She's never there when he wakes up in the morning, but she always leaves a note.
Santana's never been a handsy drunk, so, yeah, Finn is fucking surprised when she reaches over and rubs her hand over the front of his jeans.
Mike is sprawled out on their living room floor where he passed out halfway through his cheesy gordita crunch when the three of them got back from the bar. It was four dollar you-call-it night at Hornet's, so they went out and got drunk. Sam came and picked the three of them up (because he's kind of the best roommate ever), took them through the drive-thru at Taco Bell, and went to bed when they decided that they wanted to watch Transformers. As far as Finn knows, nothing happened tonight that was different than any other night they've gone out in the last three and a half years since they all came to the same university.
Except the super fucking dirty look in Santana's eyes when he glances over at her, the little gleam there when she gives him just a little more pressure and moves her hand over him again.
"This movie is boring," she tells him simply.
He doesn't even know how she moves so fast, but she gets his jeans unbuttoned and is already sliding her fingers past the waistband when he grabs her wrist to still her movements. "What the hell, Santana?"
She shrugs, slides her fingers back and forth a little against the skin just above his boxers where he's trapped them. "You're kind of turning me on."
He gapes at her for a second. "I'm just sitting here."
She shrugs again, slings one leg over his lap and straddles his thighs, forcing him to release her hand. "It's probably the rum talking," she admits, then she leans forward and nips at his lips a little. "Just kiss me a little, Finn."
He pulls his head back a little so he can look at her, and he knows her well enough that he can see in her eyes that she's goading him. She's spent years perfecting this game - fuck, it's worked on him before, even if that was years ago. But she doesn't fuck around like she used to, and he's still really drunk, so he leans forward and kisses her.
She doesn't waste any time, pushes herself forward so their hips are pressed together and threads her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, and it feels fucking amazing when she rolls her hips and pushes her tongue into his mouth.
He skims his lips up her jaw, lets his tongue dart out to taste the skin just beneath her ear. "How is your skin sweet?" he asks, his lips against her ear, because he really wants to know.
"Fuck. Finn." She rolls her hips against his again, the grip she has on his hair tightening just enough to feel awesome, and he's so fucking hard.
"San." She kisses him hard, slides her tongue against his until he moans into her mouth. "Santana," he mutters against her lips. "My room."
Her eyes are dark when she slides out of his lap, and he kind of hates it just because he isn't getting any friction against his cock any more. She blinks at him twice, taking a slow, deep breath, then turns her back and walks out of the room.
It takes him about half a second to follow.
He doesn't really mean to slam the bedroom door behind him, but that's sort of what happens when you shove somebody up against a door with your body before it's all the way closed.
Santana sucks in a breath when he attaches his lips to her neck, sucking hard at her pulse point as he pushes her jeans down her hips. He groans against her skin when he realizes that she's not wearing panties, nips her collarbone with his teeth when he slips a hand between her thighs and feels how wet she is.
Her head drops back, knocking off the door with a dull thud. "Jesus fucking Christ. Finn." She's stepping out of her jeans as she unzips his and pushes them down his hips with his boxers. "Fuck me."
It's a command, but he really doesn't mind.
He takes her from behind, and it's hot as fuck. She comes with a scream, and then again when she rides him, his name on her lips as she takes him over the edge with her.
He falls asleep beside her, one hand resting on her back as she sleeps on on her stomach, but he's alone when the slamming front door wakes him up the next morning. He reaches for his phone to check the time, but his fingers close around a scrap of paper.
It was a fun. Thanks.
It's written on the back of the Taco Bell receipt from the night before, blue ink on top of the gray text that covers the paper, and she's signed it with just an S.
He doesn't see her for a few weeks because even though they're friends, they don't hang out all that often, and they're both busy with school. And, yeah, he thinks about it because it was fucking hot and he'd like to do it again.
And then again.
When he walks into his favorite dive bar on a Thursday night, he already knows Santana is there. He's meeting Mike and Sam and whoever else is there for lots of cheap, crappy beer and pool, and Sam texted him an hour ago to see where he was and to tell him who was already there. Coming here has turned into kind of a tradition; they never card, so the guys have been coming for the pitcher special just about every Thursday night since freshman year. This semester's kind of the best, 'cause Finn's schedule worked out so he doesn't have class at all on Fridays and he can really take advantage of his Thursday nights.
