This was written as a fill for this prompt on the Glee Kink Meme: So, it seems Quinn is a pretty heavy smoker now. And I want someone to find it as darkly beautiful and arousing as I do right now. Feel free to incorporate the pink hair and general punk/hipster turn-ons as well. Weird bonus points if Quinn can blow smoke rings, although obviously that would usually take more than one summer to learn.
Author's note: I neither endorse nor disapprove of smoking. To each their own. But smoking can be bad for your health, so don't anyone get any ideas and blame me, okay? Also, this is my first time writing Quinn/Santana, so let me know if you like it.
Nicotine
Quinn runs into Santana under the bleachers during the second week of school. It's early in the afternoon, during one of the classes after lunch, and everyone is inside being all productive and academic. Just the thought of it bores her, so she decides to skip and go out to the football field to have a cigarette. She would still be bored, but she figured that at least she could smoke outside.
But lo and behold, there's Santana, sitting underneath the bleachers, a White Owl in her hand. She's wearing her Cheerio uniform, but her hair is down and Quinn watches her form her lips into an oval, releasing the smoke she had been holding slowly. She flicks some of the ashes off the end of the cigarillo and glances up, noticing Quinn. "Hey," she says by way of greeting. "Skipping already? Well, aren't you all badass now?"
Quinn quirks an eyebrow at her and watches Santana wrap her lips around the end of her White Owl. Quinn is oddly transfixed by the sight and wonders if everything that Santana Lopez does is so beautifully obscene (past experience tells her yes.) With an eye roll and half-a-glare, she sits down across from Santana, leaning back against a metal support beam.
She shrugs, remembering that there was a reason she came outside. She lit her cigarette and puffed on it gratefully, letting the smoke fill her lungs and the nicotine flood through her blood. "I just couldn't be bothered to sit through another status-quo-maintaining lecture on the beauty and perfection of the patriarchy that's suppressing its citizens."
"Do you even know what the fuck you just said?" Santana huffs.
"I could teach you a thing or two," Quinn replies. She crosses her legs at the ankle, smirking. She's been practicing all summer, and in a move that her forty-year-old ex-boyfriend taught her, manages to blow a smoke ring. She sits satisfied, waiting for Santana's reaction.
Santana looks unimpressed. "Oh, a smoke ring, good for you," she says. "Did you stay up all summer practicing?"
Quinn's half-glare turns into a full-glare. It had only been a week since Santana begged her to come back to the Cheerios and the glee club, and she couldn't even be bothered to at least care that Quinn had perfected something that had taken her a while. Not that Santana would ever admit it to anyone, but Quinn had been friends with her when she started smoking and it had taken Santana a while to perfect the art of blowing smoke rings.
"I picked it up faster than you did," she shoots back.
Santana rolls her eyes. "Congratulations, it only took you three years to grow a spine."
Quinn just stares at her, caught again in watching Santana smoke her White Owl like a fucking pro. "I don't get how you can smoke those," she comments nonchalantly, taking another drag from her cigarette. "What's the fun in not inhaling?"
"I like the taste," Santana winks, smirking. "Plus, there's more tobacco."
Quinn shakes her head. She didn't care so much about the tobacco, she needed the rush, the familiar burn in her chest when she inhales a little too deep and holds it a little too long. She needs the nicotine and she needs the tar and the chemicals and everything that's bad about smoking inside her, eating away at her body while her thoughts eat away at her mind.
The taste, though…that's another story. And before she knows what she's doing, she's across the length of the bleachers, kissing Santana. Because Santana is as bad as she is and as hurt and angry at the world and maybe they can eat away at each other.
But Quinn is so lost in staring at the way Santana's mouth moves while she smokes that she doesn't notice that Santana's in the middle of blowing smoke out of her mouth when Quinn pounces on her. When their lips meet, the smoke from her cigarillo blows right into Quinn's open mouth.
