Another night being pushed on the bed.
Another night with a beauitiful Latina on top of her, making her moan, scream, arch and writhe at her very touch.
She knew all of your sweet spots, every single last one. She knew when to press them, when to rub them, when to be rough, when to be gentle.
She knew everything about you.
This time, you're pressed against a wall in the lockerroom, the Latina daring you to scream, to alert someone of the goddamn shivers she send up your spine by simply whispering.
Daring you to reveal your long-kept secret.
You hear the door open, and you quickly tense. Not now, not when you're so close to release, not when she just has to touch you one more time- one more fucking time- and you'll be there. At that beautiful, short moment of complete ectasy where all you think about is 'fuck I wish this lasted longer'.
But no.
Ruined by a rookie cheerleader.
Santana pulls away, pulling your skirt back down, a look of indifference on her face, perfectly nonchalant from months of practice.
"Rookie." She murmurs at the girl, eyes cold, voice hard.
You nod in agreement, raising an eyebrow in your normal Fabray way.
The younger girl doesn't look down, she doesn't even seem phased by the coldness of you two.
Instead, she seems to be in awe.
"Quinn, Santana."
Santana narrows her eyes, and you know what's about to go down.
"Katherine," Santana purrs in an almost sweet way.
The young blonde looks ready to correct her, until Santana cuts her off.
"I'm not going to call you 'Kitty', sweetie." She bends down, now eye-level with the girl.
"And you don't scare me. You may be Queen Bitch next year, but for now, me and my girl are sharings that title, so I suggest you back the fuck up before I ends you, got it?"
Kitty almost looks hurt, before the look of awe returns.
"I like you two." She says, a bright smile on her face as she walks past them.
Santana scoffs, rolling her eyes, though you can see the small gleam of pride in her eyes at being some girl's role model.
You know she can see the same gleam in your eyes, but she doesn't comment.
Not an hour later, Santana has you on the couch, but this time, it's different.
She doesn't rush it, doesn't shove her hands into your bra, attack your mouth with hers, doesn't rip off your clothes.
She's sweet, and she takes it slow.
It starts off with a strange, gentle and sweet kiss, which you happily oblige to.
She slowly makes her way towards your neck, sucking gently on your neck, not trying to leave a mark this time.
Her hands inch slowly towards your breasts, rubbing them gently, and you slowly start curling your body around hers, moving into her lap, completely at her mercy.
She gently takes you into her arms, carrying you to her bed, laying you softly down on it.
She gives you a sweet, happy smile as her hand inches ever downwards, very slowly reaching your entrance.
You seem to purr in excitement, bucking your hips towards her fingers, which elicites a small laugh from her. She slowly slides her fingers into you, making sure you're ready, and being overly gentle.
You reach your orgasm after a while, and she's moves up next to you, placing a kiss on your cheek, a warm smile on her face, lighting up her features.
And you can swear you're in love with her.
You're happy, and she's happy, and if anyone saw you two right now, they would think you were a couple.
And then the moment ends, and Santana turns onto her side, closing her eyes.
"Night, Q." She mumbles, nonchalance inching into her tone.
You let out a small sigh, turning on your side as well. "Night, San."
After a few moments of silence, she turns again, wrapping her arms around you and holding you close, nipping your ear gently and stroking your hair until you fall asleep in her arms.
That night, your dreams are full of Santana.
She's not there when you wake up, and you know disappointment must be showing on your features.
"Love you, San." You mumble to yourself, curling up.
"Love you..."