Santana's ass is literally the first thing he sees when he walks in the door.
Shit.
She's leaned over at a pool table, her ass on display in dark, skinny jeans she's wearing tucked into black leather boots.
She juts her chin in his direction when she sees him, but he just sits at a table with Sam and their friend Alex and knocks back a few beers while they watch her kick Chang's ass at pool. And he doesn't really mean to get up and follow her when she crosses the bar to go to the bathroom, but that's sort of (exactly) what happens.
He kind of feels like a creep while he waits for her, lingering in the super-narrow hallway with one hand shoved in his pocket, but whatever. It's worth it when she walks out, her eyes down as she adjusts the neckline of her gray tank top over her boobs. "Hey," she greets when she looks up and see him there, eyes a little wide.
"Really, Santana?"
Her eyes narrow. "What?"
He takes a step towards her, and the hallway is so narrow that she ends up pressed back against the wall as he puts one hand against it next to her head, boxing her in a little. "We should do it again," he murmurs quietly, his free hand landing on her hip and squeezing gently before he slips his thumb up under the hem of her tank top to brush the bare skin above the waistband of her jeans.
She looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He drags the tip of his index finger along her collarbone, then curves his hand around her shoulder. "Did you know that your chest gets all flushed when you come?" he asks casually, sharing his observation. "It looks kind of awesome."
Santana lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but he isn't sure. "Fuck." She shakes her head a little, then tips her head back enough that she can meet his eyes. "I can't. I have a presentation tomorrow in class."
Fuck. He knows Santana, knows that she takes this shit seriously. Yeah, she's out and he's seen her sipping beer, but she definitely isn't drunk, and if she has a presentation tomorrow, she isn't planning on getting drunk. He keeps his disappointment to himself, though he leans down and brushes his lips over her shoulder. "Okay," he says against her skin, shrugging one shoulder.
"God, Finn." She shifts her hips a little, brings one hand up to grasp his chin and guide his mouth to where she wants it, kissing him hard. She clutches his shoulder with her free hand, whimpering into his mouth when he traces his tongue against the seam of her lips. After a long moment, she pushes on his shoulders and drops her head down so he can't kiss her again. "I have to go."
"San."
She slides away from him and is gone before he can say anything, and he's left standing there in the hallway, half-hard and alone and feeling, again, like a creep.
She's waiting in his living room when he gets home one night.
He was at a night class, working hard not to doze off in the middle of a lecture on the significance of the black plague in twelfth century Europe, and all he wants to do is sit on the couch and stare at the TV for a while. He walks in and drops his bag by the door, then sort of freezes when he sees Santana sitting on the couch. She's wearing a dark blue dress and black heels, and she's drinking beer - his beer - from the bottle as she watches something on the TV.
"Uh, hey."
"Mike let me in," she says in lieu of a greeting, glancing over at him. "He and Sam are both gone."
Whatever. He kind of wants to know why she's here, but he thinks he can probably wait until she volunteers the information, so he just toes off his shoes and walks through the living room to the kitchen. He takes his time getting a beer out of the fridge, takes a long, slow sip of it before going back into the living room and sitting next to her on the couch.
He has time to prop his feet up on the coffee table and figure out that she's watching fucking 16 and Pregnant on MTV, which he knows she hates more than almost anything else, before she says anything. It's enough time that he sort of worries that there's something seriously wrong.
"My dad is such a fucking asshole."
He glances over at her, sees that she's staring straight at the TV and blinking fast, just the way his mom always does when she's about to cry. Shit.
"I had dinner with them," she goes on after a few seconds. "I'm just..." She trails off, rolling her eyes. "I'm never going to be good enough, you know?"
He doesn't, not really. His mom and Burt really, honestly just want him and Kurt to be happy, and they don't seem too bothered by how either of their sons get there. Even still, he nods, thinks about offering her a hug, but decides against it. "Yeah," he finally says, and it feels a little lame. "But you know that you are, right?" She turns her head and looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since he got home. "I don't know what he could find to be mad about."