It tastes strongly of tobacco, stronger than her cigarette, and a little less toxic. It's heady and it makes her a little dizzy and before she can say anything, Santana is pulling away from her. Quinn's cigarette is still between her fingers and she inhales again, realizing that she's straddling Santana, pinning her to the ground.
Santana doesn't move. She just sits beneath Quinn, her eyes wandering over her body, taking in the sight of her pink hair and her cut-off shirt and her nose ring. When her eyes wander back up to Quinn's face and she licks her lips, Quinn leans forward. She watches Santana's pupils dilate and opens her mouth, creating an 'o' and blowing a ring of smoke right into Santana's pretty little face.
That's all it takes for Santana to surge forward and kiss her again, pressing their lips together with force. Santana's tongue pushes its way into her mouth and she fights it for dominance, because she is Quinn Fabray and she's a punk rebel now and she's going to win this.
She brings her hands to Santana's shoulders and pushes her until she cries out from the force of the metal beam digging into her back. She keeps her cigarette in one hand and brings her free hand down to the strips of fabric making up Santana's skirt. Quinn pushes her spanks aside and slides her fingers up Santana's folds teasingly.
Santana moans and Quinn knows that she has the girl just where she wants her. She rests her cigarette between her lips, keeping them parted slightly to hold it there, and meets Santana's eyes when she pushes two fingers inside her.
Quinn's still on top of her and she has her cigarette dangling precariously between her pink lips and she can see that Santana wants to kiss her, wants something to do with her mouth. She starts thrusting her fingers in and out of Santana vigorously and a smirk settles on her face as Santana squirms and pants underneath her. Not to be outdone by Quinn's force, Santana rakes her hand up Quinn's arm, digging her fingernails into the flesh. She runs her hand all the way up Quinn's neck, leaving long scratches all the way up to her head. Quinn adds a third finger in retaliation and winces when Santana responds by gripping Quinn's hair tightly between her fingers.
She yanks Quinn's hair and presses her thigh upward against Quinn's center. "Pink is a good color for you," she says, breathless.
Quinn shifts her hips, lowering herself against Santana's thigh and taking a drag from her cigarette. She's wet, practically dripping, and she's trying not to moan too loudly. Her lungs are burning and she exhales with a gasp. Santana is watching her with hooded eyes, watching Quinn ride her and fuck her, and she reaches up to take Quinn's cigarette away from her.
Quinn's just about to protest, because fuck, she needs the nicotine and the health risk. But Santana brings the cigarette to her own lips and inhales, and fuck it, Santana can keep the cigarette if she's going to look that good smoking it while Quinn has three fingers buried inside her.
She can feel that Santana is close and she curls her fingers, her arm on fire from the angle and the force she's using. Santana shifts and her hips buck. She rolls them upwards, allowing her to move with Quinn, press her thigh up against Quinn until they're both moaning and crying out. Quinn pushes herself as far inside Santana as she can until Santana is writhing underneath her and calling out her name. When Santana comes, she practically collapses and all but begs Quinn to stop thrusting.
When Quinn tries to keep going, tries to keep fucking Santana so she can feel the movement of her hips and the wetness between her legs, Santana grabs her hair again. She slides her fingers up Quinn's skirt and finds her clit, lets her fingers circle and rub it furiously.
Quinn can feel pressure building up in her stomach and she snatches the cigarette back from Santana, sliding up while she breathes in as much as she can. When she comes, finally, she forgets to breathe out and soon she's coughing.
Santana kisses her then, while she's coughing and trying to catch her breath. But Santana doesn't let her and Quinn remembers why she does what she does – it's the burn and the risk and the fact that it tears her up inside. It's tragic as hell and she knows it, but it feels good when all is said is done, when she walks around for the rest of the day with scratch marks on her arms and neck and obscenely sticky thighs and the taste of Santana on her fingers.
They don't cross paths during the next few days, but Quinn runs into Santana under the bleachers during the third week of school. And the fourth.