Fandom. FinnSantana

Disclaimer: Glee © Fox/Ryan Murphy

Pretty Sweet

By sakuracherish814

For the moment, he was pretty sure life couldn't get any better.

They had just won their championship game, performed a killer routine, made peace between the football team and the glee kids, and now they were heading for Breadsticks for a much-earned after-party, courtesy of Beiste. None of them knew how the hell she was paying for it, or how loaded she must be to be able to pay for it, but it was a celebration so who were they to question it?

As soon as he was changed out of his uniform and scrubbed free of his zombie makeup, he is shoving his gear back into his locker.

"Finn," Sam says, hopping over the bench and yanking his locker back open before he has a chance to shut it, "we're all wearing our zombie jerseys to Breadsticks."

Finn looks around the room and, sure enough, everyone was already back in their artfully shredded and soiled jerseys back worn over their regular clothes. Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, gesturing to his own and giving him a patronizing look. "What, did you think I was tricking you?"

"Maybe."

Sam laughs. "Hey, do you need a ride to Breadsticks? Me and Quinn are taking Britt and Artie and there's still room for one more."

"Nah, man, I drove," he reminds. Holding up his fist, he adds, "But I'll meet you there."

Sam nods, bumping their fists. "Alright, man."

And, with that, he and the remaining guys shuffle out of the locker room, effectively giving Finn his first moment of silence since that morning.

He blows a sigh and looks around, smiling to himself. He can still hear the deafening cheers in his ear, and he'd probably be plucking confetti from his hair for the next night or two.

(Yeah, life was pretty sweet.)

He'd recognize those legs anywhere. Whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing, he has yet to find out.

But those slender, toned, perfect legs are poking out from underneath his truck in the mostly empty parking lot and he has little success gulping down the growing nerves. His heart pounds a little and when he rounds the back of his truck, he sort of pauses (stops completely) as he finds her leaning there against the driver's side, arms crossed over her chest and clearly waiting for him.

"Santana?"

She tilts her head at him, smiling a very Santana smile. "Hey, Finnocence."

"Uh, hi," he replies back lamely.

She chuckles and he curses at the inevitable blush he feels coming on. He hates how unsettled she makes him, and kind of loves it, too.

"What's the matter Finn?" she asks, licking her lips. "You act like I came here to do something naughty to you."

"Well, you usually do."

She blinks, clearly not expecting his remark, and for a whole second he is terrified of what she might do.

But she just looks like she's actually kind of impressed and she laughs. She laughs. (He finds it far sexier than all of her dirty talk.) "Fair enough," she shrugs one shoulder.

He grins.

"Nice play out there today," she goes on. He kind of wants to sit down because she's laughing and giving him props and now she's complimenting him? Yeah, he has a right to feel a bit surreal.

"Oh. Um, well, it was definitely a team effort." He shrugs his shoulders, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "It wasn't just me."

She chuckles. "Cute. But I wasn't talking about the game."

He blinks. "Oh. You mean the performance? Yeah, that was awesome, but that took all of us. You sounded awesome, too, by the way." Great. He's babbling.

She's laughing again and it stirs something in him. How is it he's pretty much on top of the world right now and Santana still makes him feel like he's walking on thin ice? "Thanks. But, I wasn't talking about the performance, either, Frankanteen," she corrects, taking slow strides towards him.

Surprisingly, he doesn't feel like backing away.

(He actually kind of wants to see where this is headed.)

And soon enough she is only inches away from him, far too close yet not close enough. "I was talking about when you went after Quinn, Britt, and me for the half-time show."

"Oh."

She smiles, and it's that rare kind of genuine smile, like she really means it. His breath catches.

"I don't know if Q beat me to it," she drawls in a tone of disinterest he knows she's faking, "but I never got to thank you for that."

He shrugs but smiles back. "You probably would've ended up doing the same."

She purses her lips. "I don't know. I have a habit of—" she looks at him through upturned eyes "—making decisions I'd regret, and we were all close to it tonight."

"You would've made the right choice."

She stares at him. Like, really stares at him, in this deep sort of way that makes him feel exposed under all his layers of clothing. She lifts her hands, tracing him along his chest, and then grasps the collar of his jersey. He freezes, expecting her to yank him down into a kiss or something. But, instead, he feels her adjusting his crooked jersey, smoothing her hands over the material.

(The last time they were anything like this, he had told her to get out. Now, he and Rachel were done, and he is starting to make sense of that look on her face during the wedding.)

"You have a lot of faith in me."

He looks at her. "Well, yeah. I mean, sure, you have a past. But we all do. And you love glee, and are happy there, so you can't be all bad."

Crap. That came out wrong, he inwardly curses, instantly regretting his wording as soon as it's out of his mouth. But, instead, she laughs and shakes her head.

"You're such a child sometimes."

He laughs. "It can be a lot more fun than being a teen sometimes," he admits. "But, right now, I kind of like how things are right now. It can't get any sweeter."

"Oh, really?"

His mouth hangs open. Woops.

She takes a small step forward so their chests are pressed against each other, and his skin is tingling.

"There's nothing that could make tonight feel any better?" she asks challengingly. She stretches up and drapes her arms around his neck, bringing their faces close together, her lips all glossy and sparkly and pink and only a few inches away. "Nothing?" His eyes are already closing and he knows she's smirking, or maybe smiling this time, her breath warm against the night air, "Not even if I—"

And, yeah, he's kind of impatient by now.

So he silences her with a smoldering kiss, groaning softly against her soft, soft lips, and he can taste the need. It's been much too long since they've done this.

Luckily, she seems just as eager for the kiss as he is, running her fingers through his tousled hair and nipping the bottom of his lip. His hands slide from her waist and against the burning skin of her bare thighs from underneath her miniskirt as he hoists her onto the hood of his truck, never once breaking off. Her fingers are lightly tugging at his curls and her legs are wrapping around his waist and latching on tightly.

She forces their lips apart, which he finds kind of weird since she never says no, but they're both breathing heavily. She has this smile on her face, not one of pure lust, but a kind of giddy one, too, and he can't help but find it adorable and sexy on her, if not very distracting.

"The after-party," she reminds, but contradicts her own words as she pulls him as close as physically possible.

"Screw it. They can wait a few more minutes."

Her eyebrows rise in that sort of impressed look again, a smirk tugging at her lips, but he presses his lips against her neck and sucks at her pulse, effectively ridding of whatever remark on her mind.

She lets out a soft moan in surprise, her breath hitching, and she pushes him from neck and crashes their lips back together.

(Okay so he was wrong.

Now, life couldn't get any sweeter.)

A/n. It seems like they're going back down the Finn/Quinn path, but I'm rooting for more Finn/Santana interaction despite this. Ryan Murphy will see that they are inevitable. Eventually.

So you read it. Love it? Hate it? Please review it!