She lets out a little laugh and shakes her head before draining the rest of her beer. "Come on," she says, standing up. She watches him take a drink of his beer with a little smile on her lips. "You're going to do me a favor."
"Yeah?"
She bites her bottom lip and nods. "You're going to fuck me until I don't remember how shitty tonight was," she tells him.
He starts to laugh because he doesn't know what to say to that, but it dies on his lips when he sees the expression on her face.
She's totally serious.
He keeps his eyes locked with hers as he drains his beer, sits the empty bottle on the coffee table as he stands up and takes her hand to lead her down the hall to his room. He flicks on the lamp on his bedside table while she closes the door, and when he turns around to look at her, she's just standing there in a a dress that looks like it belongs on a Kardashian, watching him.
His hands find the zipper at the back of the dress the moment his lips find hers.
He figures that if she wants to forget her night, he's going to need to drive her half-crazy. He spends what feels like forever just kissing her, teasing lightly between her legs with his fingertips until she shoves hard at his chest and tells him that if he doesn't get inside her, she's going to make sure that he's not able to have children. (As if the world needs more Finn fucking Hudsons, she mutters breathlessly as he's kissing up her body.) He makes her fall apart on his tongue twice before he fucks her so hard he's honestly worried that he's hurting her, except she's practically screaming out his name and and arching her back and digging her fingernails into her shoulder blades, so he just keeps doing what he's doing.
Santana's basically a dude about half the time, so he isn't surprised when she falls asleep right after. And, honestly? He knows he got her good, so she's allowed or whatever.
When his alarm goes off the next morning, he finds a blue post-it note stuck to the lampshade on the bedside table.
Thank you.
Just like last time, it's signed with an S.
"I need a favor."
Okay, the last time she told him she needed a favor, they ended up having crazy good sex, so there's no way she can be surprised that that's where his mind goes. He knows she isn't, because she's smirking and her eyes look totally filthy when they dart down to his lips.
"Stop." She's grinning. "I need you to come with me to my cousin's wedding."
He raises his eyebrows. "Like a date?"
"Like a buffer." She sighs and rolls her eyes. "My mom has been giving me shit lately about wanting grandchildren and me being single, so I told her I was dating a guy just to shut her up."
"You told her you were dating me?" She makes this helpless little noise and shrugs her shoulders. "You told her you were dating me!"
She lets out another heavy sigh. "It just kind of came out. Look, are you free next Saturday?"
So that's how he ends up in a suit and tie, sitting on the right side of an enormous church with like, two hundred other people.
He gazes down at the dark red velvet-covered kneeler in front of him, nudges Santana with his elbow gently. "You'll tell me when I'm supposed to kneel or whatever, right?"
"You aren't Catholic, Finn. You don't kneel. You just pretend that you aren't bored out of your fucking mind," she tells him lowly.
He kind of wishes she wouldn't swear in a church, but he doesn't tell her that. He just sits there quietly, stands when everyone else does, tries to make himself look smaller when every single person in the pews around him kneels for the prayers or whatever and he just sits there.
By the time the bride - who's wearing the biggest white dress Finn's ever seen - and groom exchange rings, he's feeling kind of antsy. "Is this almost over?"
She glances up at him apologetically, and he thinks he sees just a hint of guilt in her eyes. "Not even close."
He feels really weird when Santana leaves with everyone else to do the communion thing, but she winks at him when she comes back and sits beside him, and she looks gorgeous in the sort of nude-colored dress she's wearing. It's all floaty and shows off her arms and chest without showing a ton of cleavage. It's a little more conservative than the dresses she usually wears, but that almost makes it better. Her hair is curled softly, and he can't stop himself from brushing a piece of it back when crosses her legs in the seat next to his. He thinks that the fact that she doesn't knock his hand away is probably some sort of progress in their friendship, though she does give him an odd look.
After the recessional, she grabs his hand and tugs him away from the crowd of people heading ot the back of the church, through a narrow door in the side of the sanctuary, and shushes him when he tries to ask where they're going. Her heels click loudly on the tile floor as they walk, then she leads him through a doorway and into what is obviously the nursery. He has no idea how she knows her way around this church since she told him that she'd never been here when she programmed the address into the GPS in her car when they drove out of the city this morning. She presses her phone and a tube of lipstick into his hand as she digs through her little clutch purse.
