Title: The Other 10 Percent
Author: wildcard-dizzle
Rating: E / M
Pairing(s): Primarily pezberry, with a smidgen of canon brittana
Spoilers: starts in "Trio" (5x10), with some references to Frenemies (5x09), and is mostly canon through "Back-Up Plan" (5x18)
Summary: Sometimes the line between hate and not hate can be very blurry. Santana says she can't stand Rachel 90% of the time. The other 10 percent, though, well. That's a bit more complicated.

A/N: This is a WIP. I'm anticipating it would be about 3-4 chapters. So please bear with me, and I hope you enjoy this first part. Thanks again to my amazing beta and friend, timorous-scribe.

Chapter 1: Love Took a Detour

NYC.

She's the first thing Santana notices after pushing back the curtain and entering the main part of the bar. Before she can even get a thought together, Rachel's word vomit is already assaulting her.

"Okay, look. The way I see it is we have two options right now. One is we have an all-out catfight in the middle of this bar–"

"Which I would win." Santana interrupts easily.

Sighing, Rachel continues undeterred. "Or, for the sake of Kurt we could pretend to be friends, even if it's just for tonight."

Santana ignores the sharp pain that stabs at the reminder that, no, they aren't actually friends anymore. Maybe they never were. "Fine. But just for tonight. And only because I don't wanna get your blood all over my outfit." She reluctantly takes the seat next to Rachel, missing Rachel's quick assessment of said outfit.

Santana focuses on Kurt as he gives his long-winded explanation for the absence of the missing members of Pamela Lansbury. She takes note of Rachel eyeing her up in her periphery, but chooses not to dignify her sad attempts at silent intimidation. Instead, she continues to listen to Kurt's passive-aggressive philosophical monologue on friendship and his new little trio. Also, One Three Hill is such a lame band name in comparison, and Santana doesn't understand why the crowd seems to dig it. Maybe it's a good thing she isn't performing tonight. These people are idiots.

She is momentarily distracted by the one sane person in the room who yells "SHUT UP AND SING," chuckling to herself silently, until she catches him saying, "I guess it's like what they say." Please, Kurt, Santana thinks to herself, rolling her eyes. Tell us. What DO "they" say?

"Life is one long, windy road. And you're never sure what might happen." What the hell is he talking about?

They jump right into a song Santana's never heard before. When Dani starts her verse, singing about how her world fell apart, Santana finally turns to Rachel, who looks away as soon as she notices Santana moves. The way Dani is singing, Santana can't tell if the song is supposed to be about her fight with Rachel, or if there's something else she's missing. She looks back at Dani as she continues her verse.

"I was sure I felt secure
until love took a detour
Yeah, I'm riding high on top of the world
It happened, suddenly it just happened"

Seriously. What the hell are they talking about? Santana blinks and smiles politely, wanting this to be over already. She can still feel Rachel stealing glances her way, possibly checking her for a reaction. However, she keeps her features as neutral as possible.

When it's finally over, Santana looks around as the whole bar cheers, her gaze landing on Rachel. Rachel immediately averts her eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor in front of her. There's a longing in her gut that is all too familiar. It's how she felt every time she saw Brittany with Artie. The feeling is so sudden and jarring that she doesn't even realize the trio approaching them from the stage. Rachel mumbles an "excuse me" as she gets up and leaves. Santana watches her go before her eyes settle on Dani, plastering the most genuine grin she can muster.

"Hey!" Dani greets her, pecking her on the lips quickly before rambling about needing to say hi to some friends that came to see her perform. Santana's "okay" is muffled by the din, Dani already halfway through the bar, navigating cocktail tables toward a group of people Santana doesn't recognize.

She stands up and walks toward where she assumed is the bathroom. She's leaning against one of the sinks, reapplying her lip gloss, when a stall door opens. Santana barely suppresses the urge to roll her eyes when she sees it's Rachel exiting. She pretends to continue with her lip gloss but finds herself taking in Rachel's dress. When she was sitting at the bar, it looked kinda nunnish, but it was actually shorter than she thought. She briefly marvels at how great Rachel's legs look even in the dimness of the bathroom, and kinda hates herself for it.

Rachel steps up to wash her hands at the sink next to Santana, watching her in the mirror out of the corner of her eye. She's the first to speak.

"Look, Santana. I am willing to put this past us if you want to just apologize."

