Title: Makin' Music

Pairings: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany

Words: 4,038

Summary: What would happen if Rachel and Santana were paired together in Duets instead of Rachel/Finn and Mercedes/Santana?

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Why the fuck would I be writing fanfic if I owned the damn show?

A/N: My first Pezberry fic... constructive criticism and general R&R would be much appreciated.

Makin' Music

When Santana repeatedly told Rachel she didn't want to (read: absolutely wouldn't in any way, shape or form) sing a Wicked song for their duet assignment for Glee, she hadn't banked on Rachel picking out duets from every other damn musical the diva could possibly think of. Actually, she had, but Santana had hoped Rachel had swallowed some amnesia pills down with her daily dose of crazy and would stop bugging her about their stupid assignment.

Oh, who was she kidding? Of course Santana knew Rachel would rattle on about Evita or something. At least if the little diva was spitting out ideas like she was paid to at a billion miles a second, Santana would just have to nod, say yes and then they'd be off to Breadstix. Of course, Berry would be driving them there and then Santana would be enjoying the coupon herself.

But, try as she might just to coast through her project with Rachel, Santana found some of those duets were a little... weird. Santana didn't know how best to express herself about some of them, without resorting to words that would probably make the little diva tear up; she found that it didn't give her the same thrilling buzz it used to. In fact, it made her feel... remorse? She wasn't sure, seeing as she'd never really felt anything akin to that before. And what was exponentially worse, was that the little diva could do some crazy things to the Latina, and she didn't know why; really, the only other girl she'd ever felt things for were Brittany, and maybe pissing Quinn off got her all hot and bothered, too. Yeah. Santana had it bad.

But besides, Schue was really starting to piss Santana off with the amount of time he'd been mashing the group into twisted little duets when he couldn't be bothered to think of something else; first, she'd been dumped with Finnessa (she was pissed the guy kept making sneaky advances on her, despite the fact he was still very much in a relationship with Berry at the time – okay, so she was confused at why she wasn't into hurting Berry again, but still); second she'd been placed with Tina (seriously, that was a total snoozefest considering she had the backbone of a gummy worm, however good the girl's taste in gory horror films and jocks were); and now she was working with, of all people, Rachel Berry (after the shorter girl had insisted, and by the time she had finished begging, Santana realised everybody else had been paired up – it was at that moment, she realised that she had more respect for the hat of fate than she first realised). The one person she was desperately trying to avoid. She had a rep, y'know. Well, Tina's rep wasn't great either, but she was an invisible social pariah; not a loud, obnoxious one.

"Do you ever stop to just think, Berry?" Santana growled as she threw a pink pillow from Rachel's bed at the pint-sized girl across the room, who was clacking away at her laptop on iTunes. She'd hopped straight onto the damn thing as soon as they'd gotten to Rachel's house from Glee twenty minutes ago – after Santana had been given a grand tour of the Berry household.

Rachel's house was warm and homely; the walls were decorated in pastel colours, but your attention was pulled from the soft palate to the innumerable family photos, photos of Rachel at her pageants and dance competitions and school portraits. She remembered some of the ugly sweaters the girl was wearing in some of the photographs and was hit with a pang of guilt. It resonated through her stomach, as memories of slushies and insults mixed together and spilled through her mind.

It reminded her of her own empty house, ironically; she knew her father was in California for some medical conference, and her mother was most likely lounging on the beach in Mexico with her 'friends'. Santana knew she had a number of admirers, which begged the question: 'If she knew, did her father know?'

Shrugging it off, Santana turned her attention back to Rachel and listened as she spoke like she'd taken those weird tablets Mr. Schue's crazy ex wife gave them for the Mash Up competition. It freaked her out a little, all Rachel's talking; she was used to hanging out with Brittany, who was best expressing her feelings through action. And even though Rachel's usual conversational topics weren't the best, just the sound of her voice was enough to calm Santana's guilt-fuelled self-loathing.

Rachel feigned hurt and turned around to glare at the Latina. "Broadway never stops to think, Santana." She huffed indignantly, "Do you take me for some kind of slacker?"

