An hour ago, Santana had been sitting in Brittany's car, silently fuming at something Quinn had said (she might be the Head Bitch In Charge, but that didn't give her the right to get snippy for no damn reason) and plotting revenge.

Half an hour ago, Santana had been lying on Brittany's bed, half on top of her best friend, brushing her lips gently over the skin of Britt's neck and trying not to think about how relaxing it was to just kiss Brittany, molding their bodies together (she had been trying to tell herself that it was just physical, that she just needed to get off and Puck was on vacation, but then Brittany's fingers had trailed up her spine, and Santana had stopped thinking at all).

Fifteen minutes ago, Brittany had been throwing Santana's bra to the floor, nipping her collarbone before working her way south. Every time Santana started to shake, or that panicked "oh, fuck, this is totally gay" look appeared, Brittany would lean up and kiss her, and Santana would relax and let Brittany have her way.

Five minutes ago, Brittany had her way.

Two minutes ago, Quinn had walked into Santana's house, using the spare key she had been given years ago, irritated that Santana hadn't answered the door. Books in tow, she had walked upstairs, wondering what Brittany and Santana were watching that was making all that noise.

One minute ago, Quinn had walked in just as Santana threw her head back, clutching the headboard, Brittany's toned body clearly visible underneath her. "Staring" was a completely inadequate word for what Quinn did next.

Fifty-two seconds ago, Santana had whipped her head around at the sound of books hitting her floor, and gone pale when she realized she had completely forgotten about Quinn coming over to study with them.

Forty-seven seconds ago, Santana had recovered her composure and moved herself back, straddling Brittany's thighs and sneering, "either come in and close the door, or leave. Were you raised in a barn?"

Forty seconds ago, Brittany had murmured, "you can watch, you know," earning her the stares of the other two girls in the room.

Twenty-two seconds ago, Quinn had swallowed and looked down at the floor, trying to force herself to think about what was happening, instead of playing the scene she had walked into over and over in her head.

Fifteen seconds ago, Quinn had closed the door and leaned back against it, unable to meet either Brittany or Santana's eyes.

Ten seconds ago, Santana had slid a hand down Brittany's body, ignoring Quinn completely after one last suspicious look.

Five seconds ago, Brittany had locked eyes with Quinn, rocking her hips against Santana's hand.

One second ago, Quinn had take a single step toward Santana's bed.

Now, anything could happen.