"What the hell, San?"
Triumphant is definitely the right word for the look on her face when she pulls a flask out of her bag. "This reception is going to suck, so we need to start drinking now," she explains, twisting the cap off the flask. "Do you want to stay sober enough to drive home, or do you want me to?"
He blinks at her when she takes a long pull off the flask and holds it out to him. "I can, I guess." If she brought a flask, he figures she probably actually needs it. He takes a little sip and feels the vodka burn down the back of his throat. "Look, are you serious about this fake boyfriend stuff?"
Her nose wrinkles a little when she takes her second drink from the flask. "Yes. Honestly, I'll do anything to keep my mom off my back right now."
Finn thinks her whole family situation is sort of fucked up. Her dad wants her to be perfect academically, expects her to graduate with honors and go straight to business school or law school or something, and her mom wants her to get married to a perfect, wealthy man and have perfect, pretty babies like, five minutes ago. The whole thing makes him that much more grateful for his mom.
"All right," Finn agrees, watching her take two long drink from the flask. If her goal is to be half-drunk when they get to the reception, she's definitely on the way.
Santana kills the last of the flask on the drive to the banquet hall where the reception is being held, takes his hand when they're walking across the parking lot. She quirks an eyebrow when he laces their fingers together, and he just shrugs. He likes how delicate her fingers seem and the way their palms press together like this.
They make it all the way to the bar before they meet one of her family members, her Grandma Bee.
"And who's this tall fellow?" she asks after she's hugged Santana, gazing up at Finn. This woman is seriously tiny, but she still sort of looks like she could kick his ass. It's like a glimpse into Santana's future.
"My boyfriend, Finn," Santana answers with a smile, taking his hand again. "Finn, this is my Grandma Bee."
The woman looks at him thoughtfully, appraising as they exchange pleasantries and Santana sips her vodka tonic. It's a routine they run through at least a dozen times with various members of Santana's family, including her parents (though they've met Finn before). Santana gets drunker and clingier as they move around the room, and when they finally sit at their table, she's practically sitting in his lap. He doesn't hate it.
He kind of digs it, actually.
They're just sort of sitting there after they've eaten dinner, and Finn spots Santana's mom standing next to the bar in her white dress. (And isn't that like, against the girl rules or wedding rules or something?) She's watching her daughter, and even though he doesn't have a personal reason not to like the woman, he really doesn't. He figures he should give her something to look at, so he says Santana's name quietly, cups her cheek in his hand when she turns her head, and kisses her gently. Her hand comes up to grip his shoulder, and he pulls away before she gets a chance to deepen the kiss.
"What was that for?"
"Wanted to." He shrugs a little. "It's kind of a bonus that your mom was watching."
She lets out a little laugh that she only has when she's been drinking. It's pretty cute.
She leans forward until her lips are against his ear, murmurs, "I'm going to make all of this so worth your while, Finn."
They leave right after the cake has been served and they've each devoured a piece, though she somehow manages to grab another on their way out the door, plate and all. She's half-lit and kind of hilarious as he drives her car back to the city, singing along with the radio and feeding him bites of cake with her fingers.
She turns off the radio when they get into the city, leans across the console and starts murmuring all sorts of dirty things and pushing her fingers through his hair and just under the collar of his shirt. She just smirks when he calls her a tease, bites her lip and says, "You know I'm good for it."
Sam's car is in the driveway when Finn gets to the guys' house, but he seriously doesn't care. Santana's been running her hand over the front of his pants for the last ten blocks or so. He's hard and she's fucking gorgeous and he needs to be inside her in the next five minutes or he might lose his mind.
He tells her that while he drags her up the sidewalk, and she moans. "God, Finn." His name sounds so good on her lips that he can't help himself. He pushes her back against the wall next to the front door and kisses her hard. "You're making me crazy," she says against his lips.
He tells her that she's been making him crazy all day, which is true, though he knows better than to mention that at least half of it was the way it sounded when she said, 'My boyfriend, Finn.'
