#because let’s be honest i don’t think santana thought the friendship thing was gonna work. it was gonna be awkward

[purrpickle]

Random Pezberry Thought of the Day #333

A/N: So this is a fic I started with someone back in March of 2013. As we’re sadly not in contact anymore, this fic won’t ever get finished, but gosh, it was so exciting when we were writing it. But as it got so far (to where I definitely think it’s worth sharing - and it’s certainly long enough), I’m going to go ahead and post it. Just be aware that, to make it even more emotionally impacting, I included a kind of ‘behind the scenes’ thought at the end. Enjoy the angst!

(By the by, the *s denote the switch from writers, while the ------------s mean a time lapse.)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Santana finds Rachel alone on the couch, crying, when she gets back from the grocery store. She throws the burlap grocery bags that Rachel made her take down on the counter carelessly, but then walks slowly towards the crying brunette in front of her.  

“Rachel?” She’s never been great at dealing with tough emotions. Her first instinct isn’t to comfort or console, but to make harsh witticisms and enraged insults. She tries her hardest not to be herself for once, if only because Rachel needs someone. ”What happened?” 

Her voice is gentle, even soft, and Rachel shoots her a look of surprise. “When—when did you get here?” Rachel mumbles out, turning away from her and grabbing a tissue. ”I—I thought you were out.”

“Yeah, well, the thing about going out is that you have to go back in at some point.” 

Rachel rolls her eyes and attempts to hide a small smile playing at her lips. 

”So… What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Rachel says quietly, wiping at her tears. ”I mean, it’s something, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.” 

Santana frowns and places her hand gently on Rachel’s knee. “Please tell me? I want to help you.” 

Rachel glances down at Santana’s hand, but looks away quickly. 

Santana strains to hear her, but she’s positive of what she’s heard: “I think I might be pregnant.” The words are so simple, but the implications of those words are nothing but complicated.

Santana doesn’t know what to say. And in reality, what can she say that will make her pain disappear?

Instead, she hugs Rachel, pulling her close and letting her cry again.

“Did you go to a gyno yet? Maybe… Maybe it’s a false alarm. Brittany once thought she was pregnant—and guess what? She wasn’t.”

“You know as well as I do,” Rachel says through tears, “That there was never a chance she was with child.”

*

That was fair. 

Santana frowns. "Well, why do you think you're pregnant? Aren't you, like, Prophylactic PowerPoint Berry? Or is Brody buying the cheap shit? Do I gots to pull out my razor blades on his ass?"

Rachel's small shoulders shake in Santana's arms. "No, no, I think it might have been a f-freak torn condom. And," she presses weakly against Santana's arm, pushing back to glare at her with red, swollen eyes, "I'm insulted you'd automatically think this was my fault."

"Well, you are the one letting Little Brody near your lady bits," Santana drawls before she can fully think about what she's saying. She's already acknowledged the fact she's bad at doing the gentle thing.

Rachel's response, however, isn't what she immediately expects. Instead of throwing an angry defensive outburst back at her, the girl pales and sags back into herself, looking down. "It... It may not be him."

What? Someone else is digging in the berry patch? "What?" Santana hopes her expression isn't completely stupid looking. Instead, while waiting for Rachel to respond, she pulls the girl back into her arms as she dissolves into quiet cries again.

"At the non-wedding," Rachel takes in a huge breath, hands curling in the sleeves of Santana's dress, "I... Slept with Finn."

Santana blinks. The Finncredible Hulk? There could be a baby whale brewing in Rachel's stomach? "I..." She swallows, "Wow. I didn't know you had that in you. Does Brody know?"

*

Rachel lifts her head a bit, and Santana can feel her nod her head. ”Yes,” she mumbles, “I told him, though not until he questioned me. We’re in an open, Sex and the City type of relationship, because apparently that’s what New York girls do.”  

Santana can’t help it; her mouth drops and she bites back a gasp. ”I thought… I mean, you were always little miss monogamous back in high school. We all thought you’d hogtie Finn and stick him in your trunk… You were that girl, Berry.” 

Rachel looks up at her with wide, horrified eyes, and Santana realizes she may not have been the kindest. She clears her throat awkwardly.

“Well, I’m certainly not that girl anymore. Brody can sleep with whomever he wants,” Rachel says, sniffling. 

Tears pour down Rachel’s face again, and Santana’s at a loss of what to do yet again; Rachel’s mouth says one thing, but her tears say another.

“We need to take you to a doctor before you cry a river, JT,” Santana says, rubbing her back. ”But until then, I can pull some Lima Heights shit on Brody for this Sex and the City garbage you’re spewing. The Rachel I know would gag at the thought of some other skank hopping on her man’s—” 

Rachel stops her. “Don’t, Santana!” 

Santana can’t help but laugh just a little at Rachel’s innocence. “I thought you were some high and mighty New York seductress… I thought you were Samantha, Berry. I don’t think she’d have a problem saying ‘dick.’” 

Rachel’s mouth goes slack and Santana’s happy to have her focused on something other than the parasite that may or may not be overtaking her uterus.

“Okay, okay,” Rachel grumbles, sitting up and avoiding Santana’s playful gaze. ”You know very well I don’t like this situation. But it is what it is. Brody likes sex and our dance teacher, and I like Brody, so it’s…”

“It’s fucked up, Berry, that’s what it is.” Santana doesn’t sugarcoat the truth; she never has, and she isn’t about to start to. ”It would be fine if you were fine, but you’re not. You’re not even close to it.”

“What do I do?” Rachel says after a couple of minutes of silence pass. ”Who do I tell?” She bites her lip. ”And who’s going to come with me to the doctor? I can’t go alone!” 

Santana can see a panic attack rising and she quickly comes to Rachel’s rescue.

*

"Whoah, whoah, calm your tits." Pushing her hands down on either side of Rachel's shoulders, Santana looks her straight in the eye. "Berry. What am I? Chopped liver? I'm not gonna just let you turn into a pathetic statistic." She shrugs, smiling, "What kind of friend would I be?"

Rachel's eyes are wide and very, very dark brown as she stares back at Santana. "What...?"

Santana barely holds back an eye roll. Pulling her hands back, she flips her hair back, behind her shoulder. "I. Will. Go. With. You," she sounds out slowly, overly obvious. After a second, she can't help adding, "Duh."

A giant, slow-growing disbelieving smile grows on Rachel's face. Her body wavers, and Santana sighs sufferingly, opening her arms; Rachel jumps into them. Her chest smacks into Santana's, cheek sticky against Santana's neck.

"You know," Santana smirks as she rubs Rachel's back, "I'm insulted you completely forgot about me." She really doesn't mean it. She knows how crazy Rachel gets, and how oblivious that craziness can make her. God, part of her hopes Rachel's not pregnant just for the sake of not having to deal with a hormonally crazy Rachel in the future.

But she pushes that thought away. Pregnant or not, Santana knows she's at least willing to try to be there for her friend. Since she'd moved in (or, if Santana was completely honest with herself - since the last third of senior year), she and Rachel had come to more of an understanding about how the other worked and how to deal with each other. And with that understanding, a pretty strong friendship had been flirting with becoming reality.

"Well, to be truthful, I had hoped you would want to go with me," Rachel murmurs, "...Even if I didn't initially wish for you to walk in on me." Settling more of her weight onto Santana's thighs, she gingerly sits back; Santana immediately slides one hand down to support her lower back, "Thank you for that."

Rachel looks terrible. Her cheeks and nose and eyes are red, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. Santana makes a face, stretching her arm sideways to bat the tissue box Rachel had been using closer to her until she can grab one. "Here," she proffers the tissue, smirking at the blush that causes, "You look terrible. You should fix that."

*

-----------------------------------

Rachel manages to make an appointment with a gynecologist the next morning, but the earliest the doctor can see her is next Tuesday—a whole week later. Santana swears she can hear Rachel grinding her teeth from across the room.

“They shouldn’t be able to do that to a potentially pregnant woman!” Rachel complains, her eyes still slightly swollen from the late night tears. She pushes her hair back behind her ear while pursing her lips.

“Well, when we get in there we can steal a plastic vag if it’ll make you feel better,” Santana says as if it’s the only logical solution. ”Lord knows we could teach our girl Hummel a thing or two with it.”

Rachel chuckles a little, and throws herself on the couch, exhausted. Santana follows suit. “Maybe even Brody.” 

Santana laughs. “I knew it; my dick’s probably bigger than his,” she jokes. 

Rachel blushes, and Santana smirks.

“Anyway,” Rachel says loudly, awkwardly changing the subject, “The appointment’s at 9:15 in the morning.”

Santana’s not done though. ”Have you ever liked sex before? I mean, I’ve been tackled by that ex-quarterback of yours and I know that’s no picnic. And then with Grody and his—” Santana stops abruptly when she sees the look of embarrassment on Rachel’s face. ”Sorry,” she says, not really meaning it. ”But I’m just saying. You sound like Quinn at the non-wedding.”

*

Rachel's eyes widen. "I sound like Quinn before she slept with you?"

Santana pauses, then smirks. "Well, yeah, but that wasn't what I was meaning. Still, wanky. Coming onto me, Berry?" Enjoying the look on Rachel's face, she chuckles and flops back, sliding her arm around Rachel's shoulders, "No, no, not gonna let you change the subject. Tell me. Do you even like sex?"

Fidgeting, her hands picking at the bottom of her sweater, Rachel licks her lips. "It's... Fine. I've heard that it's supposed to get better, and so what if I have to wait until my thirties to get into my prime? It's not like sex is that important." Her voice is getting steadily louder and more like she's trying to convince herself.

What the fuck is this shit? Santana stares down at the top of Rachel's head. Involuntarily, her arm tightens around Rachel's shoulders. "Rachel," she says lowly, moving her hand to lift up Rachel's chin. "Are you going to start telling me that it must be something wrong with you? Because if you are," she narrows her eyes, "Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear it."

Rachel looks away. "But what if..."

"No. Cállate. Tell me who I have to bitch slap."

*

“You don’t have to do that to anyone,” Rachel says shyly. ”I mean, Finn tried his best, and Brody—well, he’s… I don’t know… I think he’s trying?” Her face is sweetly innocent, her eyebrows furrowed, and Santana shakes her head.

“If you have to ask, then he’s not. He’s playing on your naivete and getting his rocks off without doing any work for you. It’s like an unaired scene from an episode of The Donna Reed Show,” Santana says. ”And Chubby Checker can try all he wants, but when he thinks the word ‘clitoris’ is French for butterfly, there are bigger issues.” Santana takes a breath and tries to gauge Rachel’s reaction. 

She twiddles her thumbs nervously, but shakes her head. “Like I said, it’s fine. Sex isn’t everything.” Her voice wavers, but Santana can’t help but notice the facade of confidence she puts on.

“You can’t tell me that after dressing like a sexually frustrated schoolgirl all these years, you’re perfectly satisfied with a sexless relationship?” Santana imagines her briefly in one of her short, plaid skirts that fly up with any and every small movement. It sends a shiver up her spine, but because it’s Rachel, she pretends to ignore it.

*

"Our relationship isn't sexless, Santana. I would think - I would think this...  Drama," Rachel's hand trembles as she sweeps it up and down over her body, "Would make that obvious."

"It's sexless if you're not getting off." Santana shifts so she can hold up her hand, wiggling her fingers. "And if this and Vibrating Velma is the only way you're Slip n' Sliding, you're getting short shafted. Pun definitely intended."

Pulling away, Rachel swivels enough so it's obvious she's attempting to give Santana her back without moving from her embrace. "That's really none of your business and I don't know why I'm entertaining the notion of continuing to talk to you." She tilts her head back, briefly meeting Santana's eyes, "Besides, I know everything I say you will twist into diatribes against Brody and men in general."

Santana smirks and leans back into the couch. "Your choice in men, and I use that term loosely, definitely. All men?" She looks at Rachel still turned away from her again, "Nah." She lowers her voice, making it as suggestive and coaxing as she can, "You wanna hear about the rest of the guys in glee in case you want to move up? I can tell you length, width, average time devoted to foreplay, and degree in cunni - " She laughs when Rachel's hand whacks her thigh. "You're still so innocent, aren't you?"

*

“I think I’ll always be that innocent girl,” Rachel says, sighing. ”It’s ingrained in me. I might even be typecast into the role.” She fingers the edge of her shirt. 

Santana shakes her head and smirks, tilting her head and scooting a smidgen closer to Rachel. “The day I hear you through that curtain screaming someone’s name because you can’t not, then I’m pretty sure the Vestal Virgins take your membership card away.” Her voice is sultry, and she knows it. She can see Rachel swallow, and maybe Santana’s imagining it, but she’s pretty sure she feels her move closer, too. ”I guarantee, once you dump your drug dealing minuteman, we’ll find you someone who will make you feel just as good as Barbra does when she’s belting ‘People.’” Her voice turns into a near whisper at the end; she knows Streisand is the only way to sell Rachel on anything.

“Well, if I’m pregnant…” Rachel says, “How can I dump him?” 

Santana smiles, realizing Rachel’s at the very least entertaining the idea. “You don’t need to be together to pop out a baby. And why would you want someone around your kid who’s snorting coke off the stomach of some prostitute and then selling the leftovers to anyone looking for a dime?” 

In reality, Santana thinks, the baby would be better brought up by Rachel, Kurt, and herself. Really, between the three of them, that baby would be incredibly well cared for.

“I’m pretty sure you’re exaggerating, Santana,” Rachel mumbles, glaring. ”We have no idea what Brody’s doing with his time; that pager was purely coincidental. Maybe he’s starting up an a capella group of gentle old men who don’t know how to use cell phones?”

*

"Right, and I'm Jimmy Kimmel in drag. The sooner you accept that your Grody ain't so pure, the better you and that possible bean in your belly'll be better off." 

Honestly, aside from a somewhat attractive face, Santana doesn’t understand the appeal of Brody Weston. It was becoming increasingly obvious Rachel had the worst choice in men.

Santana frowns. Maybe it had to do with whoever showed her attention.

That was sad. Really, really sad.

Sighing, letting out a big breath of air, Rachel suddenly leans her head against Santana's shoulder. "Do you really think he's doing something so... Uncouth... And irresponsible?"

Uncouth. Santana shakes her head. "If you gotta ask, it means you're suspicious of him anyway. Don't you guys ever talk? Or is it all grunting and fake orgasms and walking around naked like he really thinks he's got the goods?"

Rachel's shampoo smells really nice and floral. It's incongruous to the whole situation, but it's so normal and Rachel that she'd have really nice smelling shampoo that Santana doesn't blame herself for dipping her head to get a better sniff. Girl practically offered it, after all.

Rachel sighs again. Shoulders and chest and neck relaxing, like she's too exhausted to keep herself up anymore, she settles more against Santana. Her voice is small and resigned as she lifts a hand to rub her eyes, "At least he liked me. Not many people... Guys... Do. I'm particular and severe and controlling and crazy. Who would want to put up with that?"

*

Santana pauses, more because it stings her to hear such a harsh statement, (especially since her personality is just as strong and just as severe), than because she doesn’t have a response.

“You’re being too harsh on yourself,” Santana says, leaning into her and pulling her a bit closer, trying to provide some sort of comfort. She takes another whiff of her hair, and then continues. ”You just know what you want. And yeah, sometimes you can be an ambitious bitch about it, but that’s a good thing, Berry. You’ve got balls and you’re not afraid to go after what you want. You’ll find someone who loves that.”

Rachel sniffles, and shifts herself so that she can look into Santana’s eyes. ”Do you really think so?” 

Her eyes are so hopeful and it touches Santana that she holds her opinion so highly after everything that’s happened between them, after everything she’s put her through. It hits her, yet again, that they really are friends.

“Yeah, I do,” she mumbles, hugging her closer. She’s not sure what else to say, so there’s a silence, though it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. Rachel snuggles into her a bit more, and Santana squeezes her gently.