"Nope, I just think you need to get laid." Santana's eyes widened at the realisation of what she'd just said; she convinced herself it was reflexive and shrugged it off. Despite herself, she fought the grin tugging at her lips at the sight of Rachel's cheeks burning red.

"Santana, you didn't just suggest-"

"Sure didn't," Santana cut her off a little too quickly and propped herself up on her elbows, letting out an audible sigh. God, would she just stop trying to get the girl's freaking attention, already? Santana would give Rachel, like, a split second before she launched into a question three times as long as humanly necessary to ask if she was okay.

"Santana, if I might ask – without being physically assaulted by an array of pillows or stuffed animals or verbally assaulted with one of your wall of fame snipes or nicknames," she cleared her throat, "What on Earth is bothering you?"

"I'm bored outta my mind, Berry," Santana snapped. She paused for a second, to think of apologising, but she decided against the idea. She saw Rachel's face drop a little and inwardly groaned. It seemed that as soon as Santana had begun working with Rachel on this crap, she noticed every little expression on her face, her body language or just the way she smiled when somebody (besides her fathers) talked to her as if she was a normal human being just once. It made the taller girl's heart ache a little, knowing that she'd been one of the people to do just that, but she'd been working on it, especially after the billionth epic Hudson-Berry break up.

"Perhaps, instead of lounging around like some good-for-nothing delinquent, if you took to actively helping to pick a suitable song for us to sing for our assignment, your time might be better spent," Rachel retorted. Santana quirked an eyebrow in the other girl's direction; it almost sounded like an insult.

"Whatever," Santana yawned and fell back onto Rachel's bed, "So, I thought that maybe we could just hang out, seeing as I'm not in the mood to flick through a yearlong playlist of crap you've made for this one assignment, and since Britt's unavailable..." Santana's voice trailed off, as she pulled herself up to rest on her elbows and looked over at Rachel.

Rachel was a little shocked at the girl's forwardness. It was as if the project meant absolutely nothing to the Latina. What was life without singing? Rachel couldn't comprehend Santana's lack of interest; after all, Santana did mention that Glee was her favourite part of the day. However, Rachel's longing for a friend, or at least someone to hang out with – even if it was once in a blue moon – was tugging at her heart. And the hopeful look in Santana's eyes was a little hard to ignore.

"I don't know. We haven't worked on our assignment at all..." Santana just watched as the girl rattled off into some tangent. It was as if she'd missed that the whole hanging out part of the proposition was a masked invitation of friendship. 'Masked' being the operative word; Santana Lopez would never willingly admit to extending the hand of friendship to Berry, no matter how many times Britt and Quinn told her to. Especially considering how many times Britt and Quinn told her to. And yet, after secretly agreeing with them before making some biting remark, here Santana was.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying, Santana?"

Santana jumped a little at Rachel's peeved tone of voice. She quickly composed herself and grinned slyly. "Come on, Berry. Just chill out, yeah?" Santana rubbed a spot on the edge of the bed, beckoning Rachel over.

Rachel looked hesitant, but nonetheless, got up from the computer in the corner in the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She sat close to Santana, but kept her hands firmly at her side so her fingers didn't brush against the Latina's toned thighs. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"That's more like it," Santana smiled, despite the tameness evident in the other girl's tone, and rolled off the bed, "Come on; I have an itch to scratch."

Rachel stared after Santana, confused; wasn't it just a second ago that she denied suggesting Rachel should 'get laid', and now there was some mysterious itch that needed scratching? The diva's face took on a slight look of slight disgust and a little curiosity as she toyed with the idea it might have been some codeword for one of her and Brittany's sexcapades.

"It's just an expression, Berry," Santana laughed wickedly. She'd been watching every look on the girl's face and just knew what she was thinking when her mouth tipped at the corners, looking grossed out. "Put your shoes on. We're getting outta here."

