DAMN IT FANDOM! You know I put a note in my last fic saying that there was going to be plot in the next one but I have literally spent three hours watching 'smooth criminal' and fan-girling like a boss and this happened. Because in my world there is no such thing as unresolved sexual tension, just sex.
And maybe a sprinkle of plot…..maybe...okay not really.
Later that night as she lies in bed she curses him because this is ridiculous. She hates him more than she can put into words because she is strong and proud and is not thinking about a boy. Not after all the crap she and Brittany have been through together. She's got an amazing, wonderful not-quite girlfriend who has the brightest, bluest eyes in all of Mickinley High. She thinks of those eyes as she tries to relax into the bed. She thinks of them as she slides her hand underneath her pajama shorts.
She thinks of them as her hand slides between her legs.
Until her body clenches she can almost pretend she isn't thinking of fucking him on those chairs.
She spends the week mad, half because she's sexually frustrated and half because she loathes Sebastian but no-one can make her feel the way she did when they were 's not because he's got a cock or something like that, it's because of the challenge. The people at New Directions know her, they know her too well and it's the same for her. There's no challenge, no thrill. She's got it half in her head to drive over to Dalton and challenge him to another duel.
Lord knows she needs some satisfaction.
When he shows up before the week's out, she gets more pissed off than she thought possible. He may have cracked first but he came to her school first and that makes her even angrier. He flirts with Blaine and manages to piss the entire Glee club off. It'd be a lot more believable if his eyes didn't continue to dart over to her. He doesn't even have the courtesy to stare at her chest like a common lout, no he's got to catch her eyes like she's a fucking human being. The shiver it sends down her spine is one of pure hate and has nothing to do with the fact he smirks when their eyes meet.
He's walking down the hall feeling very self-satisfied and more than a little proud when someone seizes him and drags him into a broom closet. The irony is stupid and it's on his mouth to tell them that when he's pushed against the wall. For a moment he thinks this might be an attack, then he catches a whiff of their hair and realizes he might be right, but this attack is not unwelcome. Instead he grabs her gently and pushes her against the only wall not covered in shelves or brooms.
He presses Santana's body against the wall, trapping her with his own form. He's hard and straining through the wool of his slacks, but the cheerleading skirt she's wearing isn't doing much to stop him. Her body is painfully tight against his, pressing against him in a way he's never felt before. But then, he's never wanted to slam a girl up against a wall before. She raises her chin defiantly and stares at him for a moment, as though judging what he's going to do.
When he doesn't move she leaves forward and crushes her mouth to his.
His brain goes on overload. She's softer than he expected, but there's steel there too. Her teeth nip at his bottom lip and force his to part. He's supposed to be in control but she takes charge of the situation in a way that he can't quite wrap his brain around. But when she goes to reverse their positions, he pushes his hips forward and holds her there. She gasps into his mouth at the feel of him through the thin fabric of her cheerleading skirt and when he slides his hand underneath, he only feels skin.
Something shuts down and the next minutes are all touch and taste. Her fingers undo the belt and suddenly his pants are around his ankles, leaving him only in his briefs. He barely has the sense to pull the condom out of his wallet before his underwear is around his ankles, her skirt is shoved up and he's buried inside her, her ankles locked somewhere around the small of his back.
He hesitates in the darkness, his breath coming in sharp, hot pants against her throat. It's almost as though he is unsure and that unsureness is not what Santana wants. Shifting her weight she rolls her hips and pulls him closer with her heel. A low sound forces itself out of his throat as he meets her thrust, the quest for dominance coming back. Soon he's moving against her, driving into her with long, hard thrusts that leave her gasping for air and painfully aware the last guy she did this with was a virgin.
She cums with a choked curse that she barely has the sense to muffle in the shoulder of his jacket.
When she comes back to herself he's holding her up with something that could almost be considered tenderness. It's also almost nice and that's not something she needs to be associating with him. She forces her legs to unlock and pushes him back, landing on her feet as he slides out of her. It's not the first time she's fucked in a closet and she fingers her ponytail back into it's tight perfection as she hears him lean against the wall.
"First time you ever did it with a girl?" she throws over her shoulder and is pleased her voice comes out pissed off instead of breathless.
"You wish," he replies and sounds moderately out of breath.
She smirks into the darkness and opens the closet door before his pants are fully up.
The next time she comes to Dalton.
He boards there. Everyone thinks it's because of the social scene and he lets them. He's got a single though so there's no room mate to worry about. The blinds are still shut from the partying the night before but he knows his way around the room blind. Somehow she figures it out as well and pushes him onto the bed. She's out of the cheerleading uniform but it's harder to get the tight black pants off her hips.