“I think that’s one of my biggest fears, beside becoming a star,” Rachel says after awhile. ”Not finding someone who’ll put up with me.”

“I think that everyone’s got that fear; it’s human,” Santana mumbles. She feels Rachel nod against her. She’s not sure when their conversation got so heavy, but she feels somewhat closer to the girl in her arms. ”But you don’t have to cry out in fake ecstasy in order to keep a guy, Babs.”

*

Rachel's silent for a long time. Santana, almost counting the seconds, finally forces herself to ignore it as her ears attune to listening for whatever excuse her friend will come up with. She expects one. 

Instead, Rachel relaxes even further in Santana's arm. Her voice smiles, "I like it when you compare me to Barbra."

Santana is honestly shocked. "Uhm... Yeah," she says like it's obvious, and it really is, "It's not like you're secretive about your worship of her. And I have ears." Shrugging, Santana's arms tighten around Rachel; even if she's not attracted to the smaller girl - she's really not - she's not going to deny there's an obvious and noticeable parallel between Rachel and her idol.

"You mean that or you're just trying to butter me up?"

"For what?" Santana laughs. "Like you need a bigger ego. I calls it like it is, kay? And you're boss. So?" she continues, nodding her head and tapping Rachel's thigh, "Shuts the fuck up and listen to me when I tells you you're worth so much more than what you're settling for. Preggers or not."

Uncharacteristically again, Rachel's quiet for a couple of minutes. Her body doesn't move; Santana's beginning to wonder if she's broken her somehow. "Why are you doing this?" Rachel finally asks. It's like she's not even sure she's supposed to be able to say what she is.

Santana stares down at the top of her head again. "What?" For some reason, no matter what, she can't get Rachel's shampoo out of her head. That's just too strange and not supposed to happen. At all.

"Why are you being so nice?"

...What? That's ridiculous. "I'm not being nice."

"You are." Pressing lightly against Santana's forearm, Rachel's hand suddenly curls around Santana's wrist. "With this whole thing. With me. Where... Where is this coming from?"

*

Santana doesn’t exactly know what to say, so she rolls her eyes dramatically and says, “It’s not like I was going to verbally beat down a girl who’s preggers; we’re not on Teen Mom.” 

Rachel smiles, shaking her head, and Santana raises an eyebrow. ”What?”

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I think you’ve got a bit of a soft spot for me,” Rachel mumbles happily, a twinkle in her eye. 

Santana pretends to gag, more to hide the blush rising to her cheeks then anything else. “God, no, no, no,” she denies adamantly, but Rachel keeps smirking, and her voice becomes weaker. ”I mean, we’re friends, right?” Santana’s voice cracks. ”That’s all. Friends. This apartment has turned into a gay, overemotional version of that stupid show.”

“You know, I’m actually named after Rachel.” Rachel shrugs. ”My dads had a thing for that ‘stupid show.’” 

They grow silent again, because really what is there to say?

“So,” Rachel starts after a few more minutes pass. ”You like me. Who would’ve thought you’d be friends with a girl you called Chevy Chase for her entire freshman year of high school?”

“That was a mistake; Chevy Chase has bigger tits then you nowadays,” she says and Rachel laughs. Santana grins at her throaty, and even somewhat beautiful chuckle. It’s like she throws her whole heart into it, Santana thinks. She wants to make her laugh again, just so she can hear it, and just so she can make her smile.

God, Berry was right. She was being nice. Too nice.

*

"So. Right." Squinting her eyes, Santana pretends that she's trying to remember something. In actuality, it's more like she's trying to forget something. No matter how - surprisingly - nice it is to have Rachel in her arms and close like this, it's still Rachel. Definitely not the time to start perving on not only a straight girl, but one possibly pregnant as well. 

"Take a shower," she suddenly pushes Rachel off of her as she rises from the couch, smirking at her and raising her eyebrow, "It's time to gets ready."

Rachel stares at her. "For what?" she asks huffily, propping herself up on her elbows. Her bangs have fallen over her eyes, and it's entirely too humorous because it makes Rachel look like a petulant girl.

Santana rolls her eyes, chuckling. Crossing her arms, she pops out one of her hips, continuing her teasing smirk. "Like you really don't know."

"I don't."

"I'm hurt. Truly." Chuckling again, Santana shakes her head and heads to her section of the apartment. "Dress warmly," she calls back, "I'm sure if you think hard, you'll remember. It's not like we hadn't had this planned for weeks." She pauses, tapping her fingernails on the lamp next to her futon, "You wanna meet Kurt, or should I brave the pervert and homeless infested subway alls by myself, grab him, and come back?"

She hears Rachel rise from the couch. "Oh my god! The art show! How could I have forgotten? No, no, I can meet you guys - "

"Yeah, no way." Pushing back out of the curtain, Santana waits until Rachel meets her eyes to give her a pointed look. "Not gonna let you be at the mercy of pregnancy fetishists."

Rachel opens her mouth, eyes darkening. "We don't even know if I'm... Or not, and besides. I wouldn't even hardly be showing!"

"Don't care." Santana raises one of her fingers, cutting the girl off again, "You've gotten lucky so far, but look at you, Berry. No matter the rape whistle, you're tiny. Not gonna happen. Got it?"

*

”Yes,” Rachel says, her cheeks flush, clearly flattered by Santana’s gesture, but perhaps maybe even embarrassed by her absent-mindedness. ”Got it,” she mumbles, rushing to her room to put on something a bit classier, and a bit warmer, than the furry slippers and pajama shorts she is wearing. 

Santana waits on the couch, silently, trying not to think about anything in particular. Of course, she thinks, that always backfires; when you want to think of nothing, you end up thinking about everything you were avoiding. An image flashes in her head of a nude Rachel, scrambling to put on a bra and fresh underwear. She shakes the picture out of her mind, and tries to replace the scene with another, only to find a naked Brittany in her place.

“God,” she whispers to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. ”It’s like I’m fucking Callie Torres.” She folds her arms over her chest, leaning back on the couch. ”Come on, Dawn Wells, you can put your hair up in pigtails on the way there.”

“Give me a minute, I want to look halfway decent; I’m pretty sure Brody said he was coming.” 

Santana sticks her finger in her throat and pretends to vomit when she hears his name. “Like you should care what that prick thinks; he’s balls deep in fairy dust,” she remarks. ”And if I remember correctly, we already had this conversation. Get a move on.”

Rachel stumbles into the living room, her purse swinging on her shoulder as she puts in her left earring, and then the right.

“How do I look?” she says, rather breathlessly.

*

Santana raises an eyebrow. "Not bad," she finally drawls, trying not to show how Rachel's new wardrobe is actually kind of really sexy and not helping with the thoughts of naked her and Brittany floating in her brain. Yeah, it's probably a good thing she's supposed to have the apartment to herself for the evening, with Brody doing whatever the hell it was he did that probably involved gallons of lube and burning nasal cavities, and Kurt and Rachel off to a NYADA party. It's definitely time that she gets her lady jam on.

Beaming, Rachel walks over and takes Santana's arm as soon as she's done straightening herself up. "I'll take that," she smiles and turns Santana towards the door, patting her forearm and pressing close to her side, "Ready to go?"

Clenching her jaw to keep her expression neutral, Santana lets out a put-upon sigh, lengthening her stride to take the lead and pulling away slightly to push open the door for them, "For ages, Berry. You know, I'm convinced that if you were set on fire, you'd stop to stare at yourself in the mirror before you jumped into the shower."

"Thought often about setting me on fire, did you?" Rachel smiles up at her. Preceding Santana out, she waits for her to join her, once again automatically retaking her arm.

Well. Not really surprising she'd be clingy, Santana tells herself. It's kind of nice having a sizzlin' hot babe on her arm, anyway. 'Bout damn time. People might think Santana's lost her mojo, and that's fuckin' ridiculous.

When Rachel's hip softly brushes against hers, Santana realizes the girl's still waiting for her response. She smirks. "Practically every day during sophomore year, and those oh so rare times during the years whenever your righteous brand of crazy got too much to stand."

*

And now it’s Brody you want to set on fire,” Rachel says, smiling. ”Oh, how things have changed.” 

It’s true, Santana thinks; she doesn’t think as much about the ways she can torture the girl who’s fingers are brushing oh-so-subtly against her wrist. She’s pretty sure the roles are reversed—but Rachel doesn’t realize just how torturous her unintentional grazes are.

“As if,” Santana retorts. ”While setting you on fire is no longer a wet dream of mine, it still occurs to me when you spend an hour trying to look nice for Bruce Bigalow.” 

Rachel blushes, but protests as they walk down the steps to the subway station. “Last time I checked, ten minutes does not constitute one hour,” she remarks smugly. She pulls Santana a little tighter to her side, and Santana wonders if it’s intentional. ”And I might be in your wet dreams, but I doubt it’s you setting me on fire,” she whispers, her voice a little shaky. The words are bolder than Santana ever imagined Rachel would go, and she must say she’s a bit floored.

It takes her a moment to compose herself. 

Did Rachel just insinuate that it was her getting Santana riled up in her own dreams? She turns to look at the girl beside her, and Rachel has the courtesy to look at least somewhat embarrassed.

“Touche,” Santana utters.  Rachel’s toying with the master; two can play this game. ”But when I think of you,” she mumbles, getting closer to Rachel’s ear, “Brody’s not even a part of the conversation.” She’s so close to her, she can feel her throat contract as she swallows.

Santana smirks, pulling away slightly, and dragging Rachel into the subway train that stopped before them only seconds earlier. ”Come on, you can continue to reenact the start of The Bare Bitch Project on the way to the art show.”

“Is that a—”

Santana cuts her off, laughing, “It’s a porno, Berry; deal with it. You mess with Snixx, you get it back in spades.”

*

Leading Rachel to the free seat in the corner of the car, Santana takes the standing spot in front of her. Normally, she would have glared at the person unlucky enough to sit where she wanted to be, but it was, surprise, surprise, a pregnant woman - either that or oddly fat. Either way, Santana doesn't want to give Rachel the wrong idea about how she'd treat her in the future.

Besides. This way, Rachel's face is perfectly positioned to get an eyeful of Santana's waist and thighs and hips and everything else Santana knows how to work. She smirks down at the red cheeks and wide eyes glowing up at her. Maybe this subway trip won't be such a goddamn drag like so many of them.

Rachel tugs on her hand. "You're liking this," she whispers into Santana's ear as she lowers herself, making sure not to flash the sketchy looking businessmen behind her. The small girl sounds more amused than anything.

Santana smirks, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I have no idea what you mean," she replies, "But it certainly seems like you now have your heart set on reenacting Subway Hos 6."

"Subway Ho - " Rachel cuts short her loud, strangled exclamation, eyes darting around. "Subway Hos 6?" she stage whispers. Obviously she stage whispers too enthusiastically, because the pregnant woman next to her stifles a cough. Blushing brightly, Rachel's eyes skim along Santana's thighs as she sways provocatively and very on purpose.

"Right." Smirking, Santana places her free hand on her hip. If the trip was going to be longer, she might be entertaining the idea of pushing their luck. But she's not and she's really not an exhibitionist no matter the amount of times she'd been caught doing the beast with two backs in the past. Doesn't mean she's going to pull Snixx back yet, though. "If you were scooted any closer to the edge of the seat, we'd be well on our way into the second act."

*

Rachel’s face flushes again, the girl purposely scooting back a bit on her seat. 

Santana smiles, her tongue between her teeth, and Rachel looks away, embarrassed. It’s easy to make the girl sitting before her red in the face, but she still finds it oddly pleasing when she does. It’s as if the stuff she dares joke about could happen, and though Santana hates to admit it, the idea of getting off at the hand of Rachel Berry in the subway is exciting, to say the least.

“I want no such thing,” Rachel mumbles, clearly entranced—and lying through her teeth—and she turns her head to look her straight in the eyes. 

Santana licks her lips slowly, moving her hand down her hip and a smidgen closer to center. 

”But it would seem,” Rachel says, breaking their stare and gazing at the placement of Santana’s hand, “That you’re… Interested in a certain subway seduction.” She scoots closer again, and mimics Santana by swiping her tongue over her full lips.

Santana gulps. She doesn’t expect such blatant flirting, but after the conversation she and Berry have had today, she’s not sure what to expect anymore. She quickly recovers though, placing her hand on Rachel’s shoulder, her fingers lacing in her hair.

“I’m not sure if you and your lovely lady lumps can handle it,” she says, leaning down to whisper in her ear, it just a plus that her cleavage is perfectly aligned with Rachel’s gaze. It hits her, just for a moment, that this is supposed to be a game—just a game—and she wonders briefly if it’s turned into something more. But it flits from her mind when she sees Rachel’s eyes turn instantly from playful to lustful. 

They remain quiet until the subway stops; Santana leans closer to Rachel as the throngs of people make their way on and off, and Rachel says, just loudly enough for Santana to hear, “That’s what you think.”

Rachel stands up as the subway starts up again, preparing herself for their departure at the next stop just minutes away, and their bodies brush against each other with the sway of the car. Rachel avoids Santana’s eyes, but she doesn’t try to move away; instead, she lets their bodies touch, graze, and she lets her eyes linger.

Santana doesn’t know what the hell she’s playing at, but she can’t say she doesn’t like it.

*

Reaching past Rachel, taking hold of one of the vertical poles, Santana makes sure her arm brushes along the smaller girl’s waist. Not even pretending that it's for support, she enjoys the little shiver Rachel does that's only helped by the sway of the subway car. Slitting her eyes, lips curling up, Santana takes the moment afforded to her by Rachel looking up, meeting her eyes, to think over things.

Rachel's possibly pregnant.

Santana's the only one who knows. 

Santana's maybe sorta strangely developed a soft spot for the hobbit. And maybe even honestly attracted to her. Somehow.

But weirdest of all, Rachel's possibly attracted to her and openly, in her crazy midget way, flirting back?

Okay, no, maybe weirdest of all, Santana likes it. Likes this. Likes this side of Rachel. It’s refreshing and appealing and new and…

Why is it happening? Because Rachel’s possibly pregnant and Santana’s the only one who knows?

Frowning, tilting her head away, Santana moves her gaze to the doors of the subway. She can feel Rachel’s curious gaze along the side of her face, but she ignores her. This is insane. And aside from Quinn, Santana’s always told herself to never get emotionally invested in straight girls. And goodness knows she and Rachel are friends, so that side is unemotional, no matter how hard she’d like to fool herself.

Santana shifts. Why did she start to think about these things? Hadn’t she just  been thinking about public subway sex and how much she can continue teasing Rachel with her body? Why can’t she go back to that, dammit?

As if feeding off Santana’s thoughts, she and Rachel are silent for the next couple of minutes. But as soon as they’re off, Santana automatically making sure Rachel’s in no danger of tripping or being bowled over by a fuckin’ asshole like that one guy tried to do, Rachel tugs Santana’s arm into hers again. 

“Santana?”

Santana gives in, looking back down at her. “C’mon,” she rolls her eyes, smirking, tightening her arm muscles to make Rachel glance down, “Let’s go be the hottest mothers at this art show. But I’m telling you now – gives me wine to make this worth it or I’ll hold this forever over you.”

Rachel’s fingers brush along Santana’s wrist again. “Over me?” she says, smiling, barely loosening her grip as they climb the stairs to reach street level, “I think something can be arranged…”

*

Santana bites her lip, torn between her recent thoughts and the clear sexual innuendo in front of her. Rachel’s eyes are playful, and she can feel the brunette tighten her grip around her arm. Santana doesn’t respond to Rachel’s remark, but instead smirks at her (figuring it is, perhaps, a safer option) and they walk quietly down the sidewalk.

“It’s not far from here,” Rachel murmurs, looking up at Santana. Her eyes are wide, as always, and her bangs are just brushing the tips of her eyelashes, and for just a moment, Santana admires how beautiful she is.

But when Rachel looks away, the moment passes, and she can feel herself being dragged by the gnome across the street. It’s enough to make Santana roll her eyes again. But this time, she’s not sure who she’s rolling them at—herself, or Rachel.

