Alright. After a shitty summer, and a busy ass start to the new school year I've decided to do something drastic: ditch all my other stories and turn one of my current ones into a different fic with a different coupling, and in a different person. I feel that this pairing is one that deserves better exploration after noticing that there aren't many deep in detailed, complex Quintana fics on the M rated level. Or any level really. So, enjoy! And for those who were reading With New Arrivals (the once Brittana fic) and enjoyed the 'friendship' between Quinn and Santana – this fic will be the story of how imagine it all started.

Chapter One (Introduction): Stumbling On In at Summer's End

We drunkenly stumble into my room, skipping the usual late night swim since there's only an hour or so before sunrise. It's later than usual and we're pushing it as we giggle and bump into things. Santana bumps into my dresser for about the third time before I finally reach my bedside lamp and once I do I realize that she's trying to use the dresser for stability, but her slight sway keeps making her stumble in place. A sign that she's drunker than usual.

I begin to unzip my dress and notice she's not the only one that's swaying and stumbling but I manage. Once I'm just in my underwear, a matching dark blue panties and bra to go with my now discarded dress, I make it over to my dresser where Santana has decided to post up and lean.

"You're seriously messed up," I say with a grin as I bend over beside her to open a drawer. Seeing that I opened the wrong one, I can't help but laugh a scratchy laugh as I close it and reach for another one. She laughs too but says nothing and I glance up at her, noting that she's watching me. Her gaze isn't one of intensity, but a lazy smile. "At least I'm not too drunk to stand on my own." I quip.

She pushes herself off the dresser in one quick motion, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "Who says I can't?" she asks before her legs give out.

I grab her around the waste as she laughs quietly, a smokey rasp at its edges. Stifling my own laughter, I help her put an arm around my shoulder and walk her over to my bed. Despite my family's social status I still have my old full sized bed, unlike Santana who wanted the king and was stuck with the queen at her place. But we've done this many times already, so I doubt she will bitch about me needing "a big girl's bed". I help her sit on her usual side and watch her fall back dramatically, her arms spread wide.

Once I see she's settled I walk back over to my dresser and pull out a white muscle shirt, taking off my bra and pulling the thin material over my head quickly as I start to feel the slight morning chill. It's always coldest just before sunrise and the alcohol levels in my parents' blood leads them to keep the heat very low. Like, non-existent low. Especially since it was summer time.

"Do you want a change of clothes?" I ask only to receive a small laugh and a shake of the head. "Suit yourself." I know she'll get up and change later, this is what she does when she goes a little overboard in the drinking department. It's not like her little black dress was too confining anyways. At least, not in the leg area. Now ready for bed I walk over to it, again stumbling, before pulling back the covers to get in. Or trying to. "Santana, move your ass."

"If your bed was bigger you'd be able to get under the covers on your side even with-"

"Here we go," I mumble, as she slurs along but before she can really start to complain I pull the covers dramatically and watch her fall off the other side of the bed. This time I'm the one that can't help but laugh, climbing into bed all the while. Sure, the loud thump as she hit the floor is yet another thing to add to the 'pushing it' list but my bed is calling my name. There's this haze that keeps creeping up from the corner of my eyes and when I walk it feels like I'm walking on air, slightly unaware of my movements.

She finally sits up from the floor on the other side of the bed and her obvious glare soon fades into another lazy smile. Oh yeah, she is definitely drunk. I hold up the covers to invite her in and she obliges, and then I turn to take care of the lamp. Tomorrow will be one of the few days we don't have Cheerios practice and I really hope we're not in for one of Sue's Sunday morning boot-camp surprises – the worst surprise known to man. If we are, then we are beyond screwed this time around. There isn't enough water and grease in the world to cure the hangover I know I'm going to have, and I have a feeling Santana will be so bitchy that she won't even be able to stand herself.

I lay on my stomach facing my nightstand as usual, taking in a few deep relaxing breaths as I prepare for sleep. Typically I'd be shivering due to my hair being soaked after yet another skinny dipping suggestion from Santana as we'd sneak through my backyard, but tonight she made no such suggestion. I'd like to think it's because she's aware of the time, but I know drunk Santana and time is of no concern to her. Pretty much like sober Santana unless Coach Sue is involved.

As the night had progressed at the party, I noticed her usual sultry stare shift into that oddly sweet smile she now keeps displaying. It was strange. Haven taken note of Santana's drunken inability to not check me out after tossing a few back many parties ago, this change through me off. It stirred something inside me. In the past, girls like her have only looked my way to insult me, or throw things at me. Among other things. Okay, so I looked a bit different then but still.

I remember the first night I really noticed that it was me she was always looking at with that stare, not all the other party goers. We were alone in my backyard just after Santana suggested we go skinny dipping. As I slowly unzipped my dress I looked towards her only to find her staring with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. I had just become accustomed to such looks from the opposite sex, having never really caught their attention before either, minus one very unfortunate looking boy at my old middle school. Though I would usually feel more like a piece of meat than flattered, noticing Santana looking at me that way felt...different.