There's no teasing. He works carefully to get her out of her dress, but after that it's fast and a little rough and so good it's stupid.
Chang is addicted to air conditioning, so the house is a little cold, and Santana doesn't freak out when Finn moves close to her, his chest against her back, and lets his hand fall to her thigh when they're both already half-asleep.
He's in exactly the same spot when he wakes up the next morning, except alone, and he's a little annoyed, both at Santana for leaving and himself for being such a deep sleeper.
This time, the note is written in red Sharpie on one of the cocktail napkins from the wedding emblazoned with the newlyweds' names and the date, left on the empty pillow where her head was when he fell asleep.
I probably still owe you for all that. Thanks again.
There's a little xx before the S at the bottom.
The guys go out to Hornet's for Finn's birthday, and he's already drunk when Santana shows up. It's hot as fuck outside, so she's wearing a tiny denim skirt and a plain white wifebeater. Her hair is twisted up in one of those messy knot things and he can see her light pink bra through her almost-sheer tank top.
There's no fucking way he's not taking her home with him tonight.
He waits until she goes up to the bar to get a drink, then pushes his way past everyone else to press himself against her back, trapping her between the bar and his body. He's had a lot of tequila, which is probably why he puts his hand flat on her stomach and pulls her back against him when he leans down to whisper in her ear.
"You know you're coming home with me, right?" He nips at her earlobe with his teeth. "Coming here looking like that, you had to know."
The muscles in her stomach jump under his hand when she grinds her ass back against him, and the only thing that keeps him from spinning her around and wrapping her legs around his waist is the fact that they're in a crowded bar.
She turns her head and he leans down just a little further so she can speak into his ear. "You're fucking ridiculous."
He doesn't say anything, just grinds himself against her again before letting her go and walking away.
If he keeps that shit up, he's going to want to drag her off to the bathroom or something, and he thinks she's better than that.
She takes the seat next to his at their table, and he doesn't even really think about it before he puts his hand on her thigh and lets his fingertips graze the inside of her knee. He ignores the warning glance she gives him, just carries on with his conversation with Mike about the Indians' chances of making the playoffs. His pinky finds a sensitive spot on her skin, and she sucks in a breath, grabs his hand to still his fingers. He doesn't acknowledge any of it, just turns his hand in hers until their fingers are laced together and he sweeps his thumb over the pulse in her wrist.
He can hear from the way her breath sometimes catches that he's getting to her, and he's kind of making himself crazy at the same time.
They last an hour and seven minutes, exactly, from the time Santana walks through the front door until she stands and tugs him with her, interrupting his conversation with Sam and dragging him towards the door without any explanation.
He ends up sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh when he's kissing her on the cab ride back to his place, and he really, really wants to press his hand against her center, but the driver is definitely watching them in the mirror and he doesn't want some creeper seeing Santana that way.
She pulls his shirt over his head as soon as they're in the house, and she pushes him back on his bed when they get to his room. "It's your birthday," she states, unbuttoning her skirt and letting it fall around her feet.
He licks his lips as he watches her undress. "Yeah."
A slow, dirty smile spreads across her lips. "What do you want?" she asks, pushing her panties down off her hips.
He groans aloud as he looks at her and considers his options. Maybe it's because there isn't any blood left in his brain, but all he can think to say is, "Just you."
She lets out a sound that might be a whimper, then she's climbing up on the bed to straddle his hips, kissing him deep and slow as her fingers push through his hair.
After, when he's just caught his breath and he's lying on his stomach beside her, he looks over. "Santana?"
"Mmm?" Her eyes are closed and her hair, which he tugged out of its knot a while ago, is fanned out over his pillows.
"Stay this time."
He sees her swallow, but she keeps her eyes closed and doesn't say anything.
And when he wakes up the next morning and finds Happy Birthday scrawled on a piece of notebook paper on the empty side of his bed, he doesn't feel anything but resignation.
The next time it happens, it doesn't start as anything special. They're out with friends, but neither of them are drunk. She's wearing these little black shorts that he loves, and she kisses him when he tells her that.
His house is empty when they get there, so he goes down on her on the couch in the living room before they go to his room.