They stay pretty quiet until they make it to the art show. The building’s tiny and the lighting’s dim, with the exception of the lighted pieces, and Santana can already tell it’s not her scene. There’s a painting of what she can only describe as an abstract dick, and she makes a face. Of course this would be Kurt’s scene.

Rachel’s grabs her a glass of red wine off of a tray and Santana gulps most of it down pretty quickly. It’s been a long day and she needs a buzz. She glances at Rachel, who seems to be looking at the picture of the cock with befuddlement and she sneaks up behind her and whispers, “Pretty sure that’s meant to be a one-eyed snake, Berry.” 

Rachel jumps, putting her hand on her chest, and turns around to face her friend. “And you would know this how?” she asks with a raised brow, folding her arms over her chest.

“I’ve had quite a few cocks in my henhouse,” Santana replies, taking another sip of wine. 

Rachel blushes, clearly looking around to make sure there are no professors or dignitaries anywhere close. “Well, aren’t you quite the expert,” she mumbles, looking back up at the painting. ”What I don’t understand,” she nearly whispers, “Is why it’s blue.” 

Santana snorts, but revels in her curiosity, and even in her innocence. There’s something so magical about it. 

But then there’s a flash of sadness as she wonders briefly if she’ll lose it when (or if?) she’s a mother.

*

Deciding to let the girl have that momentary innocence, Santana fades back into the crowd, swiping another glass of wine from a passing waiter. Taking her time with this one, she watches Rachel move from the blue dick to another abstract painting, one Santana’s pretty sure is fellatio in progress. She doesn’t know when her mind became attuned to this particular painter’s psyche, and if she cared enough to think about it, she’d probably find herself disturbed, but it’s more like a passing thought, one in the back of her mind as her eyes take in the petite form she’d surreptitiously admired for years.

Right now, that petite body could be getting ready to expand for new life.

Hissing her breath out of her mouth, Santana clenches her jaw. At the least the girl’s not drinking herself. No, she’s just standing in front of god awful “art”, being the dutiful friend and waiting for the other friend who set up the whole evening to get there. Sometimes, Santana rolls her eyes, Rachel’s way too lenient.

“Oh god, sorry, sorry,” a very loud effeminate voice sweeps up to Santana’s side, Santana turning to find a flurried Kurt pulling off his jacket and scarf, an equally hurried Adam behind him, “But at least I’m here now!”

“Joy,” she replies, giving the two unimpressed looks. “Tell me,” she says over the pulsing faux-club music that seems to be the norm at stereotypical art shows, “Why am I being subjected to Clay Aiken’s mushroom induced wet dream?”

Kurt adopts a pouty look of self-suffering, exchanging a barely restrained rolling of his eyes glance with Adam. “It’s not that bad.”

Adopting her version of the disinterested, almost judging ‘mmhm’ comment as an expression, Santana waves her hand at the wall of paintings in front of her.

“Oh god,” Kurt’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open, “It’s worse.”

Santana nods, hiding her biting remark behind her glass of wine. Her eyebrows quirk up. Watching the bright blush and almost hyperventilating panic cross Kurt’s face before he hurries over to Rachel’s side with a tossed, “I’ll… Be right back!” she turns her gaze to a laughing Adam.

Seeing her looking at him, he grins, shrugging.

Santana’ll take that. Tilting her head, she smirks back, then knocks back the rest of her wine. “So tell me,” her lips quirk up, fingers fluttering at the wall of gay porn, “Got any comments on Fellatio #6?”

*

Adam bites back laughter, subtly snorting into his drink, and Santana places her empty wine glass on a table nearby that holds information about the artist. As long as Kurt doesn’t notice, she’s sure she’ll get away with it. 

“When Kurt told me this was a sexual exhibit, I thought it would be tasteful, but…” Adam’s voice trails off, and the two stare at a painting that Santana can only understand to be a hot pink cock sitting atop a set of incredibly muscular man boobs. Adam cocks his head to the side, and Santana shrugs.

“Whatever,” she grumbles, glancing at Rachel and Kurt talking intimately in a corner by a glass dildo on a pedestal. ”It’s not as if dicks are foreign to any of us, anyway—as flamboyant as this show is.” She looks around. ”I wonder if Elton John’s here.” She grabs another drink from the waitress passing by, and saunters over to Rachel and Kurt, leaving Adam without another thought.

“…And so we’ve just been flirting non-stop, Kurt, and I’m just—” 

It’s all Santana can hear before Rachel stops mid-sentence and looks up at her like a tarsier. She smirks, but pretends not to hear the beginnings of Rachel’s new book, Confessions of a Questioning Jew. “How are Glinda and Elphaba enjoying the colorful cocks of the 21st century?” 

Rachel rolls her eyes, while Kurt throws a hand in the air.

“I was told by the artist that it had something to do with pride and the intimacy of the political agenda to the personal sphere, but let’s be real—it looks more like a sex circus featuring Andy Warhol and Samantha Jones,” Kurt huffs out.

“At least it’s got a meaning,” Rachel says, glancing timidly at a painting of the purple dick again. ”Without it, it just seems trashy and…”

“Ridiculous?” Santana asks. The emphasis makes Kurt raise an eyebrow and Rachel furrow her brow. ”Sorry for trying to put a little fun into this cocks-only orgy. If I knew it was going to be a dickfest, I would’ve worn my strap-on for good measure.”

*

Kurt’s mouth opens as his Adam’s apple bobs. “Santana...” he clears his throat, shaking his head and purposefully not looking at Rachel next to him, “Please. We both know your ensemble would not support such a bold accent.”

Taking note of Rachel’s aghast expression, Santana gives her a quick wink before turning her attention fully to Kurt. “Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows, “Because I’s pretty sure I’s can get away with whatever the hells I wants to get away with.” Smirking, she allows her mouth to be covered by her wineglass. 

“I don’t doubt that you have that expectation about yourself,” Kurt rolls his eyes, suddenly reaching over and grabbing a glass of what is probably champagne from a passing waiter; offering it to Rachel, he barely reacts when she immediately shakes her head, eyes flitting to Santana’s, “But that isn’t taking into account how your... Shall we say, action would be received by your audience.”

Surveying the crowd of mainly flaming RuPauls, Santana snickers. “Lady Hummel,” she reaches out, snagging his arm and lacing it through hers, barely remembering not to pat him with her hand full of wine, “Look at these queens. Frankly, I’d be surprised if they didn’t want to have a contest of comparison.”

“Santana.” 

Rachel’s voice is high and almost squeaky, so full of mortification that it automatically makes Santana want to press her luck even more. “What?” she asks, making sure to keep a hold on Kurt even as she turns her attention onto the other girl in their group - hell, practically the only other girl in the whole damn place, “Or, wait, I’m sorry, am I leaving you out?”

Rachel’s mouth clacks shut.

“I get it. You want a private show - “

“As I was saying,” Rachel suddenly throws out, practically yelling over her, “If this show does, indeed, have a meaning, no matter how... Uhm... Ineffectually  presented it is...”

It’s obvious she’s searching for a change of topic, and, for once, Santana decides she’ll allow it. Poor little virginal Rachel. It’s almost sad. Knocking back the rest of her wine, deciding it would do no harm to have another one - or two - Santana waves at the same waiter she’s already stolen two drinks from. “Fiiiiine,” she sighs after replacing her empty glass with some champagne, “Let’s pretend this isn’t just filthy smut.”

*

“I don’t know why Rachel is acting as though this is a new scene for her,” Kurt mumbles, waving his hand as to brush Santana off. Santana can see Rachel glaring at Kurt out of the corner of her eye as he continues. “I remember Finn telling me about a little party your fathers hosted about a year ago...”

Santana snorts, choking slightly. “I’m a little offended that Finn was invited to this little soiree and I was left to fiddle with my fake schlong all by myself.”

The heat rises to Rachel’s face. “Finn was not there! And I... Holed myself up in my room.” She folds her arms over her chest protectively. “And the image of you and... And that--” her voice lowers to a whisper, “--Fake penis is just--”

“--The reason why you holed yourself up in your room in the first place?” The words fumble out of her mouth before Santana realizes it, and although she knows she should stop making Rachel completely uncomfortable, she’s instantly pleased with her insinuation when she sees Rachel’s stunned and perhaps slightly horrified reaction.

“No!” is all that Rachel can bring herself to utter. She runs her fingers through her hair, fidgeting, and Santana can tell she’s looking for another way out of this dreadfully embarrassing conversation.

Kurt doesn’t notice--or pretends not to. He ignores Santana’s latest remark, and continues with his story. “Finn admitted to me that you, my dear Rachel, may have bought an item or three at this little shindig.” He raises an eyebrow at the petite girl, and says, “And I don’t blame you; I hear he was quite the minuteman.”

 Rachel groans, her cheeks flushing even further. She looks around the room anxiously, and then holds her wrist up. “Oh my gosh, look at the time!” 

“And where exactly am I looking, Rachel?” Kurt says, chuckling. “At the beautiful Michael Kors diamond-studded titanium wristwatch on your arm? Oh, wait--no--that would be my arm; yours is bare. Are you trying to look like a hag? No jewelry? And what’s with the shaved arm? Should I be worried that it’ll be your head, next, Sinead?”

Santana takes another sip of champagne, feeling slightly buzzed, and interrupts. “It really is a shame, you know; that ex of yours was no Andy Hardy. He came, he came, and the case of ‘where’s the clit?’ was never resolved.”

“I think it’s about time we go to that party, Kurt!” Rachel squeals, her voice pitchy, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Excuses, excuses.” Kurt points to the glass dildo nearby. “Was that one of your purchases?”

Rachel pouts, and Santana finishes off her drink and grins, “I think it’s time Charlotte and I hit the ladies room, bitches!” Shewatches Rachel visibly gulp and cackles, dragging Rachel behind her.

*

Rachel’s wrist is small in her hand, and Santana does her best not to focus on that fact. She’s betting, by the way the crowd has been in the past half hour, that the bathroom will be practically a graveyard, and as soon as she pushes the door open, she ignores Rachel’s protest that there’s no reason she needs to visit the ‘powder room’ anytime soon. “Barbra, chill,” she gives the smaller girl, pushing her farther into the bathroom when she hesitates near the door as soon as Santana lets go of her wrist, “Or did you want to continue hearing the Lady Gay talk about your toy collection - which, I might add, I am beyond curious about.”

Staring up at her, eyes wide and dark and suddenly blinking when she realizes what Santana means, Rachel’s cheeks darken. Her hands sliding up along her arms as she moves to the side of the bathroom as Santana turns to squint into the mirror, making sure her makeup is still flawless, it’s the obvious the girl wants to say something by the way her mouth opens and closes.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Yes, Berry?” she asks, meeting her gaze through the mirror, “Spit it out.”

Rachel sighs. “You’re really uncomfortable here, aren’t you?”

A loud bark leaves Santana’s mouth before she can stop it, and she turns around, shifting her weight onto the sink via her hip. “‘Scuze me? No. Shirley Temple. You’d have to be the one uncomfortable for this world to make any sense.” Like, what?

Rachel’s hand is waving in the air. “I just.” The girl takes a deep breath. “I mean. Lesbian?”

Santana squints at her. “Okay...” she starts, “Either you’re suffering from a stroke, or you’re speaking in tongues. Dammit, spit it out already.”

It legit seems like Rachel’s in the process of swallowing her tongue. Her arms are crossed protectively in front of her stomach, as if she’s already in the habit of protecting a baby, and Santana can’t deny it’s kind of creepy. That had to be evolutionary, or some such crap. Fuck, she is far too tipsy for this.

When she looks up again after shaking her head, Rachel is suddenly in front of her, and it takes all of Santana’s Lima Heights Adjacent cool to stop herself from jumping. Her forehead furrowing, Rachel’s reaching for Santana’s arm, and, for some reason, Santana lets her make contact.

“I just...” When Rachel sighs, her whole body practically deflates, fingers curling into her palm on the sleeve of Santana’s blouse. Her eyes flit up, meeting Santana’s, “I’m not comfortable here.” Her smile is small.

“Right, and you wanted to use me as an excuse even with your past adventures, huh?” Pursing her lips, Santana rolls her eyes again before she lifts her hands, curling them around Rachel’s waist. Ignoring just how small it really is, she waits until Rachel faces her fully. “Berry. Rachel. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with telling, well, more like insisting to Kurt you want to hurry up and head to the NYADA party.”

“Wha - oh. Right.” 

Santana frowns. “You are still going to that party, right?” she practically demands, not sure if it’s because she knows she needs the time to herself in the apartment more or because she’s trying to foster more independence in the other girl so she can continue to give herself more time. Though, fuck, what would Rachel have to do if she wouldn’t be drinking? Wasn’t that the whole point of parties like that?

Gritting her teeth, Santana tries to ignore that train of thought. She needs the apartment to herself. She does. Alone time. Brittany naked thoughts and Rachel - oh god. Santana growls imperceptibly in her throat. No. No Rachel thoughts. She just needs this because.

*

“Uhm, yeah, I guess,” Rachel mumbles, looking down at her feet. 

Santana’s eyes flit to Rachel’s hand, which is yet again cradling her might-be-preggers stomach, and she can’t help but sigh at the sight in front of her. She wonders when she became such a fucking pansy. She decides not to give into the girl, if only on principle.

“Look, I know it’s been a long night, Babs, but I think you and Judy need a night to yourselves.” Santana brings a finger to Rachel’s chin to lift her head up slightly. “Go sing a duet, or have a Pitch Perfect-esque show-off where Kurt ends up bawling because you’re just that awesome, Berry.” Santana drops her finger and smiles at her, adding, “Worse comes to worst, I pick you up early and we’ll go get some vegan dessert afterwards, okay?” 

Though she offers, Santana internally reprimands herself; with her luck, Rachel would be calling while one hand was down her pants, jerking off to the image of Brittany in her sexy Catwoman suit from two Halloweens ago.

But Rachel smiles broadly, giving Santana a gentle, easy hug, and Santana can’t help but be pleased she made an effort. 

Twirling her finger in her brown locks, Rachel turns back to look at the mirror and decides to add another coat of her clear gloss. 

Santana simply stands back and watches closely, eyeing Rachel’s lips with interest and--though she’d hate to admit it--attraction. It’s neither here, nor there, however, because Rachel smacks her lips and tosses the tiny tube back into her purse before she has a chance to truly fantasize--which is all for the better,  Santana thinks. 

“I guess I’ll tell Kurt I’m ready to go, then,” Rachel says, a little more cheerful than she was only minutes before. “Do you think he’ll really be okay leaving?”

Santana smirks, locking arms with Rachel as they begin to strut towards the door. “I don’t care how many hundreds of dicks he’s surrounded by, he’ll always choose you over them.” 

Rachel turns pink, and then chuckles, realizing the double meaning.

When they join Adam and Kurt again, Rachel exchanges Santana’s arm for her friend’s slightly bulkier, paler one. Leaning into his side, she looks up and says, “Time for the NYADA party, isn’t it? I think I’m ready to go.” Kurt nods, and then Rachel turns to look at Adam. “Are you coming?”

Adam shrugs and shakes his head ‘no’. “Not really my scene, to be honest. But you two have fun.” He smiles wholeheartedly, and Santana almost gags at his kindness.

“See you later, Santana,” Rachel mumbles, waving her hand quickly, and Kurt lifts a hand, bidding his roommate farewell.

“Go find yourselves some nice cocks of your own, ladies,” she says, winking. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she calls out as they roll their eyes and turn to leave.

Santana swears she hears Kurt yell back a reply of, “I have Adam--and last time I checked, ‘cocks’ are not on your list of things to do!”

*

A smooth, pleased smile on his face, Adam rocks back and forth on his heels. Looking at Santana, he raises his eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, Santana doesn’t hold back her smirk as she whacks his arm. “Well?” she verbalizes for him, “Yeah, shut it.” 