No matter what their opinion of the fiery Latina, no one at McKinley can refute the beauty that is usually outshone by sass. If anything, that exact attitude that she presents only makes her that much more desirable. She's unattainable. This wild creature with rumored arrival. She is meant for the top and the fact that she looks at me, someone who's very familiar with the routines of the top bitches stepping on and or over those beneath them, as if I were a walking version of her most favorite delicious dish – Well, it makes me feel powerful. More powerful than I feel when any boy looks my way because their peckers have picked up a new signal. I feel predatory even, when my mind really takes in the full meaning of it all.

Turning my head so I'm facing her I can see her relaxed features as light from the backyard pool seeps through my curtains. She's asleep already, I can tell despite my haze which has only increased as I laid still. One of the things I don't like about drinking. Laying on her back with her head turned in my direction, I watch as her chest rises and falls. I picture that smile again, quickly followed by scenes of her grinning instead. For years I have dreamed of the day I would finally be respected and admired by the girl's who ran the schools I attend, and now here's Santana. A girl who is rumored to rise before she even steps through the doors of McKinley High; a girl who doesn't take any shit from anyone; a girl that keeps her enemies closer; a girl who knows she's the shit. And she has eyes for me.

Yes, it makes me feel powerful and as I lay beside her I feel the alcohol in my system grab this pride and power and push it to a new level. I've never felt so bold before and the lightness of my limbs as I move only fuels the fire. Moving to lay on my side and fully face her, shifting the covers as I move, I glance at the arm between us and the relaxed curl of the fingers at its end. Hands are used for worship all over the world within many religions and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be worshiped by such hands.

Religion popping into my head makes me hesitate but once again the alcohol in my system wins as I move my own hand to gently run my fingers up her arm, her slight shiver making the tips of my fingers vibrate. Shifting, her other hand suddenly swats my hand away and thinking for a moment she's about to wake up I start to move back. But her eyes never open. Instead, she turns onto her side and lazily drapes the arm of the hand that hit mine over my waist. My brow rises as she scoots a little closer, sighing softly, sending wafts of alcohol into my face.

I know we've cuddled before, there have been a few mornings after a party where I'd find myself tangled up with her, or feel her jerk awake and move away from me after putting her arm around me from behind during the night, but I've never been awake when it all started. I've never known what it feels like to be held, and the fact that it is Santana who's doing the holding – a gorgeous future head bitch who happened to also stand by my side throughout the summer despite me being new to the town of Lima – stirs something inside of me.

I feel like I have her in my grasp. Like all that is the new me has lured her in and now I have all the power to do whatever I want with her; I could crush her socially, which I've already considered multiple times but I don't stand a chance in rising to the top alone. A girl needs her minions. Though, I don't know if Santana actually qualifies as a subordinate. The point is, I'm in control and that's all I've ever wanted. To put this type of girl in her place – beneath me. She embodies them. All of them, wrapped up in a chaotic thorny bow.

My anger towards them and need to humiliate them rises within me like the vomit sure to come once my hangover hits. I'm no longer concerned with the fact that there's an actual person beside me as I wrap my arm around her waist, slowly running my hand up her back, stopping between her shoulder blades. She sighs and moves closer again, and I can't stop this wicked grin from spreading across my lips as she makes it all too easy. I know what she's most afraid of. I see it every time she catches herself watching me while she's sober, turning her head quickly in shame; I see it in the way she bites her lip as she watches me undress before we go for our usual swim; and I even see it now as she subconsciously tries to cuddle with me in her sleep.

I easily slide a leg between hers, hearing in the back of my mind the faint echos of "Lucy Caboosey" being shouted as I ran away from countless bullies throughout my life. Santana is one of those girl. Or well, she would have been if she would have known me then.

Ha, look at me now!

Pushing my thigh upwards, I shiver with an even higher sense of power as a quiet moan escapes her lips. Grateful for the bit of light from the pool creeping through my curtains, I watch her intently pushing up again, this time rolling my hips to add a sliding friction. I can't help but question just how much she had to drink as she continues to sleep, but my goal isn't to wake her just yet. That level of awkwardness will ruin my plans. No, I need her to stay asleep for a little while longer.

Repeating my movements I notice her lips slowly part, her arm's hold growing a little firmer around my waist. A slow and steady pace always wins the race. A saying I feel will lead to the ultimate win here. I may not know much about sex beyond the basic what goes where, but I do understand that friction is all either sex really needs to reach a certain...peak. Theoretically.

I can already feel the heat rising between her legs, and I move my hand back down to the bottom of her back to give a bit of encouragement, prepping myself for the endgame. I see now that she's not going to wake up, for all I know she's dreaming of me doing just what I'm doing and the thought spurs me on. I increase the pressure now, giving a slight push on the bottom of her back with my hand in time with the roll of my hips. Feeling a small twitch followed by an elaborate shiver from her, and I know it's time to go for the kill. Her brow is now creased. I push forward with obvious intent as I speed up the process. My pace is steady but strong, increasing step by step.