Scoffing, Santana turns to face Rachel, advancing on her to point a finger in Rachel's face. The move is so quick and unexpected that Rachel stumbles back against the wall.

"You have GOT to be kidding. ME apologize? Your giant ego MUST be making you delusional if you think you don't have anything to be sorry for. YOU are the one that blew this all out of proportion and ended our friendship. Goddammit, Berry."

Santana puts her hand down and straightens her posture, not realizing she had been towering over Rachel. Taking a moment to reel in her anger, she shakes her head in disbelief.

"You know what? I don't even know why I bothered being friends with you in the first place. You're just a self-centered egomaniac with a big nose that can't admit that you're threatened by me." She takes note of the way Rachel's eyes widen and her nostrils flare. "Yeah, you can't STAND that I got the part and I barely had to work for it." She leans forward again to make sure her point is received. She can feel the heat radiating off of Rachel's face. "You're always going to work twice as hard as me because the only thing you have going for you is your voice, and I have all of this."

Rachel visibly seethes at that, grabbing Santana by her arms and spinning around to pin her against the wall. Santana gasps in surprise, her eyes widening in a weird mix of fear and excitement and ire. Rachel opens her mouth to unleash the retort on her tongue, but instead mashes her lips against Santana's in a heated kiss. Santana's eyes open even wider in shock.

"Mmff." Santana isn't sure who made the noise, but neither one of them moves.

Finally, Santana feels Rachel's lips part, deepening the kiss. Rachel forces her tongue into Santana's mouth. Santana closes her eyes when she feels Rachel's tongue on her own, letting out a sigh through her nose and turning her head to accommodate Rachel.

Rachel grips Santana's arms more tightly, her fingernails pressing half moons into her skin. The kiss is a wet mess of clashing teeth and battling tongues. Santana hisses as Rachel takes her lower lip between her teeth, tugging at it roughly. Rachel stills when Santana moans, and Santana's hands are on her hips, pulling her closer.

The bathroom door opens and Rachel pushes off of Santana quickly. The woman that entered falters at seeing the exchange and excuses herself, leaving as quickly as she came in.

Chests heaving in their attempt to regulate their breathing, Santana and Rachel stare at each other in silence for several moments.

Again, Rachel is the first to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Santana is alone in the bathroom wondering what in the actual fuck just happened.


Mentally calculating how much she just spent on her retail therapy, Santana slides the loft door open. She sets her bags down on the kitchen table when she hears a vague rustling coming from her area of the loft. Walking over to it, she sees Rachel crouched in front of her dresser, rifling through her underwear.

"Why are you digging through my panty drawer, lezzie?"

Rachel sighs, "Well, before this drawer was filled with crotchless panties and stripper bras, it was my scented candle drawer." She stands from her crouched position, stepping toward Santana. "Elliott's lovely, but he seems to only know how to cook with cumin and curry." Rachel has barely finished her comment about Elliott's unfortunate culinary limitations when Santana seizes the opportunity to make fun of Rachel (really, she makes is so easy).

"Okay, can we just talk for a second about how you used to have an entire drawer dedicated to scented candles?" She sees the panic that briefly crosses Rachel's face at the beginning of her statement. So, she doesn't want to talk about it either. Okay then.

"Maybe another time."

For a split second, Santana's air of aloofness falters and a look of disappointment crosses her features. This banter feels comfortable, it's how they normally talk to each other. Before whatever it was that happened in the bathroom, before Rachel ended a friendship that apparently never was, before Santana went to that audition. In that split second, Santana could pretend like none of it happened and that she had her friend back. Rachel is talking again before she can think anything further.

"You know, it's funny, but I realized I really don't have any other girlfriends here in New York City, and you were sort of my only one." Rachel can barely look at Santana while she says this, her regret clear.

Before she can stop herself, Santana resorts to the snark that is all too natural for her. "Maybe you should take that as a sign of your horrible personality disorder."

Rachel bites back. "I'm sorry, but I don't see you perusing around town having cocktails with any of your gal pals."

Looking away, Santana relents. "Okay. I guess we didn't have a lot of girl friends in high school."

Rachel looks down, nodding slightly as Santana continues.

"Brittany doesn't count because I was in love with her. I guess I had Quinn but the fact that she lives an hour away, and I never thought about calling her should say something to me." Santana definitely doesn't miss the way Rachel's eyes dart back up to hers at the mention of Quinn, her lips pursing and her finger fiddling with the candle in a way that makes it seem like she's this close to chucking it at her. She doesn't have much time to consider that or why she hasn't called either Quinn or Brittany much lately before Rachel is agreeing with her.

