Hi, everyone! I actually wrote the plotline for this drabble a few months ago, but I got so busy with Life's A Rodeo and To Burn, Pine, & Perish that I totally forgot about it. It takes place during the Glee Concert Tour back in 2011. There are so few fictions that feature Naya and Dianna, so I decided to throw my hat into the ring.
Anyway, it's my first RPF (real person/people fiction), so feel free to review and tell me what you think! Enjoy! : )
My quaking fingers fumble with the slim plastic card key as I try to slide it into the slot on the brass-plated door handle. Tears blur my vision and cause my mascara to run, and I silently curse myself for forgetting to take off my stage make-up before rushing back to the hotel in the limousine. FOX booked the top two floors of The St. Regis New York for our concert at the IZOD Center to ensure the privacy of all of the cast members, so I don't have to worry about being surprised by obsessive fans or eager paparazzi in this vulnerable moment. I finally manage to unlock the door, my eyes glued to the carpet as I enter the suite.
The sight I'm met with almost disarms me.
Dianna Elise Agron, my girlfriend and the most beautiful woman in the entire world, lounges on the black leather loveseat in the center of the room, her legs crossed at the ankles. She's barefoot, her small, dainty feet peeking out from beneath her favorite Burlingame Panthers sweatpants that she's had since high school. Her back is to me, but I can see that she's reading her well-worn copy of her favorite book, Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Her plain white camisole has ridden up a little, exposing her perfectly sculpted abdominals. Dianna's face, unlike mine, is free of make-up, her shock of blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. She looks so calm and relaxed… And this infuriates me.
"What the fuck was that about?!" I scream, startling her with both my voice and the slamming of the door behind me.
She whips around to face me before placing her book down on the glass coffee table next to her. Her facial expression goes from frightened to perplexed when she sees my distraught appearance. I'm still in my costume from the Somebody To Love number, a turquoise polo shirt and my blue satin varsity jacket with the bedazzled 'g' on the lapel, along with a pair of dark skinny jeans and low cut black Converses. My long, straight raven locks have a disheveled look due to all the times I've run my hand through it in the past hour.
"Nay-Nay," Dianna says gently. "What's wrong?"
My face flushes an angry red at her calm response to my rage. "Don't fucking 'Nay-Nay' me, Dianna. You know what you did."
I begin pacing in an attempt to calm myself down; my hands balling up into fists as I almost stomp back and forth on the carpet in front of the entryway. I hear Dianna grab the television remote off of the coffee table and turn off the classic Dr. Who program that was softly humming in the background. She sighs in defeat and crosses her legs underneath her lithe body.
"This is about the hand-hold, isn't it?"
She says it so simply, as if I'm bringing up something that happened years ago instead of just a few hours. My glare is all the confirmation she needs. Dianna then stands and makes her way over to me, leading me back to the sofa in silence. When we sit down, I can't bring myself to meet her piercing hazel eyes. However, she lifts my chin upward, forcing me to make eye contact. Her voice is tender and soothing when she speaks.
"For the millionth time, it doesn't mean anything, Nay. Ryan told us that a large portion of the fan base thinks that Lea and I are together. He thought it'd be good publicity for the show if we played it up a little."
I just grunt at that. I do remember that meeting, and I'm just as furious now as I was when that asshole Murphy suggested it. And, because rumors flew when Lea and Dianna lived together during the first season, he knew that it would stir up some gossip among the media and the viewers. Part of me knows it's all just for show, but there's still an ugly green monster that rears its head when someone touches my girl in a way that's more than friendly. I let out an exasperated breath and allow my head to sink into my hands.
"I know it's not real. I just can't get the image out of my head," I whisper into the stillness. "And I know that all the fans would rather see you and Lea together than find out the truth."
Dianna snorts at this, causing my head to snap up again and my eyes to blaze with indignation. "Right. As if you don't know that the fans simply adore the idea of you and Heather bumping uglies between scenes."