Her breathing starts to really change; quicker, shallow breaths escaping her parted lips and I know I'm close. The power is surging through me. I feel it within every inch of myself. All those days of crying alone in my room, drowning myself in whatever dairy product or slab of meat I could get my hands on starts to fade away, slowly being replaced with everything that I am now. It feels so good to have this control over her; to make her lose control of her own body, of herself.

And just as I'm sure all victory is mine, the arm around my waste pulls forward harshly; bringing our chests together. I'm sure she's about to rip my head off and I'm on the verge of panicking until I feel her grind herself against my thigh. She doesn't open her eyes, she simply moves the hand of the arm wrapped around me to my shoulder, gripping it hard. I know she's awake. I know why she won't open her eyes, and it's not because they're too heavy or because of how the friction between her legs feels either. It's because of who is doing it. Because it's me, Lucy Quinn Fabray.

We continue this and her moans and whimpers grow more frequent as her warm breath touches my lips, until she is no longer able to keep with the pace she obviously needs and wants. Somehow, this all makes me feel even more powerful; like she's willingly submitting. Because she is. A low growl escapes me and I don't even skip a beat to wonder where the hell it came from as I push her onto her back. Propping myself up slightly on an elbow, giving me more leverage and space, I push even harder and faster.

It's now that I notice a slight dampness on my thigh and I subconsciously lick my lips in appreciation, reveling in my ability to excite her. I move my hand to push her tight dress up a little higher on her waist as she buries her face into the crook of my neck. She's starting to tremble, barely able to take in a good breath and I know I've done it. After raking her nails down my back I feel her abdomen arch up against mine and I press on at a furious pace until her breathing hitches and she lets out a strangled cry. Eventually, she finally lets out one hard breath followed by shorter ones and I slow to a stop.

My chest swells with pride and her body relaxes like freshly killed prey, but the feel of puckered soft lips on my neck shatters it all. I'm suddenly aware of my own harsh breathing, the way my limbs tingle, the throbbing between my thighs and my own dampness. I now feel overwhelmed by it all; the pounding in my chest, the way my skin tingles even more as the hand at the bottom of my back slides off of me. I push up on my elbow in one abrupt motion, my hand at her waist moves at its on accord to cup her face, letting my own eyes fall completely closed I lean down for a kiss that I'm now craving. But before my lips touch hers I feel something wet as I rub her cheek with my thumb. My eyes flutter open and just as they do she starts to breakdown.

This is what I wanted. What it had all been about, but now as I watch her crumble my chest aches. "Santana..." I continue to rub her cheek, struggling for words. "San...I-I." I'm so not prepared for this and for the billionth time I swear off alcohol in my head. "We were drunk. Are drunk." I corrected. She finally opens her eyes and I see in their watery depths that this explanation, this excuse, is one that she can accept, so I nod and repeat it before saying, "It was nothing."

"Right. It was nothing," she echoes quietly.

I nod in agreement and move to untangle myself from her completely, the closeness a bit awkward now. She turns onto her side, facing away from me as she sniffs and wipes at her face. Then, I guess she notices that she's still in her dress because she gets up and goes through the same routine I went through earlier just as a few rays of sunlight replace the blue light from the pool. I watch her in silence, her back turned to me and feel disgusted with myself but not for the reason I know I should.

When she turns to get back into bed I look away, hoping that I wasn't too obvious in my staring. The bed dips and I hear a sigh followed by silence and then the faint sounds of cars signaling Lima's slow awakening. The alcohol is still in my system for sure and I know I'll have no trouble sleeping, and neither will she. For once, something to really appreciate about the so-called 'liquid courage'. My eyes slide shut and I wait for it to come.

"Could you..."

She sounds unsure of what she's trying to say and I'm wondering if it's going to be something like, 'could you not tell anyone about this', but I'm sure we both know that such words don't even need to be spoken. There is no way either one of us are going to risk our positions before we even work our way up to them.

"For once, I'd..."

Instead of finishing her sentence or even turning to face me she reaches an arm back behind her, and I feel even worse about what I've done. I scoot closer to her, pressing my back against her front, wrapping my arm around her waist. There are lots of rumors about Santana's sex life within the Cheerios circle, and I have no doubt the entire school circle as strata, but I'm the only one that knows about the dashing that usually follows. I'm probably the first person to hold her after any kind of sexual activity, and that urges me to hold her tighter. I did to her what those who hurt her most have done before; I used her. And she may never admit it, but I know that it hurts her.

I lay here, finally starting to drift off as the sun rises and wonder – How the hell did I end up here?

Two months prior...

TBC

AN: Reviews make me want to finish stories, so please do so I can. Also,I like to imagine the 'A' in San being pronounced as it is in Spanish, like the 'O' in mops used to mop the floor. Not 'A' as in sand that rhymes with and. And...this sex scene was not really meant to be SEXY, so please don't judge my smut capabilities on a scene not meant to be...well, smutty. Actual smutty goodness will come later.