I don't really know if I'll continue this.. So let me know. I really hope you liked this. I picture it as an alternative ending to what the episode put out.

Review! It's what keeps me going and keeps me improving! And if you see any mistakes, I'm sorry, I wrote this very late at night. I'm not perfect. :)

One of Santana's knees was pressed against her small frame as she sat on a slightly damp bench a block away from Dalton. Rain droplets leaked through cracks in the wood at the bus stop, occasionally hitting her bare skin and tumbling off just as fast. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, she fought viciously with the thoughts playing through her usually calm and collected (not to mention fierce) brain. She just didn't understand why she felt so demeaned.

Understandably, she had been slushied, which was still something she had yet to get used to after all her years of being a Cheerio. But strangely that wasn't the part that got her flustered. It was the fact Meerkat face thought he could, and she let him get away with it. Since when did she hold her tongue? Never. She was from Lima Heights, where you lay everything on the line.

But not this time. And it haunted her like his touch brushing ever so lightly over her shoulder. Sliding off her fedora, Santana set it in her lap, running her hands through her hair with a growl. Her dark eyes floated over to the building, not too far in the distance. She regretted times like these, where she somehow ended up too embarrassed with herself to even function properly. Her mind was flooded with obscenities and her actions were paralyzed, too effected to walk back and recover her keys.

And that was why she was sitting alone, at a slightly shady bus stop. Her pride just meant too much to her, seeing as it was practically all she had. She could feel the beverage clinging to her naturally flawless skin, and the eyes of Sebastian Smythe burning into flesh. An instant replay, over and over. Chills inched up her spine, her spine the ladder. Even her thoughts were taking a stab at her ego. Go figure.

She shook her head, beginning to unbutton her jacket. The teenager listened to the sound of rain hitting pavement while she dug in to undo a recorder (conveniently taped on her underboob, she mused). Holding the small black machine to her ear, she licked her lip in anticipation. Santana Lopez was not going to just sit there and fell sorry about herself, she never has, and she wasn't starting now. She might as well take pride in catching the little weasel.

"What did you put in that slushie?" Her voice cut through the fidgeting sounds of the recorder bouncing from her movement.

"Rock salt... but it's okay." She could picture the bastard grinning ear to ear at her, his eyes squinting in pre-mature victory. Santana hadn't known what had been coming at that point in time.

"Why is it okay-" Santana clicked the recorder off, clutching it in her hand. She wasn't too keen on the idea of listening to the moment where she was rudely introduced to an ice cold slushie. Never mind that, she thought to herself. The jerk may have gotten me, but I'm definitely winning this war.

Her mouth upturned into a devious smile. Busted.

The Latina didn't have much time to revel in her (almost) win. She was without her keys, and had a thick coating of pure sugar and ice layering her caramel skin. The precipitation would take care of the latter. That left the important problem left to be solved.

After moment upon moment of mentally arguing with herself, Santana Lopez ultimately decided she'd better go back. At least by now, the Warblers would be gone, and she wouldn't have to risk another run in with Sebastian's smirk, among other things. Shoving the evidence back into the quarters of her jacket and tugging her hat on, the female withstood the rain as it crashed against her features with a sting that hardly matched that of her slushie facial.

It wasn't long before she found herself in the music room where she faced off against the male.

'Annie are you OK?'

'Are you OK, Annie?'

His fingers sliding along her shoulder blade, his eyes fixated on every part of her, his lips inches from her ear- she hadn't felt her personal space being so strongly violated, and sexually aroused at the time, in quite a manner before. It was rather disturbing, Santana thought, her memories replaying before her as she walked past the untouched scene. Even the red mush pooled on the tile was still there, evident the janitor hadn't gotten to that room during the time span that she left.

Sweeping a loose thread of hair behind her ear, she audibly laughed. "What am I doing? I need to just get my keys and get the hell out of here."

With the clack of her heels, Santana did a full sweep of the area. Every moment she paused to examine where they might have gone, she found her mind wrapped up in a recollection of what she wished to forget. Sebastian Smythe's ghost touch, and shockingly, how bad she wanted the fingertips to trace along her neck and down her prominent veins.

"Hold it San," she interrupted her train of thought, practically speechless, "you just came out. You love Britt." But you're sexually frustrated and his goddamn Meerkat face makes you want to wet your pants. She couldn't deny their body chemistry; it was evident with the way they moved and made eye contact that tension was there. "You love Britt," the words were repeated. But she doesn't fully understand that.

"Dammit. What is wrong with me today?" She desperately wished she could blame her hormones on her period. She'd give anything to be able to say that. Santana wasn't though, and that was starting to look more and more like a problem.

More bullshit later. Keys now. Apparently she also needed to learn how to keep her priorities straight, especially when breaking into another high school full of kids who hate you, who could show up at any second.

The more she begged not to think about the entire situation, the more it overtook her thoughts. Every moment representing themselves in the heat of tension, which seemed so simple when the Latina first brought herself back to think about it, now was raging with more than she could have hoped to expect. You miss a lot when you're in the moment.

Minutes rolled on by, unusually quick. With fifteen minutes passed, Santana seemed to gain more insight on her supposed sexual appetite for a gay(er than sin) Warbler than progress in finding her ticket out of the school. A sigh escaped her parted lips, chest falling in disappointment.

Jingle. Her head snapped up instantaneously. "Looking for these, Ms. Lima Heights?" She lacked the footing to turn around right away, taking a few short but deep breaths before regaining her composure.

"Sebastian." Her tone was flat, which was what she was ultimately going for, adding to the demeanor that she couldn't give a fuck about him or his presence.

Simply a smile from the boy. "You do realize you're on school property without permission right?" Santana raised an eyebrow, as if asking what are you going to do about that?