Rachel did as she was told and followed Santana to her car. It was a brilliant day outside and Rachel thought that instead of driving to the mall, they could walk to the park, but she didn't ask. Santana was already a little annoyed at the prospects of spending so much time with Rachel, so she thought she'd just go along with the Latina's ideas. Maybe, after a compromise, they would go back to Rachel's and work on their song. But Rachel didn't hold her breath.

Santana flipped the radio on as soon as they were both belted in; they left it on, seeing as the station was having a bit of a Journey meltdown that afternoon. Don't Stop Believin' was crackling through the speakers as the girls drove through town. Their not talking didn't make the journey awkward, per se; it was a comfortable silence, one that Santana gladly welcomed. The world's incessant buzzing had come to an end in that car, ironically enough.

"But this is the park," Rachel muttered, as Santana's Chevrolet pulled up against the sidewalk adjacent to a black iron fence with green hedges and leaves, full of the vivacity of their Indian summer, bursting out of the gaps.

"No shit," Santana deadpanned. She yanked the keys out and slammed the door shut as she exited the vehicle. She went around to Rachel's side and opened the door for her, seeing as the shorter brunette was too engrossed in pointing out the fucking obvious to move her legs. Rachel made no meal of getting out of the car quickly, yet still retaining some dignity; it was all good practice for when she'd be running around on a crazy Broadway schedule being stalked by the paparazzi.

"You alright, Berry? First you're playing Captain Freakin' Obvious of the S.S. Dumbass and now your legs are acting retarded?" Santana laughed as the two girls slowly made their way deeper into the grounds of the park. Santana pulled her hair out of the mandatory tight ponytail, sighing with relief as the tension subsided. She was sure that every single Cheerio who'd made it into adulthood without experiencing a mental breakdown three months after graduation at the loss of direction of their every movement now suffered alopecia. Lucky her father's epic health plan included hair replacement. You know, just in case.

Rachel smirked a little at the girl shaking her head, leaving her fine black tresses to flow until they spilled onto her shoulders and down her back, stopping just before her underarms. Santana's hair had a full, healthy shine, and Rachel found herself staring for a little while longer than she thought necessary, or appropriate; Rachel assured herself that her admiration of the Cheerio's hair was merely because she obviously took good care of it, and impeccable personal hygiene is always an admirable trait in a person, Cheerio or not.

"Ignoring your less than eloquent insult," Rachel began, breaking the silence before the she forgot that Santana had been saying something to her as she took down her hair, "I was merely in deep thought as to why you brought us to the park, today. I was preparing myself for you to drag me to the mall and help yourself to my debit card. Again."

Santana cringed at the distaste in Rachel's voice. "I needed to make sure you had a decent dress for our mash up," Santana retorted, a little too defensively. That was half true; as much as Santana was in charge of dresses – along with Quinn – she wanted to see how far Rachel Berry's frugality could be stretched. She persuaded the smaller brunette to get a dress to show a decent amount of leg – not that it was a hard task, have you seen those skirts? – which was also a major plus of that afternoon. The girl was short, but those things went on for miles and miles.

"Are you sure that's it?" Rachel smirked. "'Cause I saw you checking out my ass that day, too."

Santana froze and stared at Rachel, who promptly burst out laughing when she saw the Latina's mortified face. "I was kidding, Santana. But if you were..."

"I wasn't," Santana growled. Her increasing aggravation wasn't helping the blush that was spreading across her face and down her chest. She had to stop herself from letting her feelings down that far. She had to admit, Rachel's sudden sense of humour did a lot more for her than she'd care to admit in a billion years. It was totally out of character for the shorter girl, but what's the big deal? Something needed shaking up.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noticed. She smirked and wondered just how far down the Latina that blush went.

"Hungry? There's a vendor over there that does the best pretzels," Santana enthused. Rachel laughed at the sudden change of tone and subject, almost Brittany-esque in terms of how cheery the taller girl now sounded, and nodded, allowing the other girl to drag her across to the man, who handed each girl a warm pretzel.

"Holy shit!" Santana hissed, prodding Rachel.