This time she's wearing underwear.
His fingers skim the lace before cupping her bottom. She grinds her hips down, letting him have the illusion of control for a moment before she takes over. She slides down his body and sheds him of his pants and underwear before taking him in her mouth. He struggles for air as he bits his fist because for all the money Dalton's walls are notoriously thin and for some reason he does not want people to know whose in his room.
She hears him gasp out something that sounds notoriously like a plea and pushes herself back up. This is more about lust and control, but mostly about control, so she's come prepared. She's got a condom on him before he can reach into his dresser drawer and replaces her mouth with her pussy. They still for a moment, gasping not shared air space as he fills her and she adjusts to him. She grinds on him before he can move and when his hands settle on her hips it feels more like he's trying to learn her movements than guide them.
He cums first this time, one hand skimming the underwire of her bra.
She barely comes down from her orgasm and pushes off him before her legs are fully steady. She stumbles but recovers. He doesn't ask if she's alright. He listens as pulls on her panties and zips up her jeans. This time she's wordless when she leaves and he's almost worried about her since there's no snappy remarks coming from her lips. There's just a sliver of light as she steps out of the door and it vanishes when she slams it behind her.
He should get up and close it but he can't quite make himself move. Instead he looks at his hand and wonders why it felt so good to touch her. He's never felt this way about a girl and if he's feeling slightly honest he can admit that he's somewhat attracted to her. And for some strange reason he's got a rather intense desire to cup her breasts. When he inspires himself to move he discards the condom, locks his door and drops naked into his desk chair. He spends his friday night locked in his room.
He watches straight porn.
It doesn't arouse him like she does.
He takes charge the next time.
It's one thing when a girl takes charge but he's got to be very careful she doesn't feel like he's forcing himself on her. He knows she wants it and she knows that he knows that but he still starts out feeling like a dirty perv. Like the smooth criminal he sang about. It's only when she whimpers for the first time that he realizes she might be enjoying this. So he lets go of that last little bit of fear and continues to kiss her as he snakes a hand down her body.
He pulls off her underwear and slides his hand into her. It's not the first time he's used his hands on a sex partner, but it's the first time he's done it to a girl. He lets her sounds guide him and when she starts to curse in spanish he knows he's doing something right. Except then he shifts his fingers a bit to the right and she makes a sound of pure want, grinding her hips up towards his hand. Moments later she arches up, pressing her breast against his other hand and moans his name in a way he doesn't think he'll ever forget.
She reaches for his pants but he traps her hand above her head and yanks down his pants with one hand. Somehow he gets the condom on and angle's himself at her entrance. He's not as graceful as as she is but he slides into her with a shaky exhale. He thrusts into her and she arches her hips, meeting his thrust with one of her own. They move together for the first time, picking up each other's rhythm as though they are singing a duet with their bodies.
He slides a hand around her thigh and pulls her wider, desperate to feel more and she angles her pelvis, moving him to where she wants him to be and voices her approval with something that sounds like a curse. They both last longer this time or maybe it's just because they're moving together. She grasps his hand and guides it down between their bodies. He catches what she wants and slides his fingers across her clit. He feels himself tighten but forces himself to wait, holds off until she tightens around him.
For the first time they cum together.
It seems to be a night for firsts, since she doesn't push him away. Instead they stay locked together, her legs around him and his hand on her breast. In the darkness he leans forward and brushes their mouths together. She tries to deepen the kiss but something keeps him from joining in. Instead he kissed her and then pulls back, sliding off her. She pushes herself up and sits for a moment before getting up. She gets dressed as he lays on the bed and watches her shadowed form.
"Aren't you going to tell me next time we should do this at your place?" he asks.
"Why?" she replies, "trying to see my room?"
He pushes himself up and walks over to her, settling a hand on her shoulder.
"You've seen mine," he says.
"Barely," she snaps.
"We can keep the lights off," he says.
"Not going to happen," she replies.
"Why not?" he asks.
"Because I live with my parents," she says.
"And you don't want them to know you're fucking a boy?" he asks.
She turns around and smirks up at him even though they both know he can't see it.
"I don't want them to know I'm fucking you," she shoots back.
"Really?" he asks, and is moderately surprised "why not?"
"For the same reason you keep the lights off," she says.
He opens his mouth to taunt her but realizes that might mean she'll want the lights on and he's not entirely sure what he'll do if that happens. Instead he smirks and chuckles, letting her hear the sound. She makes a noise of pure disgust and turns on her heel, walking off. He steps back when she yanks open the door and when she only shoots him a look of venom he knows he's far enough in the shadows to just be a vague shape.