"I just came back for my keys, you know, so I can get home?" She rolled her darkly hued eyes, crossing her slender arms over her chest. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't really love Dalton as much as you think."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

"That's a shame," he said with a (seemingly accidental) half lip bite, his feet taking him into her general direction. "I really did think you would like to stay and have another drink on us. Or on you, to be more correct."

"If you bring out another fu-"

"I'm not going to. Give me some credit, Lopez." The sound of Sebastian's words hardly seemed genuine to her. She didn't want to argue though, for the fact it might only delay her from obtaining her keys even longer.

"I've give you some, when you deserve some." She observed the hand fumbling with her ring of car keys, mentally wanting him to just drop them and run his hands down the natural curve of her body. Sexual tension is okay, she reassured herself, that does not mean anything is going to happen. Especially not with him, of all people.

Santana stood under the shadow of his taller build, eyes narrowed, her attempt at intimidation (which usually went right, but today, was going all wrong). "Fine then," Sebastian dangled the keys over her fedora covered head, "I'll trade you. These, for something I want from you."

"And what do you want?" With a smug expression, she tapped her foot lightly against the ground in impatience.

She watched as he slid the key ring around his wrist, blinking in confusion. One hand shot around her waist, pulling her against his own body with a small thump. "What are you doing, I thought you were all up on Blaine's dick-" His hand cupped around her mouth, a way to silence her feisty comments.

"Are you done?" With wide eyes, unable to process the fact he ssh'd her, Santana stared at the male with a grunt of displeasure. Taking this as a nonverbal yes, the Warbler snaked his hand into the opening of her jacket. About to slap his hand in absolute horror and ferocity, it clicked in her head when she felt the device being ripped gently from her tanned skin with a light tearing noise. "This recorder, for your keys."

Still in his hold, she was caught off guard by his awareness to her plan. She taped it to her underboob, it was supposed to be full proof. "How did you know that was there-"

"Please," he scoffed, "Of course I knew-"

"-unless you were staring. At my boobs." Her tone was accusative. With no response, her jaw began to drop in awe. "Oh my god, you were looking."

Sebastian placed the keys in her hand, his signature smirk not as strong as it once was before. "You have me all wrong. I wasn't looking."

"Then explain to me how you knew!" The teenager from Lima Heights snapped back, only seeming to make his grip on her waist grow tighter.

"There's nothing to be explained-"

With chuckles of disbelief thrown in between her words, Santana pointed out, matching his previous smug facial expressions. "Bullshit! I can smell it all over you and read it all over your face." Sure, she was being hypocritical. He didn't need to know that though, he didn't need to know a lot of things. Like her memories, their lucidity, the longing hidden within them. At least for his body. The personality she could do without.

"I can read it on yours too." It got on her nerves with the way he said it so calm and nonchalant.

"So you admit that was bullshit." Bingo. She had him.

He let out a line of laughter, chest pressed against hers unevenly. "And so did you." Before she could spew another word, Sebastian raised his free hand to her mouth, "You didn't deny it."

He was absolutely right. She didn't.

Santana wondered if he could read thoughts, hers specifically. It couldn't be in the face- she was more than decent at hiding emotions on her facial expressions. Maybe it was the body language, the steps in which they danced. Whatever it was, it was highly creepy. "You didn't deny it either," she replied with a harsh whisper.

She especially wished he wasn't a mindreader at that very moment in time. In her own fantasy word, her lips were crashing into imaginary Sebastian's mouth like the tide: uncontrollable, wild, and exhilarating at the same time. Her hands would knot in his over gel'd hair, and palms would rest upon cheeks, yanking him towards her with easier access.

Suddenly, imaginary Sebastian seemed all too real. His features focused, and the nip of his kiss struck her with a shocking force that she couldn't have created. She, Santana Lopez, was kissing Sebastian Smythe. She didn't know whether she was repulsed or if she thoroughly enjoyed it. The only certain thing was that she couldn't pull away.

The heat of his breath nestled against the full shape of her smile as he pulled away. "I have nothing to say," he whispered, tucking the recorder into his breast pocket.

"You just ruined this moment by talking." Santana remarked wryly. In the back of her mind, she mentally slapped herself. There was no moment. Just a mistake. She glanced up, pushing away from his chest with a good clear of her throat. His eyes bore into her very being in that moment.

She absolutely hated it.

"Get out Lopez."

"Gladly," she struggled to inject her venom into the word. She was out of focus; in the wrong state of mind.

Her feet wouldn't move though. She felt as if they were tied down by weights, keeping her pinned in that very exact spot: directly across from the boy she couldn't bare to look at. It didn't seem to make sense. Santana took a sharp breath, trying to be subtle, struggling to find comfort in Brittany's image.

But it wasn't like she could guilt trip herself into not thinking about Sebastian. She only loved Brittany. There was no confirmed relationship, just minuscule boundaries that could hardly box her rising emotions in.

"Weren't you going?" He asked, after minutes of observing her and the way her face slightly scrunched or her eyes hinted at hatred. The confusion was easily recognizable, and he had no doubt about it. "Or is there something else you'd like to say? Or perhaps, do?"

His tone of voice hit her square in the chest. He knew. "No thanks, Seb-ASS-tian." Her heart sunk, body flaming up. "I'm leaving now." A twirl on her heel, she finally found the strength to lift her lead feet off the ground and head towards the doors.

"I'll be seeing you around, Santana." Even as she exited the music room, the very sound of his voice sent a waterfall of lust through every limb of her body. What does he mean by that?

She felt like she'd find out soon. But for now, she'd simply swing her hips out of Dalton, acting as if everything was okay.

'You've been hit by, you've been struck by, a smooth criminal.'

When in actuality, everything was falling apart.