Pushing her hair behind her shoulders and straightening, peering back over the crowd to see if any other helpless lesbian or bisexual or questioning girl is there that she can conscript into a satisfying quickie in the empty bathroom, she tries to ignore the nagging loss of a hug that hadn’t happened. It’s fine. It’s not like she and Rachel hug every time they say hello or goodbye to each other. In fact, it would be an anomaly if it happened. So she should just ignore it and continue...

There.

Zeroing in on the sinfully attractive redhead laughing across the room, Santana takes a couple of seconds to make sure this won’t be another mistaken bad lighting moment. 

Adam’s presence moves closer to her side. “Santana.”

“Hmm?” Narrowing her eyes, Santana taps her fingernails against her champagne glass.

A smile curls around Kurt’s boyfriend’s words, “That’s Charlene. Don’t worry. She’s gay and looking.” An infuriating smile easily crosses his face. “Want me to introduce you?”  

Santana shakes her head, only to find herself agreeing a second later. It’s not that she needs the help; it’ll just make it easier to get to the tasty payoff... 

One she’s been sorely lacking in.

---------------------------------

Charlene is hot and sexy and interested and responding in exactly the perfect way. She’s fit and barely taller than Santana, skinny in that dancer way, and her lips promise hours of pleasure. Her hand has been hot on Santana’s arm for ten minutes now, her voice pretty and laugh not annoying as they make their way around the art show for Santana’s first in-depth time, and Santana knows for a fact that if she just says one word, smiles that smile, they’d be in the bathroom or in a cab heading back to the loft lickety-split. It should be easy. It’s not like she’s a prude and she’s certainly no stranger to casual sex, and it’s obvious Charlene isn’t either.

The words are practically on the tip of Santana’s tongue, the fire a second away from erupting within her lady loins. It should be so easy.

But it’s not.

For some infuriating reason, Rachel and her sweet innocent look of confusion keeps on playing in front of Santana’s eyes. No matter how many fake phalluses she looks at, it’s Rachel’s dark gaze that looks back at her. No matter how many suggestive words Charlene whispers to her, it’s Rachel’s innocent comments that echo in Santana ears, the faint memory of Brittany swirling behind a second later. Though that’s not unusual, the inclusion of Rachel is, and the end result is that it’s not comfortable.

Finally, unable to find anymore reasons she can put off dragging this sinfully sexy woman around the show, Santana stops them in front of the same glass dildo she’d been with Rachel and Kurt. “Okay,” she forces a smile, lowering her voice and meeting Charlene’s bright green eyes, “I think we both know what’s going on. And as exciting this exhibit is, I’m thinkin’ it’s a bit... Counterproductive to me sayin’ I’m attracted to you.”

Charlene’s lips curl up. “That’s good,” she laughs lightly, moving her hands to Santana’s hips, teasingly dragging her thumbs up and down, “And bad. I guess.” She shakes her head, teeth white as she grins, leaning in, voice lowering as well, “But, I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed because the feeling is very mutual.”

“Good.” Agreeing, Santana lets an alluring smirk play with the corners of her mouth. It’s almost too easy how this is a sure thing. Almost... Off putting. 

Which is ridiculous, Santana chastises herself. This whole reluctance thing? Ridiculous. Charlene is hot and ready to go and practically - is exactly what Santana needs.

So Santana steps forward.

*

Santana laces her fingers with Charlene’s, reminding her almost immediately of how she held Rachel’s wrist just minutes before. It’s different, though, this time around. Rachel’s hand was smaller, and Santana’s grasp was less intimate, less sensual. She can feel Charlene’s thumb gently stroking her own, and it’s... Nice. Really nice. But nothing else. She waits to feel a shiver of delight down her spine, or perhaps a spark of desire in the pit of her stomach; all she ends up feeling, though, is the desire to bolt.

Of course, she doesn’t. She walks to the subway with Charlene’s soft, bony hand clasped in hers, not entirely sure of herself or the situation she’s put herself in. When they get to the subway, she pulls away, but only so that she can wrap her arm around Charlene’s waist and whisper delicately in her ear, “I’m not too far from here; just a few subway stops.” Santana wonders why she doesn’t add something dirtier, something seductive and tempting, but she decides to make up for it by sliding three fingers into the waistband of her jeans. Charlene’s skin is smooth and... Nice.

Santana pulls her fingers back and she’s thankful that the subway is close enough that she can begin to fiddle with her purse and pull out her MetroCard and do something productive. Charlene does the same, and when Santana looks up at her, she winks and a smile plays at her lips--it’s almost overwhelming, how unfazed she feels.

She puts on a smirk, takes her hand, and bounces down the stairs. At the bottom, she pulls Charlene close, pressing herself against the girl, and licks her lips with a certain confidence that sends noticeable goosebumps down Charlene’s arms. Santana places a chaste kiss on Charlene’s lips, then mumbles throatily, “That’s not the only place I want my mouth right now.” The line is cheap, and not Santana’s best, but it’s the best she can muster up in the moment.

The subway is nearly empty, which means Charlene is more than happy to nuzzle Santana’s neck, nibbling and sucking gently, uttering words that Santana’s usually the one saying. Not to be outdone, Santana moves her hand beneath the girl’s shirt, feeling the expanse of her stomach, inching upward dangerously. She can hear a breathy moan escape Charlene’s mouth, but Santana doesn’t feel the lust that usually overpowers her.

When they stumble off of the subway and up to the apartment, her hand is in Charlene’s back pocket like some sort of teenager, and it’s already nothing like her other hookups. She tries to inspire a little more excitement on her end, walking backwards into her apartment, Charlene’s lips attached to hers, their tongues brushing. Santana pushes her onto the couch, and then straddles her, grinding her hips against Charlene’s and cupping her breast while planting open mouthed kisses on her neck. Charlene tangles her fingers in Santana’s hair and Santana wants to feel something, but what it feels like is forced.

She pulls back to study Charlene’s face, just for a moment. Her skin is pink, her eyes are dark with lust, and her nose is just a little too perfect.

“What?” Charlene murmurs. But when Santana begins to respond, her phone vibrates against her hip bone.

*

Doing her best to ignore it, figuring it’s a text from a drunken Puck or someone as so not important at this moment, Santana leans forward again, heading past where Charlene’s eyes can follow her. Opening her mouth, she’s just about to latch back onto the already reddening neck, palms once again heading to slip under Charlene’s shirt when her phone vibrates again.

“You’re vibrating,” Charlene laughs huskily. Her fingers grip Santana’s hair, a hand sliding down her shoulder. “Is that a special talent or...?”

It’s obvious she’s teasing, and Santana suddenly starts to feel bad for her. Forcing a groan, she sits up and back, resting more on her heels than Charlene’s knees. “Sorry,” she grunts, smiling faintly as she digs into her pocket, “Depending, I can throw it away.” Digging the phone out, she shoves her hair behind her shoulder before pushing her hand into the back of the couch, above Charlene’s shoulder to keep herself balanced.

She doesn’t know who she wants it to be. Part of her hopes it’s Rachel or Kurt, meaning she’d have to bow out, while the other, more stubborn and forcibly oblivious part of her hopes it’s someone she can blow off. No matter her annoying misgivings about this whole thing, sex is sex and would be good for something.

Mamí Lopez glares up at her.

Groaning for real, it’s like a wash of cold water, and Santana rolls off and to the side of Charlene. “Sorry,” she puts her hand on the girl’s thigh, “Just a, gotta take - hello?”

“Santí! ¿Como estas?”

“Bien, Mamí. What is it?” Seriously? Now? Out of the corner of her eye, Santana can see Charlene doing her best not to make it obvious she’s listening as she shifts, fingers opening and closing in her lap. If it isn’t so awkward already, Santana would be laughing. Instead, she’s wondering if this’ll completely drain all the dregs of her libido still trying to stay involved.

“Hopefully I’m not bothering you, but do you remember where your Papí left his toolbox?”

A bark of laughter leaves Santana’s mouth. “Really?” she practically matches Rachel’s level of energy at any given time of day, “You’re calling - you’re  honestly calling your so not butch daughter to ask her where the toolbox is? Are you - I bet you don’t even know what time it is here, do you.”

Charlene stifles a laugh, and Santana turns, meeting her eyes to share her look of disbelief. Oh yeah. This is sexy. Shaking her head, she sighs.

*

She’s not sure what her mother says next, but she knows there’s an apology in there somewhere, so she groans, “Okay, Mamí, I’m in the middle of something, can I call you tomorrow? I don’t know where the toolbox is.”

“Okay, Santí. You take care. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” When she hangs up, she sighs and rolls her eyes, then shoves the phone back in her pocket. “Sorry about that.” And even though she’s not sure she’s even enjoying the sexy time she’s created for herself, she means it. 

Charlene smiles at her, and it’s this small, genuine grin that turns her stomach just enough to make Santana want her, right here, right now, only for tonight. So Santana finds her way back on the girl’s lap, her knees sinking into the couch cushions, the edges of her mouth curving upward. Her hips find their groove again, and Charlene places a hand on the back of Santana’s neck and pulls her down to kiss her.

Santana can sense a smirk growing on Charlene’s lips, and it riles Santana up more than she’d care to admit. She pulls her mouth away from Charlene’s just long enough to mumble, “Bed. Now,” then plants another kiss on the girl’s lips and strips herself of her shirt, throwing the thin fabric to the floor without a second thought, before sliding off of Charlene and taking her hand, pulling her gently toward the bedroom. Charlene releases her hand only to shimmy out of her own blouse, and Santana’s impressed. Her tits are bare for her to ogle, no bra to be seen.

Santana can’t wait until the bedroom. Pulling Charlene flush against her, Santana kisses down her chest slowly, passionately, and palms her breast easily. When Charlene sighs to herself, practically inaudibly, Santana pauses only to unhook her own black lace bra. It’s only when their jeans and panties are off that Santana realizes that they’ve left a trail of clothing from the couch all the way to the bedroom door. She gazes at the path, cringing slightly, thinking for a moment about Kurt and Rachel--Rachel--but then Charlene clears her throat and Santana turns around and suddenly her brain is void of any logical thought.

“Come here,” Charlene says huskily, her legs parted, her pink thong hanging from her index finger. Santana’s throat goes dry as she gazes at the girl laying so hungrily on her bed. In the brief second before she positions herself between the girl’s legs, Santana can hear a phone vibrate against the wooden floor. It’s a few feet away, and she knows it’s Rachel. She knows in her gut that it’s the girl that has taken a small place--a really small place, mind--in her heart. But she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t allow herself to get it. Instead, she steps out of her boy shorts and crawls onto the bed. She crawls onto the bed, between this stranger’s open legs and doesn’t think. She can’t think.

If she stops to think, she’ll stop altogether, and she deserves this.

She licks her lips and grasps Charlene’s thighs and ignores her. She slides her tongue to meet Charlene’s desire head on, and just gives in to the feeling of lust overwhelming her. The smells, the sounds--the taste of her skin and her sweat and her arousal--it surrounds her, it engulfs her, and she can’t help but indulge.

*

Charlene is a practiced lover, responsive and delicious, full of moans and heat and not afraid to use her fingernails. She grips Santana’s hair and neck and ears as she goes down on her, rolling her hips and making noises that makes it obvious she’s very appreciative of what Santana’s doing. It feeds Santana’s ego, which in turn fans her libido. 

Yes. This is exactly what she’s been missing, hanging out with Miss Priss Virgin Mary One and Two: sex. Scratching an itch. Because if the way Charlene is reacting is descriptive of how she’ll reciprocate, Santana’s set. 

God, she slowly licks up, swirling her tongue around the hard point of Charlene’s clit, she missed this. 

Charlene’s trembling, chest heaving, the scrape of her fingernails sharp along Santana’s skin. She’s mewling, head twisting back and forth as she arches up, taught on her shoulders. “Oh,” she gasps, “You’re good at that.”

Chuckling, Santana dips back down. Damn well better should be, she thinks, but doesn’t verbalize it. Instead, with a quick glance up at Charlene’s pleasure stained face, she pushes two fingers into her, curling them up. She tells herself she can’t surely be hearing her phone vibrate on the floor from here, with what’s overwhelming her senses and ears. 

She has to convince herself she can’t hear it, at least. An uncomfortable pit in her stomach she can’t fully refute tells her it’s so she’ll be able to look Rachel in the eye when this is all said and done again. To force that away, she pushes herself up, swallowing a pert nipple.

God she loved women.

It’s getting more intense by the second. Charlene’s cresting, getting hotter and wetter each passing moment, and it’s all because of Santana. Her lower stomach is pulsing, tensing, hands grasping around pale thighs to keep the girl open. Maybe she’s actually achieving this. Maybe she can - no, she is losing herself in this girl. She - Charlene shudders, comes undone with a high-pitched, tight whine, clamping down around Santana and sucking her in, crashing Santana’s mouth to hers with a jerk of her hand and forcing Santana to splay out on top of her, covering her, pressure on where she needs it most - and with a gasp and a large juddering hunch of her hips into Charlene, groan and tensing core, she finally achieves what she’s been trying to do. There’s no way she can concentrate on her phone now.

In her last few moments of lucidity, she refuses to acknowledge the fact that she has to tell herself she’s still doing the right thing.

--------------------------------------

*

When she wakes up, groggy and naked, it’s nearly one in the morning. Santana momentarily forgets Charlene, forgets the pleasure she’d felt just hours before, and searches blindly for her phone. She stumbles out of bed, wrapping a sheet around her body, her legs a tad weak from sleep, and uses the moonlight shining into her bedroom to seek out her lifeline.

After a minute or two, she hears a buzz come from the living room, and dashes (as quickly as she can, given her current, rather sleepy state) to retrieve it. When she finally picks it up and turns it on, what she sees makes her stomach sink and her throat turn dry.

Eight missed calls. Twelve new text messages.

Before she hears them, before she reads them, she knows they’re all from Rachel. Rachel, who’s stuck at the NYADA party with Kurt. Rachel, who Santana promised to pick up and grab ice cream with. Rachel, who could be preggers... Rachel... The girl who was and is so much more than nice.

Santana calls Rachel back immediately. She hears it ring, and after a moment, she hears Rachel’s angered, but somehow still soft voice. “I thought you were going to pick me up.”

“I’ll be there, Rach, just give me a few minutes, I’m on my way.” The words are rushed, and Santana can barely keep herself from shaking. She hears Rachel hang up, and then bolts to her room to change. She throws on sweats and a pair of sneakers, her mind focused on Rachel, on how she’s surely miserable, drinking a soda and pretending to be interested in the throngs of drunken girls and twinky guys and the lame ass Once soundtrack that Rachel only admitted she didn’t like after intense prodding. Santana’s thoughts are deluging her, ransacking her mind, and it’s only when she’s on the subway, watching a man grind up against one of poles, that she realizes she’s nearly there.

It hurts her to think Rachel’s hurting, and although she’s rarely the sentimental type, Rachel’s her friend and she knows she may have fucked up. Just a tad.

Maybe a little more than just a tad, she thinks.

Rachel’s sitting outside the apartment building when Santana arrives. She looks... Well, angry. And cold. Her hands are wrapped around her upper arms, and Santana takes off her sweatshirt and hands it to her. Rachel doesn’t meet her gaze, but accepts the article of clothing and shimmies into it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Santana barks, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re by yourself on an empty street where the next up-and-coming Ted Bundy could kidnap you.” As Santana hears the words stream out of her mouth, she knows they’re harsh, but it’s easier to get mad at Rachel than be mad at herself.

Rachel glares, standing up from the stoop. “Yeah? Well maybe you should’ve thought about that when you ignored my cries for help.” 

Santana watches Rachel huff off in the direction of the subway, and follows behind her, carefully keeping an eye on her, but giving her the space she needs before the all out brawl she expects to take place at some point tonight or tomorrow manifests.

