be enough to give him the upper hand. Speaking of uncontrolled, the guy pulled his free hand back as far as he could, telegraphing his wild punch.

Mike's first priority was to try and get Quinn away from this guy. The problem was that both of his hands were occupied, and the guy was actually using Mike as a counterbalance to give his fist more momentum by pulling them together instead of trying to get away now. That was easily solved by letting go of the guy's wrist, throwing him off balance. Mike helped with that by throwing his drink at the guy's face while using his other hand to shove Quinn away. He heard a grunt as she hit the floor and he hoped she wouldn't be too angry at him.

The drink to the face just made the guy angrier and he reloaded to try and hit Mike again. This time without anything to bog him down he was able to easily step out of the way of the wild punch which left the guy stumbling and off balance. And in perfect position for Mike to punch him across the face. The punch wasn't even that hard, but the guy fell face first and unconscious onto the ground. He looked at his fist, which was beginning to throb, before looking at Quinn who had a stunned look on her face.

Then his friends arrived.

* * *

The doctor who had looked him over and was now talking to Quinn had a face handsome enough to play the male lead on one of those TV medical dramas. Though with Quinn's status, he was sure the doctor was the best money could buy. Or kept on retainer, since house calls, especially at two in the morning, couldn't be very widespread.

He didn't think the guy's friends did too much damage before the club's security put them in headlocks and dragged them off of him. Aside from being punched in the face a few times, the worst had been the kicks to his stomach and chest when he got knocked to the ground. Hopefully, he didn't have any serious injuries, but he didn't think there was since he was lying in his usual bed with only a bandage wrapped around his torso.

After some minutes of talking that felt like it lasted longer than the examination Mike got, the doctor shook Quinn's hand then left. Which was fine with Mike since his energy level was fading fast.

"So doc," Mike said as she walked up, "how long do I have to live?"

Quinn rolled her eyes before saying, "Aside from a black eye, you have a few lightly bruised ribs. So, I think you'll live. Just take it easy for a bit."

He chuckled and, as his eyes closed, he said, "Good to hear."

After a few seconds of silence, he opened his eyes again and saw Quinn staring down at him. When he gave her a shaky smile she sat down on the bed, one leg tucked underneath her and the other dangling off the side. It was only then he noticed her eyes were slightly puffy and red.

"What happened to your eyes?"

Her hand shot up and touched her cheek for a second before she said, "Nothing. It's nothing. When you threw your drink at that guy, some of it got in my eyes."

"Oh."

The hand that had touched her cheek picked up his hand that was used to punch that guy and a few of his friends. That hand was sore and slightly bruised from said punch. They had already cleaned up the blood. Quinn rubbed each of his fingers then the back of his hand and finally his knuckles. She tried to be gentle but a few spots were more tender than others and his drew in a sharp breath every time she hit one of those spots. And every time she did, she rubbed that spot a few more times.

"Security was coming. You didn't have to do what you did."

"Yea," he said slowly, the painkillers and adrenaline crash taking their toll on him, "I did."

She stared at him for a few more seconds before she stood up and stripped out of her dress and underwear.

"I, uh, don't think we should be doing this when I'm hurt."

"Is that all you think about?" she said with a raised eyebrow, then a smile, before getting into bed with him. Sliding over, she gently pressed her body up against his bandage-wrapped torso as he took her into his arms, one falling across her stomach, the other hand intertwined in hers.

"Learned it from you," he mumbled into her ear.

He passed out with her laughing softly in his arms.

* * *

Mike woke up to an empty bed again. Only this time, he could feel and smell the fading perfume and warmth from her side of the bed. It would have felt nice but his ribs and face hurt more than they did last night. He winced as he sat up then got out of bed, as any movement, including deep breaths, caused a sharp, shooting pain to run across his chest; the bottle of aspirin sitting on the nightstand would help with that.

Showering helped as well, but the ice pack he kept on his chest for 20 minutes did the most to soothe the pain and swelling. The problem with the shower was that the bandages had to be removed and trying to rewrap his torso himself was too painful.

Quinn was in a robe, sitting at her usual place at her desk, doing her usual thing on her laptop. She looked up and began to say something until she saw him holding a roll of bandages.

"Morning," he said with a smile. "Can I get some help?"

She gave him a little nod before standing up, walking over, and taking the bandages. It didn't hurt too much as she carefully rewrapped his torso, except he winced when he breathed. Not that she noticed since she stared straight ahead at his chest as she worked. When she finished she took her seat again and quickly typed something on her laptop then she slid a debit card toward him saying, "This is for you."

"Another one?"

She glanced at him for a moment before saying, "It's linked to an account with enough money to get you around Europe for a bit and then get you back home."

"Uh…"

"I'm going to need the other card back." A few more keystrokes. "And the phone."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm bored with you." Another quick glance at him. "Santana warned you this would happen."

"So," he said staring at her, but she wouldn't look at him, "this is it?"

"Yes," she said standing up, "I'm going to take a shower. I'd prefer it if you were gone by the time I finish."

He stood there, stunned, as she walked to her room. Ever since Santana had told him about Quinn, he had thought about this moment every now and then, but he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. It wasn't like he assumed things had changed after last night; he thought he would've had more than a five minute warning. But then, this wasn't a world he understood nor did he belong in it.

His belongings were tucked away in a corner of the closet. He stuffed his own clothes into his backpack and only his own clothes; he wouldn't take anything Quinn had bought for him. That included the two specific things she wanted back: the phone and credit card. Those, he left by her laptop, but he did email a link to the photo gallery he made since he didn't have a chance to do it yesterday.

Not like it mattered after all.


End file.