He doesn't bother to ask her to stay this time. Instead, he pulls her close to him, tangles their legs together and wraps one arm around her torso in an effort to keep her close.
She murmurs a quiet, "Don't, Finn," when he presses his lips to the top of her head.
He ignores her.
The note on his bedside table the next morning reads, I couldn't.
The thing is, he knows Santana. He thinks he gets her. And somewhere, in the depths of her brain, she thinks that waking up next to him turns this thing they're doing into some kind of commitment, and it freaks her out. And maybe it would make it more than it is, he's not sure. He isn't opposed to that, though it's not really something he's pursuing.
Honestly - and it sounds lame - he just wants a chance to have lazy morning sex, to see what her skin looks like in the morning sunlight, hear her voice all thick with sleep.
When he starts planning, he sort of feels like a creep for thinking about it so hard, but he figures that it's going to get him what he wants, and she's going to get something out of it too, so it's okay. Besides, it's not like Santana will object to what he's intending, and in the long run, he thinks this will be a good thing.
"I need a favor," he tells her when she answers the phone.
She's laughing when she asks him what he wants.
"Look, my day really sucked, and I just need a distraction or whatever," he lies. He slept till noon and spent the day fucking around the house. "I thought maybe you could help me out since you still owe me from the wedding."
"I guess I do, don't I?" she says with a little laugh. "I'm in the middle of something. I can come over in a couple hours."
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "All right. Sam and Mike are both gone, but I'll leave the door unlocked."
He's sitting on the couch watching Sports Center when she comes in, walking over and kneeling between his legs as her hands work open his belt. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Hi."
Holy fucking shit.
Her mouth is hot and wet and fucking perfect around his cock, and he's so distracted by that and the way her hair feels threaded between his fingers that he almost doesn't pull her off in time. He pushes her over the arm of the couch and takes her hard from behind
She looks over at him and lets out a little hum when they collapse onto his bed. "You'll be good to go again soon, right?" He gapes at her. I mean, yeah, he will, and that's sort of the point of tonight, but really? She shrugs. "It's been a while."
Actually, that'll probably work to his advantage.
He rolls onto his side to face her and starts skimming his hand over her skin, circling her navel, tweaking her nipple, grazing back down to her hip bone. "What if we just stay up all night and fuck?"
Her mouth drops open a little bit (awesome), but her eyes look sexy as hell, and he knows he's got her when she reaches over to run her hand through his hair. "All right." She sits up and moves to straddle her hips, moaning quietly when she settles her center over his cock.
He grabs her hips to keep her still when she rolls her hips. "So you'll stay?"
She pushes a hand through her hair and nods. "Yeah."
Santana finally dozes off sometime after five a.m., and Finn slips out of bed as carefully as he can. There's something really, really wrong about going through her purse like this - his mom always told him to stay out of a lady's bag - but it's all a means to an end. He pulls out her keys, with the keychain he knows is the Chanel logo, and hides them in the back of the linen closet behind a stack of beach towels.
He falls asleep basically the second he crawls back in bed, lying on his stomach and draping one arm across Santana's stomach as she sleeps on her back.
Her teeth are teasing his earlobe when he wakes up. "That's a dirty trick, Finn?"
"S'that?" he mumbles.
She shoves at his shoulder till he turns over on his back, then straddles his hips. "You hid my keys," she states simply, running her hands up his chest.
"Mmm." He skims his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts and swiping his thumbs over her nipples. It feels awesome when she rolls her hips. "Kept you here."
She rolls her eyes, but lets him tug her down for a kiss. "You know this is just sex, right?"
He nods as she sits up. "That doesn't mean we can't have 'just sex' in the morning, too though, right?"
She's laughing so hard that he catches her off guard when he rolls them and thrusts into her. The broken moan that she lets out might be the best sound he's ever heard her make.
After, she's lying on her stomach across the foot of the bed, her back arching just a little as he skims his lips down her spine. God, her skin tastes good.
"Good, right?"
It's almost rhetorical, because obviously it was good. You don't scream someone's name like that when it isn't good.
"Yeah," she says quietly, lifting her head to look back at him. "Good."