In her head, she tries to justify it one more time. I needed that time to myself, she thinks, but even she knows it’s a weak defense. She’s no longer able to believe it, not without the post-coital daze she was in before, and not while Rachel walks in front of her, venomously kicking stray pebbles that are seemingly in her way.

*

Frowning, starting to feel the cold on her now that Rachel was wearing her sweater, Santana realizes she is walking around New York in nothing but a white tank top, and swearing under her breath, she brushes her hair over her shoulders before crossing her arms. Good thing it isn’t anything that could get her arrested, but not that she’d ever let it get that far, anyway. 

Shaking her head, looking back up to Rachel, she notices they’re approaching the entrance to the subway. Not sure if the still tightly walking girl had noticed or already knew that, Santana groans and steps up her pace. “Berry. Hey.” She isn’t sure if the girl freezes or just jerks at her words, and Santana rolls her eyes; what now?

“Oh, Berry is it?” Rachel snaps as soon as Santana meets up with her, whirling around so fast Santana actually has to reach out to try and catch her because it looks like she’s going to fall, but all that happens is Rachel whacks away her hands, stepping closer to hiss out as she searches Santana’s eyes, wild and hard and hurt all at the same time, “Want to fall back into our original roles to distant yourself from your humongous screw up?” She then honest to god throws her hands up in the air in the most dramatic expression of fury in the history of Rachel Berry freak outs, and it erases all the effect her eyes may have started on Santana’s state of mind. “Want to forget what you said - what you promised me you’d do?”

Okay. No. Now? Feeling her own anger start to curl in her stomach, Santana for once tries to push Snixx back into her very thinly restrained box. “Fine, Rachel,” she manages to make Rachel’s name a step up from the spat expletive it almost was. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, like you suddenly care about what I call you, yeah, Miss Only Place You Belong Is On A Stripper Pole, Santana,” she continues, staring at the very angry, very almost scary small girl in front of her, tossing her head back in one of her practically patented Lima Heights Adjacent moves, “And right, yes, I fucked up. Newsflash, it’s not like  you’re so perfect, either.”

“Me?” Rachel blinks. Her mouth drops open. “This is suddenly about me?”

*

Does she really want to go there? Santana’s not sure it’s so smart to answer affirmatively, so she defers the question. “This is about the fact that everyone  makes mistakes, Rachel. You’re not fucking Mother Teresa, Jesus.” Santana glares, but her facial expression softens slightly when she spits out, “And neither am I--I made a mistake.” She swallows hard, and avoids looking at the girl in front of her. There’s guilt and regret sitting on each of her shoulders, and she can’t bear to see the disappointment plaguing Rachel’s face.

She hears Defying Gravity blast from Rachel’s pocket, and she watches as Rachel pulls her cell out. “This, Santana, is what you do when your phone rings. You pick. It. Up.” 

Santana scoffs and listens to Rachel’s annoyed, “Hello, Kurt?”

The street around them is eerily quiet, and it makes it rather easy to hear the sounds of assholes making fools of themselves by singing a rather strange, a capella version of “Party Rock Anthem”. Santana can’t help but snort.

After a moment, it occurs to Santana that Kurt’s the one belting the shitty song, and she figures Rachel’s realized seconds later when she hangs up without another word. Kurt is rather notorious for his butt dials, Santana thinks. She remembers one time, when she overheard his rather breathy moans that she could only assume were sex sounds. She’d hung up before she could be completely sure, thank GOD.

She wishes she could mention it to Rachel with a smile and a chuckle, but Rachel begins to walk towards the subway again, as if nothing’s just gone down on the corner of Motherfucking Hell and Why Didn’t I Just Pick Her Up. She knows the fight is far from over, but she’s rather content with the silence for now.

When they get into the subway car, there’s one seat, and Santana lets Rachel take it (though she suspects Rachel would’ve put up a fight for it, had she not) because she does feel sorry, even if she’s shit at showing it. Rachel gazes out the window across from them, and Santana watches her stare at the tiles, which are blurred from the speed of the car, clearly lost in the easy, monotonous motion of the train.

When they walk back to their place from the station, Rachel walks five feet ahead of her, and Santana lets her, because, just like before, the silence is sweeter than the cacophony of angry noises they had joined to compose before.

It’s that silence she misses when they trudge back into their apartment. Rachel’s keys hit the coffee table with a thud, and her own sneakers thud quite nicely against the wood floor when she kicks them off. These little noises, which seem to be nothing more than white noise, end up being, perhaps, Santana’s worst nightmare. It’s only when Rachel slams a cup down on their counter, that Charlene steps out of Santana’s room and makes herself known.

“Mmm, babe, come back to bed,” she mutters, dragging her feet as she saunters over to Santana. She’s in nothing but a bed sheet--the same sheet Santana had wrapped herself in to call Rachel back.

Santana can’t believe she forgot about Charlene. She wants to bury herself in the ground, or stick her head in the sand, like an ostrich, just like she saw on the Discovery Channel when she was a kid. She wants to escape, she wants to be anywhere but in the middle of this mess.

*

Santana hears the cup Rachel had just slammed down on the counter rattle as if Rachel’s hand had jumped and taken it with it. No, well, Santana would bet that it was her whole body that jumped. 

Fact was, she hadn’t told Rachel there could have been the smallest chance that someone would be in their apartment. But of course, she thought, staring at Charlene with wide eyes, unable not to see how appealing and, yeah, well fucked she looked, she hadn’t even noticed the girl when she’d woken up. Maybe somewhere in the back of her head she’d hoped the girl would have left, but obviously, that hadn’t happened.

“Oh?” Charlene’s husky, sleepy and sated voice sounds too loud in the silence of the apartment. Pausing at Santana’s side, her hand warm and kind of familiar after their earlier activity on Santana’s arm, the girl who felt too much like an interloper looked Rachel up and down. “Is she joining in?”

“What?” Rachel strangles out, sounding both close to tears and close to overloading again, “How, how dare you - “

Santana slaps her hand over Charlene’s mouth. Fuck fuck fuck. It isn’t clear who Rachel addressed that to, so it just feels hurtful. Better to get out of there, both of them, before the building storm in Rachel’s body she can see again erupts. 

Taking the corner of the bed sheet closest to her so she won’t flash Rachel, Santana pulls Charlene back towards her room. She wants to demand to know why the girl is still there, really just wants to get her away from Rachel. “You,” she hisses, almost unconsciously meeting Rachel’s betrayed gaze from over Charlene’s shoulder, “My room, now.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” Charlene purrs as soon as Santana pulls her hand away, shifting so she can thread her arms around Santana’s neck and pull her into her even as she pushes forward. It’s like she doesn’t care Rachel’s there or isn’t aware of how awkward this whole thing was. Normally Santana would find that sexy as hell, knowing how god damn irresistible she is - like, duh, but this is just... Somehow, it’s weird. Argument and her fuck-up aside, it’s still...

“Oh, great, no shame. No shame,” Rachel’s voice rose, “And no wonder you didn’t pick up the phone, huh? You, you’re, I can’t believe you!”

Anger had replaced all the hurt in Rachel’s voice, and even though Santana knows how this looks, knows how it is, and very aware of Charlene’s hot breath on her neck and body arching into her, mumbling, “Is this your girlfriend? No wonder you went after me,” she still has no fucking clue what she should do at this moment. Her body, almost guiltily, is starting to respond to Charlene’s presence, memories of their previous fuck sparking inside her. It’s true she’s still a little cold from her practically half-naked trek across town, and it’s always been helpful for roiling emotions to get herself off. Which she knows Charlene can. 

She certainly can’t say she likes what Charlene’s implying about Rachel, though.

But, Rachel, her girlfriend? That was something Santana really does not want to think about. Like, ever.

“Santana!” 

Oh fuck. Of course Rachel had heard that. It’s like she has ears like a bat.

Rachel’s face is red, lower lip trembling as her jaw works in her mouth. Her eyes are big, dark, stricken, and one of the greatest betrayed expressions Santana has ever seen is swirling inside them. Her cup is now clutched in her hands, the sleeves of Santana’s sweater almost but not quite covering the white of her clenched knuckles.

Fuck. “Rachel.”

Shifting, now more awake, Charlene seems to have suddenly realized that there is actually something going on.

*

The three girls stand silently and Santana can feel the tension hovering between them. She eyes Rachel, staring at the way her fingers curl tightly, almost painfully, around the glass, how her eyebrows furrow and her forehead creases... And the seconds that pass by them feel more like minutes... Agonizing, soul-numbing minutes. She’s a fucking asshole, and it takes all she has not to throw the ugly vase on the coffee table. 

After a moment, Charlene clears her throat. “I think... I think I should get going.” 

She looks between the two girls, her eyes wide with uncertainty, and then shuffles back to Santana’s room. Santana can hear her getting her shit together, and she wishes she could fast-forward the process, because Rachel’s glaring at her fiercely, unabashedly. It’s infuriating, really, but she knows she deserves it, so she keeps her mouth shut and attempts to push away the urge to roll her eyes. It wouldn’t help her case, to say the least.

Santana sees a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye, and turns to see Charlene, clad in only a bra and jeans, scamper towards the couch and retrieve her shirt. 

Santana pinches the bridge of her nose. Fuck. What a fucking mess. 

As Charlene slides her shirt on over her head, Santana swears she hears a low growl come from Rachel’s direction. And then she realizes... Fucking shit. Rachel can see Charlene’s fucking back, covered in scratches, in physical evidence that they did the nasty. 

It’s almost too theatrical for Santana to bear. She sneaks a glance at Rachel, whose fiery eyes are glued to Charlene, and she’s just not sure how she can make it out of this situation alive, her friendship with Rachel still intact.

Charlene mouths the words, “I’m so, so sorry!” to Santana before she slips out and leaves the two girls alone. 

Santana turns towards Rachel again, audibly sighing. 

Rachel scoffs and, with the glass still attached to her hand, moves into the living room, looking a bit like a predator about to attack its’ prey.

“What was it, Santana?” Rachel hollers, her tone somewhat amused. “What was it that made her so irresistible?” Rachel twists the cup in both of her hands as tears threaten to fall. “Was it the red hair? I bet it was the red hair.”

Santana can feel the rage rising, and before she can stop herself, she fumes, “Actually, it was her tits that really did me in. Nice, perky handfuls. I just couldn’t help myself.” 

She watches as Rachel glances down at her own breasts, though only for a second, then folds her arms over her chest protectively, her glass accessory still attached to her hand, resting on her upper arm. Guilt creeps up on Santana, inching its way from her stomach into her chest, but she ignores it, letting the fury control her.

“Well, good then,” Rachel fumbles out, her eyes thinning, “I’m glad you ruined a friendship for a nice rack! If they were a couple of B cups--well, then I’d really feel sorry for you!”

*

“Ruined a - ruined a friendship?” That’s it. Santana’s seeing red. “Friendship?” she repeats, voice low and sharp as ice, cold, colder than she’s heard it in a while since she’d left the halls of McKinley, taking a step forward to get both parts equal of a better look at Rachel and forcing her backwards with sheer fury. “Wouldn’t we need a friendship before it could get ruined?”

Even with Rachel’s immediate, instant gasp and tears to her eyes as she takes in what Santana’s just said, Santana doesn’t care. “So what the fucking hell if I wanted to get lucky? What - you can but I can’t?” Still shouting, she slashes her hand up in the air, pointing at Rachel, “Oh, you’re such - you threatened to kick me out and we’re friends?”

------------------------------------------------------

And one last bit that has ALWAYS stuck with me, years later: the insider knowledge that, Santana having run out of the loft without showering, and with giving Rachel her sweater... Rachel could smell her. Her and Charlene.

[gleefuldarrencrissfan]

Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Characters: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman, Santana Lopez, Sue Sylvester, Brittany S. Pierce, Artie Abrams, Carmen Tibideaux, Jesse St. James, Quinn Fabray, Sam Evans, Mercedes Jones, Kitty Wilde, Sebastian Smythe, Jake Puckerman, Marley Rose, Ryder Lynn, Will Schuester, Emma Pillsbury, Coach Beiste Additional Tags: Competition, Reality TV, Alternate Universe, Eventual Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson & Sam Evans Friendship, Kurt Hummel & Rachel Berry friendship, Duet, Slow Burn Summary:

"Chapter 18:  Reunited 

Chapter 18:  Reunited  

“Blaine!  Blaine, Please!  Talk to me!”  Kurt pleaded, as they stood in the hallway.

“About what, because it seems to me that you’re the one that should have come and talked to me.  I thought that you and I got along well.  I loved the way you talked to me, but it seems to me that you were just telling me what I wanted to hear!” Blaine shouted.

“But, Blaine, you don’t underst--”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kurt.  I thought we were friends, but then you go out, get drunk, and throw yourself at some guy in leather and guyliner, so whatever, fine...Why don’t you go talk to him!”

“Blaine,” Kurt cried out.  “Wait!”  But Blaine had stormed off.  Kurt slumped to the ground, frustrated that Blaine didn’t even give him a chance to explain what really happened.  

“Kurt?”  It was a kind, familiar voice.

“Hey,” Kurt said quietly.  

“Are you ok?”

Kurt shook his head no.  “I screwed up.  Elliott kissed me, and I allowed it to happen.  Dare I say that I even liked it a little, but…”

“But you love Blaine,” Rachel answered slowly, closing in the gap and hugging Kurt tightly.  

He nodded.   “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  I had one boyfriend, and it was never serious.  I mean, hell, all we ever did was kiss, and even then, it was obvious that something wasn’t right. But with Blaine…” his voice drifted off.

“It just feels right, like you’re drawn to him.  Like every touch, even brush of the fingertips sets your skin ablaze.  It’s like you were alive before you met him, but a part of you was missing,” she finished.

“Damn, Rachel.  Either you’ve developed ESP, or you’ve felt it yourself,” Kurt surmised.  “And it’s the latter, isn't it?” he squealed clapping his hands.  “Who?”

“Well, we aren’t seeing each other, but he flirts a lot.  He’s so handsome.”

“Finn?” Kurt asked, smiling.

“Um, no actually, although he’s gorgeous.  He’s out of my league.   I guess this other guy is too.  Ugh!  The Wedding Singer was right.  Love stinks!”

Kurt giggled.  “I missed your insanity, you know that?” he asked, hugging the short girl tightly.   “So, how do I fix this?”

Sam excused himself after he finished his tweets, using a headache as his excuse, but really he had something else entirely on his brain, finding Blaine.   However, he had a pretty good idea  where he would be.  He ran upstairs to their room and grabbed his guitar.  He headed for the door, but then he walked over to his dresser and pulled something from his sock drawer.  He walked down the steps and headed into the kitchen, stopping at the fridge.  

He poured himself a glass of juice and sat at the table for a moment to contemplate what to say to Blaine.  He had seen the photo, and he understood why it upset Blaine.  Sam drank the last drop from his glass and stood up from the table when Kurt barged down the stairs.  

Kurt was visibly upset. “Sam, have you seen Blaine?” he asked frantically.

“No, I haven’t.  Are you ok?”  Sam asked, sitting back down.  

Kurt shook his head.  “No, I hurt him.  I was going to tell him about the kiss as soon as the show was over, I swear, but he saw that damn photo.  I don’t want to hurt him, Sam.”

Sam nodded.  “”It’s alright.  Calm down.  Everything will be ok,”  Sam assured him.  “I think he just needs some time to think.  Just give him some time and space to clear his head. He’ll find you when he’s ready, and then you two need to talk.”

Kurt’s face relaxed a little.  “If you see him, please tell him I’m…”

Sam patted Kurt’s shoulder.  “No, you need to tell him, but let him come to you.  I’ve seen Blaine angry before, and he does what I do.  He needs to clear his head.  Just give it a little while,” Sam suggested.  There was a small passage of time where both men just seemed frozen in place, as they both seemed to contemplate the moment.  “Man, I wish I had something sweet to snack on,” Sam said coyly.  “Something with chocolate.”

Kurt smiled.  “That’s what I can do!  I can make him some cookies,” Kurt smiled.