Santana turned to Rachel, whose pretzel was covering her face, as if she was trying to hide. Santana took one look at her and snorted; yeah, nobody would see that giant owl on Rachel's sweater or notice how bright her skirt was. Santana's train of thought veered into the gutter as she found herself transfixed on the fact that the sweater showed off the diva's tight body, shapely curves and her skirt certainly left little to the imagination...

"What the-"

Before Santana could interrogate Rachel at eighty decibels, the diva had pressed her hand over Santana's mouth and pushed them into the bushes, pretzels be damned. Rachel ended up lying on top of Santana, who was feeling a little more than aroused by the whole situation. "Shut up, Santana. You'll disturb them!"

Quinn and Brittany holding hands on a park bench was the last thing she'd ever wanted to see, or ever thought she'd see. Santana might even admit she was a little hurt by what she saw. She looked up at Rachel, who was peeking through a gap in the bush to see if they'd been seen by either of the girls; thankfully, they hadn't. Santana pushed Rachel off of her and sat cross-legged against the back of the bench. Rachel sat across from her, sitting bolt upright in front of a bush. The girls' knees were just brushing against each other, ever so slightly. Santana could feel Rachel's eyes boring into her, as she sat with her head down, staring at her hands that were placed, clasped together, in her lap. Nice work, Lopez. Now Berry's seen your soft side. She'll be all over this like she was with Q. When she thought about it, though, Santana wondered just why she believed Rachel Berry solving her problems would be such an issue. Sure, she had serious issues with opening up and as far as being emotionally mature was concerned, she had a long way to go, but maybe Rachel could fix that. Brittany, sweet as she was, just wouldn't be able to articulate Santana's feelings as well as one awfully-dressed diva.

"Now it all makes sense," Santana whispered in a tone that matched the melancholy in her eyes. In a second, however, the Cheerio steeled herself and went back into attack mode. "Don't even tell me that's why you just had to be my partner for this Duets crap." Brilliant work, Lopez. Now, why don't you go shove her head down a toilet and give her a patriotic wedgie?

"Well, actually, yes," she admitted, her voice soft, leaving the faint traces of hurt in her voice to be heard, "Brittany felt bad about this whole thing." Rachel added, a little hastily. As much as it was the truth, Santana was beyond pissed right now, she was sure of it. Quickly, avoiding the Latina's intense glare, Rachel took to smoothing down the pleats of her skirt.

"She can't treat Britt as well as I can. She..." Santana shocked Rachel with the soft whisper of her voice. Her anger had shifted to immeasurable pain in seconds.

"Jesus, Santana," Rachel murmured, although the exasperation in her voice was unmistakable. "You know Artie's been interested. I mean, really interested." Santana looked away from her, frowning. She wouldn't let Rachel see the tears that were about to flow, even if it killed her. "Who would you prefer made her happy? Him or her?" Rachel knelt and cupped Santana's face with her hands, bringing the Latina's watery eyes to her own, calm ones. "You can trust Quinn, right?"

Santana's silence spoke volumes; only sound was their soft breathing and the rustling of trees as a surprisingly warm fall breeze swirled around them. The Latina looked up at Rachel with tears in her eyes, and at the sight, Rachel felt her heart break."And besides, as much as I was accosted by them to distract you, I had my own motives."

"Huh?"

Rachel leaned impossibly close into the Cheerio; they were sharing the same breath; Santana felt the warmth of Rachel against her, moving closer and closer. Santana's mouth was now devoid of all moisture... Rachel Berry was in her close proximity, one she usually only permitted Puck and Brittany to bask in. Their deep, brown eyes locked – each set flecked with lust, hope and... more lust.

Rachel pressed her lips to Santana's quickly; the Latina quickly responded, kissing back, her lips sliding against Rachel's beautifully. Rachel brought her hands to Santana's face and cupped her cheeks, deepening their kiss.

Rachel pulled away abruptly, looking into the deep brown eyes before her. "What do you think...?