I grind my teeth together in frustration. I'm so sick of the tabloids trying to talk a romantic relationship with Heather into reality. She's my best friend in the entire world, but because of the budding Brittany/Santana storyline on the show, we can't even go to dinner anymore without people assuming we're fingering each other under the table or something. Dianna always pretends as though the rumors don't bother her, but I know that her brilliant hazel eyes dim a little when she reads another Global Inquirer headline about us.
"You know that's nothing, Di," I say dismissively before letting my index finger trace the subtle curve of her cheek. "My heart belongs to you."
She gives me a small smile and nods, reaching out to interlace our fingers together. "And mine to you. That's why you shouldn't worry about this hand-holding thing. It's just a stunt, nothing more. I don't want anyone else, Naya."
The sense of betrayal that had been building up in my chest since our closing number melts away when Dianna closes the distance between us to kiss me lightly. Her lips are always so gentle and soft, but so criminally addictive. When her tongue swipes across my bottom lip, I yield to her immediately, opening myself to the tepid exploration of her mouth. My hands disconnect from hers to weave into her hair and tug it gently, causing a low moan to rumble through her ribcage. I'm almost positive we won't make it into the bedroom down the hallway, so I simply push her backward against the arm of the couch and cover her body with mine. Dianna pushes my jacket off of my shoulders and tosses it to the floor, breaking our lip-lock to hurriedly pull my polo over my head.
"Take this off, amor," I husk against her collarbone while tugging on the hem of her tank top.
She obliges me almost immediately and throws the garment somewhere near the door. Dianna wraps her legs around my waist and bucks up against me, ripping an aroused groan from me. She's not wearing a bra, as is customary with her post-show routine, and I take the opportunity to lave each of her rosy nipples with my tongue. Her hips are rutting hard into my pelvic bone, trying to find some sort of friction. I hook my thumbs into the elastic waistband of her sweatpants and guide them down the supple skin of her delicious legs. Once they're draped over the back of the loveseat, I continue to press open-mouthed kisses to her breasts while I work on getting my own pants off. Dianna moans loudly when I start to nip her soft, fair skin with my teeth.
"Oh God," she hisses, her eyes screwed shut and a thin sheen of sweat forming on her brow.
"Naya will do," I smirk into her breast before pressing my now bare knee into her cloth covered center.
This causes her to clutch my biceps in a vice grip as if I'm her life preserver in a stormy ocean. Dianna bucks up again, and her own thigh brushes my apex. I slide my hand down into her pink and purple striped thong and let my fingers play through her folds gently. She cries out in ecstasy when I rub small circles into her pleasure center; just enough to stimulate her, but not enough to bring her to orgasm.
"Tell me you're mine," I growl into her ear as I grind my own hips down on her thigh.
Dianna doesn't hesitate, her voice raspy from exertion. "I'm yours, Naya."
"Tell me again," I say before licking a trail from her chest up to the spot behind her ear that I know drives her crazy.
"I'm yours, baby, all yours," she husks breathlessly. Her breathing hitches when I start to apply more pressure with my fingers.
"That's right. You're mine. Not Lea's, or Ryan's, and certainly not the fans'. All mine."
Before I can even enter her, Dianna tenses beneath me, the cords of muscle in her neck bowing taunt as she throws her head back in bliss. Her orgasm mows her down, violently crashing over her body in waves of pleasure. She grips me tight, causing me to grind down into her hard. With a few well placed thrusts, I too am sent careening over the edge, her name on my lips when the sweet agony runs hot through my veins. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and ride it out, and when my intense pleasure finally starts to ebb away, I can feel Dianna drawing swirly patterns on the skin of my shoulder blade with her finger. She does this every time we make love, and it's always the last thing I sense before I fall asleep in her arms.
"I love you," I whisper sleepily against her collarbone.
I feel Dianna smile into my hair before laying a kiss to the crown of my head. "I love you too, Naya."
It still makes my heart flutter every time she says it, and the last thought that flits through my head before I succumb to slumber is of the Neil Lane ring box that's hidden in my luggage downstairs.
Because after all, even us celebrities need somebody to love.