She slams the door and saunters down the main hallways of Dalton with her hair in it's just-fucked state so that the boys will see and wonder.
Mostly she does it to piss him off.
They win Regionals.
Finn and Rachel manage to keep their mouths off each other, Blaine belts it out and Mercedes brings it home which clinches it for them. The Warblers give them a serious run for their money and she's not sure they've won until they are announced. Everyone is overjoyed and everything fades into the joyous shouting as New Directions cheers and lifts the trophy high over their heads.
She slips off to take off her shoes and the ridiculous get up that screams Rachel Berry. Or that's the excuse she is. In reality New Directions is breaking into their couples and for the first time she isn't dreaming about hiding off with Brittany. Instead she's thinking about Warbler blazers and wondering how a hip sway can become a fucking turn on. She's just closed the door and is wishing slow death on Rachel and her love of ruffles when there's a knock on the door.
No, not a knock. It's a pounding, done by someone used to people opening doors for him.
She considers telling him to fuck off. He hasn't looked at her since she left his dorm room and they've run into each other several times. She's thought about dragging him into a closet, hell she's thought about dragging him into her bedroom but she's waited just a second too long and he's always gone by the time she goes after him. That pisses her off more because if there are two things Santana hates it's rejection and being a coward and now she's somehow got both.
But now she's also got ruffles and buttons and so she pulls open the door to find him on the other side.
His mouth is on hers before she has time to call him on his bullshit. But her mouth's open and he slips his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth before she can curse. He pushes her against the door, closing it with her body and she fumbles messily for the lock. She pants out something and pushes him back.
"Get me out of this thing," she snaps.
He chokes on the monstrosity that is the New Directions costume before finding the buttons and undoing them. She sides the costume off and kicks it to the side, leaving her body clad in nothing but the dark grey lace of her panties. She turns and presses their bodies together, but not before she shoves his Warbler's jacket onto the bathroom floor. She goes for his tie but he swipes her hands away and goes for his pants instead.
It's been a month since they did this and the brief separation only makes it hotter when he finally pushes into her. This time he curses and he does it in french and she bites his shoulder through his white shirt to muffle the moan that escapes her. They fuck hot and fast against the bathroom wall but it's not nearly as messy as the first time they did it. It's still angry and they're both going to have bruises from it but there's a relief in their actions and when she shudders against him he almost forgets why they haven't done this for a month.
She trades her ugly dress and shoes for a tight creation that clads her body in a riot of multicolored stripes. She pulls up her zipper as he fixes his belt. He slides on his jacket as she stuffs her costume and heels into her bag. Thankfully no-one else is there when they leave the bathroom and they head back to their respective teams.
Hours later she gets a text from him congratulating her on their win.
She sends him back a picture that makes him feel like a winner too.
Things come to a head when her grandmother dies.
It happens unexpectedly and before Santana's found a way to make peace. It also happens when she's being fuck buddies with a guy, something her grandmother maybe would have approved of, or certainly would have approved more of than her relationship with Brittany. She's in the Dalton parking lot, basking in the haze that comes with a really good orgasm when her mother calls her. The world dissolves as she all but collapses against her car. She just manages to open the door and hide inside before the tears come.
It's dusk out but by the time she thinks she's got herself enough together to leave it's raining and dark out. Between the rain and the tears she can barely see the huge ass building that is Dalton, much less the narrow lines that are supposed to tell her which side of the road she's going to be driving on. It also happens to be a saturday night and there's a crowd of Dalton boys about to go out drinking. She thinks to hide herself just in case but one of them is already breaking off and it's too late. She's got the key in the ignition by the time he comes over and raps on the window.
To his credit he doesn't ask if she's alright. She somehow unlocks the door and he opens it and pulls her out and tucks her under his umbrella.
He slides his arm around her back and grabs her keys, locking the door behind him. He steers her up towards the dorm room, waving off his friends as he pulls her into the dorm. She drops onto his bed which is still rumpled from their previous activity. He's freaked out because he doesn't think he's ever seen her so uncontrolled. Even her anger is controlled, at least around him anyway. He works up the loose floorboard where he's hidden the scotch he keeps on hand for emergencies and gives her the bottle.
"My abuela's dead," she says and looks at him vacantly, "she kicked me out of her life because I told her I was gay."
Words fail him because even though he knows exactly how that feels, the fact that two hours ago they were fucking makes the words frizzle in his throat. So instead he sits next to her and shares the bottle with her so she doesn't have to drink alone. He lets her cry and doesn't ask why she isn't picking up her phone to be with someone else. She drinks most of it but he consumes enough to leave his head in a fog and the world with a blurry edge.