"Great," Santana breathed. She got on her hands and knees, and pushed Rachel onto her back and plunged her tongue into the shorter girl's mouth. She relished in the taste of strawberry (go figure) lip gloss that coated Rachel's plump lips, and took in the vanilla scent of her skin; soft and so, so creamy. Rachel moaned loudly into the other girl's mouth and pulled her on top of her body, needing the contact. Santana Lopez was making out with her in a public place... Even if they were hidden behind a bush, anybody could pull back a few branches and get a look on what the girls were doing.

Rachel fisted Santana's ebony tresses with one of her hands and palmed the Latina's breast, smiling against Santana's lips as she heard the Latina moan at her touch.

Santana tangled her legs with Rachel's and grinded her hips into Rachel's centre as much as she could; she needed the friction, so, so bad. The thing was, this was Rachel, the virgin, not Brittany, the very experienced cheerleader. She didn't want to pressure Rachel, but at the same time, feeling Rachel's hands in her hair and fondling her breasts was pretty telling that the petite diva was more than ready to give it up.

"Rachel," Santana hissed, as she tore her lips away from Rachel's, trailing sloppy, heated kisses down the column of her neck, "What time did you say your dads were getting home?"

"They're not."

Will scratched his head and scanned the room; Quinn, Brittany, Sam, Finn, Puck, Kurt, Mercedes, Artie, Tina and Mike were sat in their usual places, highlighting the two empty spots.

"So, all of you are telling me that you haven't seen Santana and Rachel all day?" Will furrowed his brow, still perplexed. On any other day, Santana might have pulled this, but Rachel? No. Never.

"Dude, you've asked us that, like, three times now." Puck yelled back, "Can't you just take in our votes already?"

"This doesn't make any sense," Will rambled on, apparently ignoring the groans, muffled complaints of his students and Puck's very vocal objection to holding up whether or not he'd be taking one of his pool cleaning clients whose husbands were out of town to dinner. "Santana would never pass up a free meal at Breadstix and Rachel just doesn't skip Glee."

The group collectively nodded and shared thoughts; Kurt and Mercedes gave each other a knowing look and whipped out their phones, seeing if there was any gossip to be ogled. Puck's eyebrow rose, as his thoughts descended into the proverbial gutter for what was probably the fourth time in the past three minutes; Finn was trying to work out just what Puck found so amusing. Sam was too busy giving Mike some work-out tips to really care.

"Until last week I thought Quinn was straight," Brittany smiled, taking Quinn's hand in her own. Quinn blushed furiously under the intense glare of eight disbelieving gleeks and Mr. Schue, though never letting go of the other blonde's hand. Somewhere to the left of all this, Sam's face dropped and Puck's lit up.

Mr. Schue cleared his throat, pulling the attention away from the two girls. "Right... Well, I guess I'll just take in your votes."

Santana held Rachel up against the wall in the closet, nipping and sucking at the taut honey-coloured skin of Rachel's chest and collarbone. If there was exposed flesh, you could bet that Santana's lips would be attacking them with lust-fuelled vigour. She watched as Rachel writhed around in her arms, biting her lip to keep from moaning and yelling too loud. It was a common thing for Santana to be more turned on by her partner physically unable but needing to moan and yell because of her talents, rather than moaning and yelling anyway. But that was a pretty great thing, too.

Santana smirked; she found out Rachel was definitely a screamer around twenty minutes after they crashed through her front door and practically wrestled each other up the stairs to her room yesterday.

"Rach, I thought you said we should go to Glee since we spent all day in your bed rather than, like, showing up at school," Santana muttered between alternated bites and licks of that pulse spot beneath Rachel's ear. She knew what Rachel would tell her, she just liked hearing it. "Coach is going to kill me."

"Shut up, Santana," Rachel growled, digging her nails into Santana's back, through her cheerleading uniform. Santana groaned into Rachel's chest at the harshness of the touch. "Just fuck me. I'll give Sue Sylvester a piece of my mind and buy you dinner at Breadstix for a month if you just shut the fuck up right now and do me."

Santana sank her teeth into the soft skin of Rachel's neck. That was a lot of dates.