“And you can also share those cookies with the guy that gave you the inspiration,” Sam hinted, smiling.

“Maybe,” Kurt grinned.  “But only if the cookie thing works.”

Sam stood up from his seat.  “Well, I don’t know anything about cooking, so I’ll let you do your thing.  I’m gonna head to the studio and play for awhile.  Can you ask the others not to go in there?  It messes up the recording if anyone goes inside.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Kurt nodded..  

When he arrived downstairs, Blaine was strumming his guitar.  Sam barged into the studio, causing Blaine to lose his place on the song ‘Misery.’

“Hey, I was recording,” Blaine huffed.  “Now I have to start over.”

Sam’s shoulder’s slumped.  “Sorry man, but I needed to find you.  You worried me, running out of the room like that.”

Blaine propped his guitar against a stool.  “I’m sorry.  I just thought... I thought he liked me, but that kiss in the photo….it wasn’t just a peck.  I mean, are they dating now?” Blaine asked, shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t know, and you won’t either, unless you talk to him,” Sam said softly.

“Why should I?” He’s seeing Glitter Rock Vampire.  He could’ve told me.” Blaine huffed angrily.

“Could he?  Didn’t he ask to talk to you earlier, privately?” Sam asked.

Blaine’s head dropped.  “Yeah, he did.  I guess he and I don’t really get to be around each other much.  Maybe that’s what he was going to tell me.  That he’s dating Elliott,” Blaine sighed.  

“You’re assuming he’s dating Elliott, but you guys haven’t even talked yet,” Sam reasoned.    “Who knows?  A kiss doesn’t mean they are in love.  Actually, sometimes a kiss reveals the opposite, that there is no real connection, you know.   That's what I found out after making out with Quinn.   You just need to talk to him.  

Blaine crossed his arms defensively.  “Stop defending him.  You saw the picture.”

“Yes, I saw the picture, but you didn’t see this.”

“What is that?” Blaine asked, eyeing the piece of paper suspiciously that Sam held up.

“Kurt’s letter to me when he resigned.  I got Rachel to help me read it.  And I think you need to too.  Do you seriously not know how he feels about you?   That boy really cares about you.”

Blaine held the paper tightly, his fingers trembling slightly with nerves.  “I probably shouldn’t read this,” Blaine stated guiltily.

“He asked me not to show it to you, but you need to get your head out of your ass,” Sam said.  “Then, you need to go and apologize.”

Blaine opened the letter, and his whole face immediately softened.  

Dear Sam,

I’m glad that I got a chance to meet you, however brief my time on the show might have been.  You were always so kind to me, even though I was different.  Thank you.

I have a request.  Look out for Blaine.  He’s a great guy, and I just don’t trust Sebastian now that I’m not there.  I really wish I didn’t have to go.  I have made some great friends, yourself included, but it physically hurts leaving Blaine.  You teased me about him, but I really do care about him, probably more than I should.  More than I thought I ever could for anyone.  So please, encourage him to keep doing his best, and do what you can to keep Weasel Face from trying to get to him.   Please.  I know that you will because I’m a good judge of character, and I know that you will watch out for him.  Good luck.  You know that I am secretly hoping for Blaine and Rachel to win the whole show, but I wish you go far.  Maybe this will be your big break.  

Best Wishes,

Kurt Hummel

P.S.  Be a pal and don’t squeal about us sharing a bed last night.  It’s not what it looks like.  ;-P

Blaine reluctantly held open the letter, as a tear slipped down his face.   “I’m an idiot.,” he sighed.  “Do you really think he feels this way about me?” Blaine asked the blonde boy.

“You aren’t an idiot,” Sam said, placing his hand on Blaine’s shoulder.  “And yes, I really think he feels that way about you.  Kurt doesn’t lie.  He’s honest to a fault.  And his face doesn’t lie either.  Go apologize.”  Sam suggested.  

Blaine sighed.   “I really care about him, but seeing that picture.  It…”

“Made you feel jealous as hell, right?  Sam asked.

Blaine nodded.  

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Blaine nodded again.  “I think so.  I mean, I’ve never been in love before.  Not really, but he’s all I think about.  And being without him was miserable,” Blaine closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  “But what if he doesn’t feel the same way back?  What if he is seeing Elliott?”  

“Seriously Blaine, it’s obvious that you are both crazy about each other.  Talk to him.  I don’t think he’s seeing Elliott.”

“And if he is?”  Blaine asks nervously.

“If he is, then respect that.  But I don’t think they’re meant for each other, not after seeing the way you and Kurt look at each other, hold each other.  The night before he resigned, you should have seen you two.  If he gave even the slightest whimper, you tightened your grip and pulled him closer, and he would immediately relax.  It was like he felt safe in your arms.   And when he came back, you collapsed in his arms as well, like it was the only place you wanted to be.”

“He just got back in the competition.  If I go in there and blurt out all of my feelings, and he does feel the same, I don’t think I can hold back.  I don’t want to mess things up by getting him or both of us eliminated.” Blaine sighed.

“I’m not telling you to kiss him in the middle of the stage and propose.  Just apologize, and talk it out.  I think there’s so much more to this story.  Let him tell it.” Sam smiled warmly.  

“Thanks Sam.   Wait, you made out with Quinn?”  Blaine smiled slyly.

“Uh yeah, but don't you have someone else you need to talk to right now?” Sam asked, trying to duck from that conversation.

“Ok, but I spilled my guts, so you’re going to spill yours later.”

“Deal,” Sam nodded.

When they shut down the computers  for the night, Jake was relieved.  He was fine until some people tweeted comments about the cute mohawk guy, and how they wished he had made the show.  Jake stepped out of the living room, and opened the back door onto the deck.   The only reason he even signed up to do this competition in the first place was because his brother had wanted him too.  He told him that it was something that they could do together.  Puck had finally won him over  by saying that they would get more chicks if they were celebrities.  And now, he was gone because of his own stupidity.  And Jake was abandoned, again.

It was unintentional.  It always was.  His dad was incapable of staying anywhere for long periods of time, and his mother worked three jobs just to make ends meet, so Jake had gotten used to being by himself. He used to just bury his resentment inside, but when he started highschool, he was sick of feeling cast off. Actually, he was pissed  about being completely forgotten and treated like he didn’t matter.  After the second fight in the same quarter, he just knew that he was on his way to Juvie.  He had stepped into the office expecting to see his mom, the principal, and some police officers, but instead he was introduced to the brother he never knew existed.  

Their relationship grew from there.  It didn’t matter when or where, whether it was the middle of nowhere at 2AM, Puck came anytime Jake called.  And the third time Jake was dragged to the office, Puck convinced his mother and the principal that day that he could help straighten him out.  He  related his own experience in Juvie and how it made him see the light.  He promised that he could help him.  He had stories about how he was enrolled in college, and he had plans to start his own business one day.  His mother, at the end of her rope, agreed, and gave guardianship over to Puck when Jake was a junior in high school.  

After Jake graduated, Puck convinced him to follow him to LA, and they had actually been really successful.  Jake knew that Puck had saved him from himself, from being isolated and alone.  But now, here he was back to square one. He sighed and did what he always did when he needed to just get away from everything and everyone that had let him down.  He closed the basement door behind him and headed down the steps into his haven, the dance studio.  

Jake grabbed his Ipod from his pocket and plugged it into the speakers.  He scrolled through his ITunes and found the song that he was looking for.  Then, he cranked up the speakers and just let himself get lost in the rhythm.  He was so entranced that he never saw the thin brunette at the mirror, stretching on the ground.

Marley watched as Jake twirled and spun effortlessly, with so much grace that it seemed as if he was floating on the air around him.  She sat still on the floor and just watched as passion radiated from his body.  It was breathtaking.  And private.  He thought he was alone, and here she was trespassing.  Maybe she could sneak out.

She stood slowly, tiptoeing lightly toward the door, turning her head slightly towards Jake to make sure that he didn’t see her.  Which was why she didn’t notice the speaker cord that was now wrapped around her foot and she was on the ground.

“Marley, are you alright!” Jake called, rushing to her quickly, quickly unwrapping the cord that had entangled her ankle.  

“Yeah, shoot!  I was trying to leave quietly so that I didn’t disrupt you.  You’re amazing, you know that?” she smiled timidly.

“Thank you,” he said softly, returning her smile.  His hand brushed lightly against her cheek as he pushed a stray hair out of her face.  

“I meant your d-dancing.  It’s beautiful,” she stammered.

“So are you,” he answered, his chocolate eyes gazing into her soft blue ones.  They stared at each other for a moment, but Marley dropped her gaze to the floor as a pink blush began to spread across her cheeks.  

“Thank you,” she almost whispered.

“I don’t think you sprained it or anything,” he said running his fingers lightly over the pale skin right above her foot and up her shin.

The brunette giggled lightly, pulling her leg away from the man’s hand.  “That tickles.”

“I’m sorry.  I was just checking to see if it was ok.  If you were ok.  So are you?  Are you ok?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing?”

“Me?  Why?”

You seemed really upset in there, quiet.  Is it Puck?”

Jake nodded.  “He’s an ass sometimes, but he’s my brother.  A lot of people think he’s a jerk, but he’s a great guy, and he always has my back, ya know.  I didn’t expect him to have to go so soon,” he admitted.  

Marley smiled.  “You two are close, aren’t you?”

“We are now.  We didn’t even know each other existed until a few years ago.  But we’re kinda all each other has.  Since we moved out here, we don’t really see anyone else.  And my mom, I just feel like I’ve just let her down.  And my dad,” his voice drifted off.

“I remember what Puck said in group.  I get it.  My dad left too.  For years, I blamed myself.   My mom tried to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, but in my eyes, he left us both.”  Her bright blue eyes were starting to glisten over with tears.

“Marley,” Jake whispered.  “I’m sorry, for the other day, when we, when I, you know, when I kissed you.  I was out of…”

Marley leaned in, pressing her lips lightly to Jake’s, ever so slightly, and then hesitated, pulling back.

Jake smiled softly.  “Apology accepted then?” he chuckled.  

She nodded, blushing profusely, as he placed his hand on her soft cheek, their lips meeting together once more.  Marley meant to pull back, but Jake’s mouth opened, his tongue lightly teasing her lips, and her mouth opened, allowing the kiss to deepen as Jake’s wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his body closely  against her.  Jake’s hand wandered under her shirt, and Marley gave in to the amazing sensation of his fingertips as he lifted her shirt over her head.  His lips instantly moved to her neck, and began moving down the now exposed skin.

Marley felt herself tremble, as his hands and lips explored each inch  of her upper body.  She was nervous, but she shut her mind off, giving in to the feel of the boy against her on the floor in the studio. She felt her inhibitions leave as his lips continued to pepper kisses  down her body.

The heavenly smell wafting down the stairwell into the basement could only mean one thing.  Someone was baking.  And there was only one person that Blaine knew in the house that could bake something that smelled so amazing.

He bounded up the stairs, two at a time, taking the aroma in as he reached the top step.  He opened the door, and stopped immediately to see Kurt bending over to pull a large cookie sheet out of the oven.  Oh, that gorgeous, perfect ass.   He stood frozen, as images from the photos raced through his mind.   Blaine, he may be taken , he reminded himself as he took in the other sites around the kitchen.  There were several cookie sheets, filled with every cookie imaginable, covering every inch of counter space in the kitchen.  

“I knew that was you in here before I even got up the stairs,” Blaine smiled timidly.  “Kurt, I…”

“I’m not seeing Elliott,” Kurt blurted, rushing into Blaine’s arms.  “I swear.  The kiss, it was a way to get this guy to leave me alone.  Karofsky.”

“The bully you were telling me about before?”

“Yeah.  He was there when Elliott and I went out.  It wasn’t a date.  Sugar and Unique were there too.  We were celebrating the makeovers, you know.  Elliott and I sang together, and afterwards, Karofsky grabbed me and tried to dance with me.  Elliott pretended to be my boyfriend to get him to leave me alone.  He didn’t know who it was.”

“I’m sorry.  You don’t really have to explain to me, although you can talk to me about anything, anytime.  Elliott is your friend, and I’m glad he was there to help you the other night.  I overreacted.  I got jealous.”

“Jealous?  Why?”

“He’s a good guy, and he’s a good friend to you, and I guess, I just thought, maybe that he, that you and him, were maybe becoming more than just friends.  I mean, the way he flirts with you, I guess I just thought that…”

“Blaine, he flirts with everybody, including you, even Sebastian.”

“Not as much as he does with you, and yeah, I just thought that maybe he was going to replace me.”

Kurt cocked his head to the side curiously.  “How do you mean?”

Blaine paused, choosing his words carefully.   He couldn't mess this up.   “As friends, I guess.  I mean, I don’t get to see you much at all anymore, and I miss you, ok.  Your friendship is special to me, and I just don’t want to lose you,” Blaine admitted.  

“Hey, you could never lose me,” Kurt promised, enveloping him in a hug. “I’ll always be your friend, Blaine.  It’s like you and Sam.  He’s a great guy too, and I’m glad that he was here for you when I left.  It put my mind at ease,” Kurt smiled.   “Blaine, thank you.”

“For what?” Blaine asked, a look of pure confusion spreading across his face.

“For your friendship.  I missed you,” Kurt admitted, biting his bottom lip a little.

“I missed you too.” Blaine said, still holding tightly to the boy that he realized he was falling for more and more each moment they were together.   He finally pulled away, closing his eyes and taking in the heavenly aroma.  “Kurt, those smell fantastic!  But are baking for the entire crew?” he chuckled.  “I mean, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this many cookies at once, except when my mother organizes a bake sale.  Why so many?”

“I’m a stress baker, but I have to admit that I wanted to make your favorite.  It occurred to me that you never told me what it was, so I had to guess.”  

“Honestly, I usually don’t really eat a lot of sweets. But, I’ll try them, a little bit of each one, you know just for the sake of knowing what my favorite is,” he smiled.

“Well, ok.  I guess I can let you have a little piece of each one, then,” the brunette flirted. “These are my turtle cookies.  They are my favorite, of the ones with chocolate anyway,” Kurt said, holding one up to Blaine.  

Blaine graciously took the cookie, immediately bringing it to his lips and taking a bite.  “Oh my gosh, Kurt.  These are exquisite!  You said these are all for me, right?”

“Blaine!  I’ve already been told twice that if I don’t share this cookies after making them smell them for three hours straight, I would be the next thing popped into the oven or cut with a meat cleaver, and that was coming from Santana and Mercedes.  I don’t think either of them were joking,” laughed Kurt, rolling his eyes playfully. “I guess I’ll allow you to have them if you share one with me.”

Suddenly, Blaine felt Kurt’s finger swipe right below his bottom lip.  “Saving it for later, Blaine,” he giggled.  Blaine motioned for Kurt to take one for himself, but he held out one toward Blaine.   Blaine responded by grabbing the cookie in his teeth, smiling playfully at Kurt.  

They were ok, or at least they would be, but now Blaine was even more confused.  As he looking directly into Kurt's beautiful eyes, Blaine’s mind rushed back to the words in the letter.  Kurt really did care about him, more than he should, he said. “I really am sorry,” Blaine apologized, moving in closer, extending his arms toward the brunette.

“I know.  Me too,” Kurt answered, allowed his body to fully collapse into Blaine’s arms, laying his head upon the shorter boy’s shoulder.  So he was jealous.   Feeling the other boy’s arms so tightly around him made him feel safe, even loved, until he pondered Blaine’s exact words.  He was jealous of their friendship. That’s all they were were.  Close friends.  Even after Blaine reacted the way he had, Kurt thought maybe it was because he thought he and Elliott were dating, and Blaine realized that he had romantic feelings for him.  

Kurt let out a sigh.  Of course he didn't.   But at least, the boy holding him cared about him.  Even if it was only friendship, Blaine cared about him, and that would have to be enough.  Besides, a relationship would just complicate things.  It was only through someone else’s indiscretions that allowed him to be back in the competition at all.  He was lucky.  He pulled back.