He wakes up with a feeling like paper in his mouth and Santana against his chest. He gropes for his phone and grabs hers by accident. Her missed calls are nearing the triple digits but stop around three am. He puts hers down and picks up his own. His last text was to Blaine at two thirty in the 's a jumble of letters but the message she's with him is there as well. He drops the phone and throws his arm over his eyes against the light and falls asleep all over again.
The sound of her voice wakes him hours later.
She's speaking softly in spanish to her mother, whispering because as much as she wants to run away she doesn't want to leave the bed. She tells her mother she's fine, she's safe. She doesn't tell her that she's in bed with a boy because she can't. Not like this, not after she ruined her relationship with her grandmother by telling her something that is so much more complicated than she thought possible. That complication is laying inches away dressed in a t-shirt with his hair mussed and his forearm thrown over his eyes.
When she hangs up she lowers the phone in time to see him moving his forearm out of the way. He lays there and they look at each other silently. Something has shifted, whether they are prepared for it or not. The short answer is they aren't, but she's spent the night using him as a kleenex and there's light in his bedroom for the first time. He pushes himself up and tugs her back down. She tucks herself against him and lays her head on his chest.. His mouth is paper dry so he doesn't know what possesses him to sing, but he does anyway.
It's low and soft and french and so pretty that Santana forgets to cry. Or perhaps, she thinks, she's got no more tears. Instead she reaches down and traces the mess of scars that cover his forearm. His voice only falters once, at the same time shivers work up his spine, but he continues all the same. She picks up the tune and hums along, the soft notes of her voice catching the tune he's known since his mother announced they were moving to France. The music they make is gentle and kind and so unlike the songs they usually sing.
He expects it to feel more wrong than it actually does.
To their credit they don't lash out at each other just because of what's happened.
Not much anyway.
They have a three day marathon of rough, angry sex in the wake of her grandmother's funeral that leaves them both bruised but feeling marginally better. Their respective choirs know something is going on, but blissfully none of them connect the dots. It helps that he thinks football is stupid and she tells him she'd rather watch paint dry than a bunch of boys slam into each other and toss balls back and forth. The only time they see each other with their respective groups of friends is at Scandals or on the rare occasions when their choirs will meet up at smaller competitions.
It's almost fun to see how much they can pretend they hate each other. It's like a game, to see if they can fool the world without giving it away. Soon they add little things like if they can reference something almost romantic or if they can slip something in the other doesn't know. They get more and more daring. They'll be arguing and he'll brush a finger across her hand or she'll touch the nape of his neck. He flirts with a hot guy whose oddly resistant until he realize's she's slipped her panties into his pocket but left half of them dangling out. The next time they fuck he leaves a hickie on her throat that's nearly impossible to hide, not that she'd try.
Then one day they're arguing and underneath the table she kicks off her heels and slides her foot up his leg before settling her toes delicately in his crotch. She's always known girls are better at multitasking than boys and proves it as she taunts him with her lips and rubs him off with her toes. He keeps up for the first minute or so, until she leans forward and gives him a full view of her cleavage. She leaves him choking on his water before staggering off to the bathroom with a hasty excuse.
She follows him ten minutes later and join a long list of people who've christened the Scandal's unisex bathroom.
They continue to fight and fuck and taunt and tease for longer than they should. What they have isn't a relationship, even though his constant stream of conquests seems to shrink and then dry up entirely. She lets Brittany go because what is happening isn't fair to either of them anymore. Her parents sit her down and try to tell her that her abuela wouldn't want her to be unhappy like this. She entertains the idea for as long as it takes Sebastian to yank her underwear down and fuck her with his mouth. And then his hands and finally his cock.
They meet each other's parents completely by accident. They surprise him ten minutes before she does and she sits through an incredibly awkward introduction wearing only a trench coat. He gets hurt during lacrosse and winds up at her father's practice at the same time she's there to talk to her dad about Nationals. One day it hits them that most of the major relationship milestones they've already crossed without actually being in one. The thought makes her more than a little sick and nervous, but oddly the idea of running suddenly seems like a less desirable one.
Neither tries to change what's going on. Neither really wants to even though they can feel the breaking point approaching. She's actually almost sad when it comes to Nationals because they're in New York again and that's fucking far away from Lima. It's one of the first times she's been sad to leave. Still New York is amazing and they rock at sectionals. No-one makes out, no-one steals their songs, everyone bands together and they do an amazing job that has Mr. Schue in tears.
They win and she doesn't think she can smile any wider.
Then she realizes he's sitting in the front row cheering and she discovers that yes, in fact, she can.
It doesn't piss her off nearly as much as she thinks it should.
So yeah, no excuses and i took a bunch of liberties with characters but oh well.
Hope you enjoyed it!