He perched himself on his tiptoes and placed a small kiss to the top of the other boy’s forehead and hoped he didn't see the tear sliding down his face.  

Jeff pouted, as he entered the cab.  “I could have paid for that.”

“How about you pay for the drinks at Boulevard?”  Nick suggested.  “Technically, this is a gig, so I can’t drink until we’re done, but I’ll get something afterwards,” He said, bumping shoulders with the blonde.

Jeff smiled.  “Alright.  So what kind of music do you play?

“Mostly covers.  You know, the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, but this is a gay bar, so we’re going to throw in quite a few dance numbers,” Nick answered.  

“Boulevard’s a gay club?  Will that make the band nervous?” Jeff asked.

“They’re all gay too,” Elliot admitted.  “It’s made up of several of the members of the band and back-up singers from the show.” Nick commented.

“The show let’s you play in other venues?” Jeff asked, grinning slightly, as the boys walked shoulder to shoulder.      

“I don’t think they really care as long as we show up for rehearsal and we don’t suck,” Nick chuckled.

“I’m sure you guys will be great,” Jeff grinned.  “Do you sing too?”

“Mostly back-up, but we switch, um vocals, you know,” Nick smiled tentatively.  Nick opened the door of the club and motioned for Jeff to go through.  “You first.”

“Thank you,” Jeff blushed again.  “Break a leg,”

Nick reached his hand out to the blonde.  “Wait, come with me.  I want you to meet the band.  I know you may recognize some of the faces, but I didn’t know if you knew them.”  The blonde grinned and took the other boy’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers together.  

Nick led them into the small room backstage.  “This is Dani.  She sings and plays guitar.  Spenser  is our drummer, and his partner, Allistar, plays the bass.”  Jeff politely shook hands with the band mates.    “And this is our lead singer and pianist, Elliot.” Nick said, introducing the two boys.  Jeff extended his hand, which Elliott shook politely.    “Jeff, would you mind to hang out here for a minute with the band?.  I need to make sure the stage is set up with enough mics and stuff and get my music ready.  Can I order you a drink?”

Jeff nodded.  “A rum and coke, please,” Jeff answered, as Nick smiled and let the room.  

“Hey, you work on Duets , right?” Elliott asked, recognizing Jeff.  

“Yeah, I’m a dance instructor.  Jeff,” he said, extending his hand.  “You’re a stylist?  I heard what happened to Sebastian’s hair.  That was you, right?” the blonde chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess I was a part of the conspiracy, although I wasn’t the mastermind.  So, you and Nick?” Elliott asked, winking.

“Well, we just met, but I think he seems sweet.   We had a great time at dinner,” Jeff gushed.  “This is our first date, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, he said it was, but he seems really nervous.”

“I think he just likes you a lot.  He couldn’t quit mentioning you at rehearsal the other day.”

“Really?” Jeff blushed.

“Yeah, he kept wanting to rehearse dance numbers so he could get his hot date out there to shake his ‘sexy ass’ for him.   We might have worked something out, you know, just to humor him,” Elliott chuckled.  

Jeff turned several shades of red, covering his face with his hands.  He cleared his throat and changed the subject.  “So, what about you?  Do you have a guy in the audience?” Jeff questioned.

“Nope, although there’s a guy I have my eye on?” Elliott smiled.

“It’s not Nick, is it?” Jeff looked a little worried.  “Because I don’t know if I can compete with you?”

“Uh no, Nick’s not really my type, and he’s really into you.  I respect that.  I don’t hit on another guy’s man, although you’re a cutie.” he smiled.

“So, does he work on Duets ?  There’s several guys there to choose from, I think.” Jeff commented.  “There are several gay men on the show.  I’m kinda surprised by that.”

“Well, it’s an artsy kind of show.  I think you find quite a few gay artists.  Singers, dancers, performers,” Elliott responded.  

“So, which one captured your attention?” Jeff questioned.  

“It doesn’t matter.  He’s off limits,” Elliott answered.

“Oh, so it’s a contestant?” Jeff chuckled.  “Man, I think people on the show hate that ‘no dating contestants’ rule.

“Yeah, I have to say I’m kinda jealous that you and Nick can go on a date,” He smiled.    “It’s fine, though.  I don’t really know him that well.  He’s got his eye on another guy anyway.”  

Nick strolled back in the room and handed Jeff his drink.  “Hey, we’re going to go on in a few minutes.  I got a table for you out front.”

“Thank you,” Jeff commented.  “Well, break a leg, guys.”

Jeff was really impressed.  They were really good.  He alternated between dancing, singing along, and listening attentively as the band played through their set.  On the final number, Nick stepped up to the mic.  “We’ve got one more song for you.  We wanted to leave you with something you could dance to.  

Nick:

Oooh

His eyes, his eyes make the stars look like they’re not shining

His hair, his hair falls perfectly without him trying

He’s so beautiful and I tell him everyday

Jeff smiled, and he remembered what Elliott said about wanting Jeff to get up and dance, so he did.  He danced to impress, moving his hips and shaking his ass, never taking his eyes off the handsome guitarist that was singing to him.  He tried to suppress the grin that was spreading across his face as the brunette sang to him.  More than once, he had to remind his  body to dance, but he was failing miserably.  He couldn't help but watch the brunette play and sing passionately to him as if he was the only person in the room.  

Nick (Elliot & Dani):

When I see your face (When I see your face)

There’s not a thing that I would change

‘Cause you’re amazing (You’re amazing)

Just the way you are

Yeaah.

“Thanks everybody.  You’ve been awesome,” Nick said to the crowd, but looking only at Jeff.  Nick started to help the band gather up their equipment, but Elliott told him to attend to his date.   Nick didn’t argue.  He rushed off the stage to join Jeff, who was still swaying on the dance floor, as a DJ played a dance track.  “Well, how did you like the band?”

“You guys were awesome.  Can we hang out awhile, or  do you need to go?  I know it's getting late?” Jeff asked, still swaying to the music.  

“Well, we can go if you need to, but I don’t mind to stay awhile.  I mean, if you want to,” Nick said shyly.

“I want to stay for a little while so my sexy date can join in on a dance,” Jeff flirted.

“Well, if you want me too, but I won’t look as good as you do out here.  Dancing next to you, I might look like an idiot,” Nick pouted.

“There’s no way you could look like an idiot.  You’re gorgeous,” Jeff said, dropping his head shyly, his cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. He cleared his throat in an attempt to calm his nerves.  “Besides, I’m a dance teacher.  I’m sure I could show you some moves.” “Are you saying something’s wrong with my moves?” Nick joked.  

“I don’t know.  I haven’t seen them yet, except the wild man sway you had going with the guitar,” Jeff joked.

“Oh trust me, blondie.  You aren’t the only guy with some serious moves.” Nick flirted back.  

“Yeah, and where are you hiding them, then,” Elliott chuckled.    “Although right now, you guys are both just kinda standing there while Gaga is playing, which is just  scandalous.  Come on, Nick.  Dance with this sexy man, or I just might have to,” he teased, moving beside Jeff, facing Jeff sideways, his hand on Jeff’s other hip.  

Nick started moving to the music, watching  Elliott move in closer to Jeff.  Nick in turn moved in closer as well, his hands finding Jeff’s hips and pressing his body closer to Jeff’s, the three boys now dancing together with the music.  Elliott shifted so that his body was now directly behind Jeff’s, his groin dangerously close to Jeff’s ass.  

“Hey, that’s my date,” Nick fussed, quickly moving in close to Jeff, face to face, and pressing his body closer to him. Nick’s face grew hot with jealousy mixed with a side of arousal, as he moved his left hand from Jeff’s hip to his ass, now creating a barrier between Elliott’s crotch and his date’s ass.

Elliott caught the look in Nick’s eye and he backed away, allowing the usually shy brunette to align his hips to the blonde’s as their bodies continued to dance to the music, one song fading into the next.’

“I love this song,” Nick shouted, pressing his body even closer into Jeff’s.  Jeff started to reply, but then a moan escaped his lips as Nick thrust his hips against Jeff’s groin, the friction making him aroused.  Nick responded immediately by leaning in and kissing Jeff on the lips, slowly at first, then opening his mouth.  Jeff happily slipped his tongue inside the slightly shorter boy’s mouth as they continued to move their hips together,

Elliott finished the song, dancing with a shorter, stocky man as he watched the other two boys get lost in the music and each other.  Afterwards,, he joined Dani at the table for a drink.  

“Damn, I saw that El,” Dani smiled.

“What?” Elliott pretended to be offended.

“I swear, you are the biggest flirt!” she accused jokingly.  

“Hey, you saw it.  Nick was never gonna make a move, and that boy has one sexy ass.”

“He does have a sexy ass.”  Dani agreed.    “Nick found him a hot one this time.  They look really good together.”

“They do,” Elliott said as he watched the two boys, their bodies moving fluidly together as Nick’s lips kissed Jeff’s neck.   “Jeff seems really nice.  Nick is really taken with him.  You saw the way he never took his eyes off of him while he was on stage.  I never heard him mess up on stage so much.”

“Well, can you blame him?  A hot sexy man was staring at him like he wanted to drag him off the stage and into a closet,” Dani laughed.  

Elliott and Dani watched the two men dance, their lean bodies fitting fluidly together as one song faded into the next.  The two bandmates finished their drinks and talked about their next gig, their eyes occasionally zoning in on the two boys again, who seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was in the room, or even on the same planet.

After gulping down the last of his drink, Elliott stood up.   “Well, I hope that Jeff sticks around.  They’re perfect for each other,” Elliott commented.

“Well, um, it’s a little late for that,” Dani commented.

“What, why?” Elliott asked, looking around for the two boys.

“Because it looks like they decided to take the show somewhere else,” Dani laughed as she pointed to Nick, who was leading Jeff quickly for the door.   Nick stopped suddenly, causing Jeff’s body to collide against his, and Jeff used the opportunity to crash his lips back into Nick’s, one arm snaking around Nick’s waist, and the other firmly in the brunette’s hair.  

“Nick, Nicky,” Jeff moaned.  “Hey, not here, babe.”

“My place isn't that far away.  You wanna come over?” Nick suggested, his other arm still wrapped around Jeff’s waist, pulling him in to kiss his neck once more.

The blonde’s lashes fluttered.  “Yes, I do,” Jeff blurted lustfully.  “Hey, but we probably shouldn’t,” he answered stepping out of the club and into the cool, crisp air,

“Yeah, you’re right,” Nick agreed, but his body betrayed him.  His arms were still wrapped around the other boy, and the bulge in his pants said that he didn’t want to say goodnight anytime soon.  “This is our first date, and I don’t want you to think this is how I usually behave on first dates,” he said, hailing a cab.  “How about we kiss goodnight here, and agree to go out again soon,” Nick suggested disappointedly.

Jeff’s bottom lip protruded out in a sad little pout.  “If we must,” he sighed.

“You need to tuck that lip back in there,” Nick laughed.

“Or what?” Jeff teased back.

Nick ran his tongue over the pouted lip, causing Jeff to eagerly slam his body against Nick’s as he opened his mouth,  granting entrance to the wet tongue begging for access.  Nick pushed his body against Jeff’s, kissing his lips hungrily as Jeff’s back pressed against the passenger door of a cab.   The cabbie honked his horn.  

“Hey, that was playing dirty!” Nick accused playfully.

“I haven’t begun to play dirty, yet,” Jeff winked.  Nick felt Jeff’s arousal as the blonde leaned in once again, stealing one more kiss before Nick pulled away.  “Seriously, you are making it hard to be a gentleman.”

“Actually, it just looks like I’m just making it hard for you in general,” Jeff smirked.  “And in that situation, I tend to like it when it isn’t so gentle.”

“Damn, Jeff, I’m trying to do the right thing here.  I really like you, and I don’t want you to think that I just want to sleep with you.  I’m not looking to just hook up, ok.”

Jeff smiled.  “I know, but I don’t want you to go yet.”

Nick chuckled.  “Hey, we work together,  I promise we will see each other soon.  I have another gig here tomorrow.   Same time as tonight.  And we could do dinner again, or something else if you prefer.”

“Yeah, ok.  I’d like that,”  Jeff commented, quickly kissing Nick’s cheek, only to have Nick turn toward him so their lips met once more.   “Tomorrow night soon enough for you, babe?” Jeff asked slyly as he slid into the taxi cab’s back seat.  

“No, but it will have to do.  Text me when you get home, beautiful,” Nick said, leaning down to kiss Jeff once more.

“I will.  See you tomorrow,” Jeff said sadly, raising his head up to place another small kiss to the other boy’s lips.

Nick glanced at his watch and grinned.  It was ten after midnight.  “It is tomorrow,” Nick chuckled, launching his arms around the blonde and knocking him on his back on the vinyl seat.  

“Bout time you got in the car.  I was about to leave your asses!” the cabbie snarked.  “Where to?” he asked.

“It’s up to him,” Nick said, pointing at the blonde.  He turned back to face Jeff.  “I will go anywhere you want if you don’t want to part yet, or I will ride with you to your place to say goodnight, or he can drop me off first.  You just tell me what you want,” he said, and then returned to peppering gentle kisses along Jeff’s neck.

“You said you live close?” Jeff gasped, as the brunette’s lips nibbled as far as his collared shirt would let him go.  “I don’t want to go home yet,” Jeff moaned as he fumbled with the top buttons of his shirt so that Nick could continue to explore his body with his lips.

“North Adams St. over by Glendale Community College,” the brunette answered quickly, reattaching his lips to the other boy’s neck, moving his lips down toward his collarbone now that he had access to the previously unexposed skin.  Nick repositioned himself so that he was pressed as tightly against the blonde as the seatbelt would allow.   His hands firmly cupped Jeff’s ass, as Jeff moved one hand into Nick’s hair, and the other was desperately untucking Nick’s shirt from his waist so that his hands could caress the skin underneath.      

“Hey, none of that, or you’ll be out on your asses,” the cabbie threatened.  “I just had this car cleaned.  It’s only 15 minutes away.”

Jeff pulled back, sighing deeply at the loss of Nick’s lips on his body.  “We need to cool down.  At least until we get to my place because that guy looks like he has no problem kicking us to the curb.”

Nick whined at the loss of contact with the gorgeous blonde.  “Fine.  Are you sure you want to do this.  Elliott’s my roommate, but I can text him to let him know that you are coming over.”

“I think he might already suspect something,” Jeff said swatting at the brunette’s thigh.  

“Hey, I meant it when I said we don’t have to do anything.   Just because we’re going to my place doesn’t mean I expect sex,” Nick said genuinely.

“Bummer,” Jeff said playfully.  “Because I’m not completely opposed to it being on the table,” the blonde said, pulling Nick in close to him by the collar, kissing on his neck.

“Sex on the table,” Nick groaned. “Damn, you are just too sexy for your own good.  But hey,” he said, pulling back.  “I mean it.  Tonight, you tell me what you want.  If you want to snuggle on the couch and eat popcorn and watch bad cable tv, I’m in.  If you want to jam out to music, I’m in.  If you want to lie in bed, cuddle,  and tell me more about you, that’s ok.  As long as I’m with you,” Nick said sweetly.

“And if I want to do all of that, and add a makeout session,” Jeff suggested.

“I’m in,” the brunette said, lunging in toward Jeff once more, crashing their lips together.

“What am I doing in here?” Santana asked.

“I was just watching some footage for the show, and I was reviewing the tapes.  There’s some pretty steamy stuff on here.” Sue smirked.  “Do you wanna see, Santana?”

“No, I really don’t,” Santana commented.

“Actually, I think you do, Sue said, turning the screen towards the Latina so that she could see what Sue was seeing, her and Brittany laying in bed together.  

“So what!  She had a nightmare, and I was comforting her?”

“Naked?” Sue asked.  “Wow!  Don’t ever comfort me if I have a nightmare.  Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” Santana asked sarcastically.

“Do you want me to unpause the video and prove to you that you are full of it, Jugs the Clown?”

“How the Hell did you even get a video.  This was our room, or it was before we had to change the room arrangement,” Santana said slowly.  “That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“Why, I’m hurt!   Do you really think I care that you are hooking up with Tweedle Dumb?   I wish I wouldn’t have seen everything.  My retinas are still burning.  I mean, between you and Weasel Face, I know a lot more about gay sex than I ever wanted to know.”

“I knew it.  I knew that he had some kind of deal with you or something.  Why else would he still be here?  You’re using him,” Santana accused.

“Very insightful, Ms. Ho-pez.   The way I may have to use you.  To get information.”

“What makes you think I'd help you?”  Santana asked smugly.

“Oh Sandbags, I'm hurt that you wouldn't want to give me a hand.   Well, how about Brittany then.  Maybe you want to help her?”

“What about her?”

“You see, I got this call from MIT, and it seems their star student is missing.  They said one of our contestants is a spitting image, wouldn't you agree,” she asked, thrusting a flyer in her face.  “Poor professors miss their star pupil.   I feel I should do my civic duty and give them a call.”

“You can't do that.  Brittany is terrified of going back.”

“ I can and I will, unless…”

“Unless, what?”

“Unless you agree to help me.   I need eyes and ears to watch my eyes and ears, so they aren't double crossing me, especially Weasel face.  

“What? Who all is in on this?  You have Kitty too, I suspect.  Why else would she still be there?”

“Insightful, Sandbags,” Sue chuckled.  “Her and a few others.  And you, right?”

Santana sighed.  “Just leave Brittany out of this.  And I want our room back.”

“Done,” Sue smiled.  

[mercedesnameinlights-blog]

Para: Sancedes

Who: Santana and Mercedes

When: Tuesday April 2, 2013 (Spring Break)

Where: Finn’s Aunt’s Lakehouse

What: After Finn’s Announcement

Mercedes caught up to Santana, walking beside her for a few seconds before speaking.  “Want to go to your room or mine?” She asked her softly.  Yes, things were tolerable between Finn and Santana at the moment, but this was a huge deal.  Having someone you care deeply about announce they’re going into the military when things are not exactly the best around the world is terrifying.  She had an idea where Santana’s head was at, but she also knew she needed to let her bestie talk it out so it didn’t get bottled up and left to simmer.  Simmering might be good for certain recipes, but Santana could boil over and she didn’t want that for her.  Ugh. She loved Finn and all, but he really did have a timing issue.

Santana picked up the pace when she heard someone walking behind her. Though when she heard Mercedes, she slowed down again. That was the only person she wouldn't run away from. “Yours is fine.” If they had gone to hers, Santana was afraid that someone would burst in. Now they only had to worry about Sam coming in. She quickly headed to her best friend’s current room, slowly sitting down on the bed. “The fucking Air Force. Is he kidding me?”

Mercedes closed the door and then sat down on the bed beside her. “Yeah, that was definitely a shock. I never imagined he was remotely interested in the military. But maybe that’s why?  Maybe Finn really doesn’t have a clue, and a lot of people go into the military for that reason.  They don’t know what they want to do, so they sign up and see if that gives them some direction in their life?” She had known what she wanted to since she was about 10 years old, not everyone had that feeling.

“If he didn't know what he wanted, he could've just went for some general education shit at a random college. He doesn't need to go god knows where to get his fucking hand blown off.” She ran her fingers through her hair, frustrated with the entire situation. “I can't even say anything about it. Like, It's his decision and I have literally no say. But I… Am really freaked out about it.” Santana figured she could just be honest and let it all out. She knew Mercedes wouldn't tell anyone.

“Hey, he’s still your friend. And regardless of who he’s dating now, you’d still feel this way, and there is nothing wrong with it.  You have a right to be scared for his safety, I am too. I’m willing to bet everyone in that room is on some level.  This isn’t about having a say in what he chooses to do with his life, this is about being concerned as his friend.  And it sucks, but he is doing what he feels is best for him.  We ain’t gotta like it, but as his friends, we need to support him.”  Santana was more than a friend, at least she was, but that whole Finn and Santana kinda sorta relationship had gone down in flames.  She still felt deep down that Santana loved Finn, to the best of her ability, but that was neither here nor there at this point.

Santana shook her head. “If I said something, him and Barbie would act as if I'm committing a crime. Especially Quinn. She’d somehow find a way to make it about her and claim I'm bullying her or some shit.” She bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from getting, or sounding, too emotional. “You're so lucky I love you because I never would've came on this trip in the first place. I hate that everywhere I turn I somehow bump into them, and how I can't even be all up on Puck without feeling like an absolute monster yet they get to be cuddling on the couch like it's not big deal. And now with the whole military shit… I don't want him to go, Cedes. I really don't.”

“You don’t need to say anything to him with Quinn around. Give it a few days, wait until you can speak to him solo.” She knew things with Quinn and Santana were definitely not good, and she wasn’t going to get in the middle of that insanity.  “And it definitely needs to be said in person, and calmly.” She wrapped her arm around her and hugged her. “I know, and I thank you so much for coming here.  I know it seems silly, but all of you are the only real friends I’ve ever had, and in a few months, it’ll all be over.  We’ll be leaving Lima and each other.”  She sighed softly. “I know you don’t, and I wish I had the right words to say that would make it easier, but I don’t.  What I can tell you is that as his friend, one of his closest friends, just be there for him and let him know that as much as you hate the thought of him being in danger, you will support his choice.”

“Yeah but even if she isn't around when I talk to him, I'm sure he’s gonna fill her in. It's like I can't say anything to him without it going to her.” She rested her head down on her best friend’s shoulder. “You know you're not getting rid of me though. I'm still gonna be the biggest pain in your ass.” Santana groaned at the thought of how this was all a mess. If only things had just stayed the same. There would be no huge friend fight, and they definitely wouldn't be so divided as they were right now. “Am I really one of his closest friends though? Let's be real here. Most of what I say to him doesn't matter anymore.” Figuring she did enough arguing against Mercedes’ point, she chimed in once again. “I guess I can try talking to him eventually.”

“Maybe so, but you talking to him about this, as a friend, is something that needs to happen before graduation.”  She replied with a slight shrug. “Crap went bad between y’all, there is no denying that, but I can’t imagine he has erased all the years you two have been friends.” She began braiding small sections of Santana’s hair.  “You thinking things you say to him don’t matter is not the same as him not listening. You feel that way because he isn’t doing what you want him to do, and guess what, you can’t fault him for having a mind of his own.”  She knew that may not be what she wanted to hear, but Mercedes never tried to sweeten things up for Santana, if she was being crazy, she’d let her know, but she was always in her corner.  “Girl, I’ve got so much ass I don’t even notice when you’re being a pain.  Maybe I’ll feel a slight prick on the bubble of my left cheek,” she chuckled softly.  “We’re going to be in New York, Tana.  I still can’t get over that.”

Santana rolled her eyes as Mercedes mentioned Finn having a mind of his own. That was something she knew, of course, but it was also something that frustrated her. All she wanted was for Finn to think the same way she did. It’d make relationships much easier if that's the way things worked. “But I can totally fault him for playing the victim and always making me out to seem like a fucking Disney villain.” She playfully slapped her friend’s leg when the other girl mentioned having a lot of ass. “Shut up. Your ass is fucking golden and you know it. Plus I'm a big enough pain to be everywhere at this point.” As the conversation turned to New York, Santana perked up a bit. “It's gonna be so great. Everyone's gonna be super jealous of our hot asses as we walk along.”

“Yeah, but you know good and well you’re not trying to be the Disney princess anyway, that isn’t you. You’re not evil either.  At the end of the day, y’all weren’t communicating. He did wrong, you did wrong, and two wrongs can’t make things right. All you can do now is try to walk away with your friendship, and that is going to take a lot of resolve on your end, but I know you can do it.”  She shoved her softly when Santana slapped her leg. “I know my booty is phenomenal, but even I know I got more than two handfuls. Booty for days!”  She grinned wider as she thought about walking down the sidewalk of NYC. “I cannot wait until the weather gets cold there, I am strutting in some chunky heeled boots, wrapped up with my scarf, oh so chic.”

“I could've done the whole princess shit if that's what he wanted,” she said softly. “Though I know it wasn't. Our only problem was my lack of emotion… He wanted someone that was gonna out right say they loved him while my version is trust and simpler shit.” Santana was pretty disappointed from how their relationship turned out, but she wasn't trying to focus on that anymore. Instead she just wanted to move on from almost everyone in their town. Santana loved the fact that she would be able to stay so close to her best friend. The two hadn't been apart since they were really young so they weren't about to start now. “Maybe I'll quit guys all together and be your super hot, trendy lesbian bestie.”

She snorted as she laughed. “Girl, that much hot in one relationship would be against about fifty laws, plus I have this really hot boyfriend that has these really amazing lips.” She knew she didn’t want to rehash the whole Finn thing, and she didn’t blame her.  “Besides, you know good and well you’re going to have so many guys and girls after you in New York that I’m going to have to make you notes to remember names.  And you’ll have variety too. This little town is full of the same kind of folks, and we know them all pretty much.  I mean, it’s no coincidence that my first boyfriend is a guy that isn’t even from here!”

Santana laughed and simply shook her head at the mention of Sam’s lips. Hopefully what Mercedes was saying was right. She’d find some new people to hook up with and date, and the whole sinking feeling she felt when she saw Finn would disappear. It wasn't smart of her to be in the same friend group. “You can be my sexcretary. So whenever I hook up with someone new, I'll tell you so you can keep track of who they were and how good they were. Can't be fucking crappy people more than once.” She chuckled a bit when Mercedes talked about Sam not being from Lima. “You have a point. Why didn't we get any transfer students for me? Bullshit,” she teased. She was happy for her best friend.

“Ooh, sexetary, I like that.  I’ll need to get a cute suit for this job.  We’ll have an impeccable filing system, bad lays go to the bottom of the list.  The guys that are gifted and know what they’re working with will get the gold condom of approval from you.  Which by the way, thank you so much for explaining why there were gold condom wrappers out in the world.”  Sex education via Santana Lopez was far better than any book or class.  “I think the heavens took pity on me and said here, let us bless you with this southern dipped tall taste of deliciousness.” She shimmied and then started to giggle.

“Congrats on your new job! I just need you to keep being your fabulous self and maybe you'll be promoted.” She laughed as the conversation moved a bit to their condom talk. That was one of the funniest, but exciting, things Mercedes had ever asked her about. “I obviously need to keep my bestie updated on the latest, best condom options. You want that gold, boo.” Santana scrunched up her nose in her best friend’s direction. “Don't make me start thinking of you and blondie’s sex life! That is something I don't need to picture. I just need the quick details.”

“Ssshh, you’re the only person that knows,” Mercedes whispered, her cheeks brightening slightly with warmth.  “We decided everyone didn’t need to know all our business.  You get to be the exception, and he got to tell one of his friends if he wanted.” The condom conversation had been insane, but Mercedes was truly curious because why wouldn’t all condoms be in gold wrappers? Or why wouldn’t all guys want the cool, shiny gold ones? Her mind had truly been blown that day needless to say.  “Oh I got the gold, believe that.”

Santana laughed again when Mercedes seemed to get so embarrassed of the conversation. “We’re the only ones in here! I won't tell anyone.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “Do you know who he told? We’re like our own little group.” Her eyes grew wide when she brought up getting the gold. “You suck. I was gold until… Puck’s average, if you're wondering.” Santana leaned over to gently bump into her best friend. The talk with Mercedes had helped lighten up her mood.

“If he told anyone it would be Blaine, but maybe he didn’t tell anyone. He’s such a southern gentleman. I know it’s silly, but he’s literally everything I could ever want in a guy.  And he’s so talented, I can’t wait to see what he does with his art career.”  She knew she was doing that goofy, doe-eyed thing she did when she talked about him, but she couldn’t help it.  She wrinkled her nose and then made a face. “Nooo!! I don’t want to know!” She started laughing. “He must know what he’s doing if he does the job for you.” She knew Santana did not tolerate being unsatisfied sexually.

Her eyes rolled playfully as her best friend started gushing about her boyfriend. “He’s just sunshine and rainbows, you know?” Even though she was teasing, she was genuinely happy to hear the pure happiness in her friend’s voice as she spoke about Sam. She deserved someone like him. Someone that made her happy and knew how to treat her right. “Oh, he totally does. I mean, it’s not a bad size or anything. Plus he knows what to do with his mouth so that makes up for it.” Santana wiggled her eyebrows a bit with a smirk on her lips. “Speaking of, just fast, I need to get laid. Like, I’m holding off on this weird trip and I’m not feeling it.”

“Don’t make me whack you with one of these pillows,” she chuckled.  She knew more about Santana’s sexual activity than she needed to, but they didn’t keep secrets from each other for the most part, so it was par for the course. “Girl, go grab your dude and do your thing, just don’t let anyone hear you, because we don’t need that added drama up in here. No one has to know if you handle yourself discreetly.”  Everyone knew her and Puck were having sex, mainly because they put it out there for everyone to know, but that didn’t mean everyone had to know when they were having it. Especially if they were in the same house!  “If we get an apartment together at some point, I’m going to invest in high quality noise cancelling headphones.”

Santana shrugged a shoulder, not bothered at all by any of their conversation. “I just feel bad, I guess. Like, I’m obviously not dating him or anything but I feel like it’s rubbing salt in the wound if I’m heard at all. Or if I do anything remotely touchy with Puck that can get back to him.” She knew Finn had moved on, but she still felt weird about having sex with one of his friend’s. “Maybe I can convince Puck we should disappear on some long walk somewhere… Is there a basement in this house? I haven’t looked around.” Santana smiled and then fell onto her back on the bed. “Maybe I’ll get you nice headphones for graduation,” she joked. “I can’t make you spend money if you need them to drown me out.”

It was weird all the way around to be honest, but Mercedes tried not to judge people’s relationships.  “There are a lot of places you two can sneak off to around this place.  There’s the boathouse where they keep the canoes and stuff, there’s a zillion trails. Heck, take the car and have at it up the road.” Santana could get cranky when her needs weren’t getting met, and no one wanted that. “Please, I want awesome headphones for the studio anyway, I have them on my graduation wishlist, so maybe my brother will get me some.” She looked at Santana and smiled. “You gonna be okay, beautiful?”

“I’ll have to see if there’s a free time where no one would really notice if we were gone.” She didn’t want things to be weirder than they already were. If she had to wait until they got back from spring break, so be it. “Well, if he doesn’t then I’m snatching that gift idea right up. Actually, just pretend we never had this conversation and I’ll ask him myself.” Santana figured that was a pretty decent idea for a Mercedes gift. That and something else, of course. She sat back up and offered her best friend a genuine smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It sucks, but you know me. I hang in there anyway.”

“You’re sneaky, I know you can come up with something,” she teased.  “Royce is still refusing to believe we’re graduating, he says we’re still 14 years old in his mind, the crazy fool.  I already know what my parents got you for graduation, and no I am not telling, but you’re going to love it.” She had helped pick it out to make sure it was perfect.  “I do know you.  Make sure you come get me if you feel like you’re about ready to lose your cool or you just need to vent.  Sam knows when the Tana signal goes up, I’m off like Batman.”

Santana shook her head. “He’ll get over it eventually… You know, right before our college graduations when he switches to not believing that that’s happening.” She waved her friend off a bit. “I’ll be fine. Seriously. I’ll probably head back to my room and relax for a while and then find someone else to go bother.” She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m hanging on. I’ll be back to my obnoxious ass self when we get home.”

Mercedes just shook her head and laughed. “Just a few more months, and then you’ll be busy planning your New York social life.  Royce will indeed get over it.  I mean, he finally got over me having a boyfriend.” She pulled Santana in for a hug. “Now go, get some rest and limber up for whatever mischievousness you end up getting into later.”