"Yeah. It sucks that we were all competitive about boys and solos."

Sure, she was competitive about solos. Someone needed to remind Rachel there were other people with star power. And Santana was gonna get hers when she could. Any opportunity to deflate Rachel's ego enough to fit into the choir room was more than welcome. There was never really a competition when it came to boys, however. I mean, look at me. It was just a way to get to Rachel; another way to get in her head. Now that she thinks about it, now that she's trying to apologize, now that she wants to be Rachel's friend, she can't figure out why she wanted to get to her in the first place. Maybe it was a way to get Rachel's attention? Santana shakes her head slightly to dismiss the idea.

"I mean, Kurt and Elliott are great, but it's just different having someone who really gets it." It's not until Rachel says the latter that she actually looks at Santana.

There's a moment where both of them allow the weight of the truth of that statement to settle in. Santana presses her lips together, and looks away. Scenes from her brief stay in the Hummelberry loft flash in her mind: how Rachel fell into Santana when she couldn't deny the positive pregnancy test anymore, and how right Santana felt consoling her; them walking home, arm-in-arm, late at night from their shift at the diner, swapping stories about sexist tourists and that gross guy on the subway that wouldn't stop staring at their bare legs; Rachel's smile when she saw a new carton of her favorite brand of coconut-almond milk in the fridge; Santana's relief at seeing Buffy queued up and Rachel on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and pretzel m&ms (Santana's absolute favorite) after getting home from a long shift. She hadn't realized before that moment just how much they get it, how much they get each other.

Santana's broken from her reverie when Rachel takes a step toward her. She's not sure, but she thinks Rachel glanced briefly at her lips before doing so.

"I just don't understand, like, why my part? Why my understudy?"

Santana shrugs, "There was an opportunity, and I took it. You would have done the same thing."

Rachel closes her eyes at that, sighing resignedly.

"You would've fought to take down whoever was in your way, even if it was me."

If Santana was really being truthful, she would have said that that was only part of it. Sure, it was her initial motivation. What she would never actually admit to Rachel is that she was jealous. Rachel is pursuing her dream, what she knows she is destined for. Santana isn't sure what she wants to do. She's a college drop-out, and in a matter of months, has worked as a cage dancer in a bar, as a barista, and now as a singing waitress in a Broadway-themed diner serving disgusting racist and sexist tourists. What she does know is that music is her life. But she doesn't know to what capacity, she doesn't know what direction she wants to take it in.

Something clicked when Rachel invited her to the photoshoot, and Santana saw her living her dream. It reminded her of her ambition when they were in high school - Santana wanted to be famous. Though she realizes now how naive that is (thanks/no thanks to Brittany), she still sees it as an attainable goal. And one way to do that is to be in a show on Broadway. It isn't exactly how she pictured achieving that goal, but when she fantasized about Rachel pleading for her to be brave, to speak her truth, and then she found out they were auditioning her understudy, everything seemed to fall into place. Though being Rachel's understudy isn't ideal, it is a step in some direction.

Santana knows she struck a nerve when Rachel purses her lips, looking like she's about to say something. The so-called trio walks into the loft, interrupting their conversation before she gets a chance.

As Kurt makes some snide comment about the lack of bloodshed upon their entrance, Santana can't decide if she's disappointed or relieved that they were interrupted before they could talk about what they were clearly avoiding talking about. She also can't decipher what she feels when Dani looks between the two of them, knowing they walked in on an intense conversation of some sort. She hopes that Dani assumes they were hashing out their differences, and not... well, not whatever the hell they did in the bathroom that Santana still can't wrap her mind around.

Right as Rachel moves to make a swift exit, Santana does the same. She's done doing the heart-to-heart thing, and she is still a little peeved that her own girlfriend voted to kick her out of the band. Besides, if she and Rachel weren't even going to talk about what happened, then there's no way she could deal with Dani's guilt about being a traitor, knowing she still has to sort out her own shit. She has to leave for work anyway, so she kisses Dani goodbye and heads out.


Santana is still in her Spotlight uniform when she gets to Elliott's apartment. Staring at the peephole in the door, she lifts her hand to knock. She pauses, suddenly self-conscious that she didn't take the time to change out of it, eyeing the dried splotch of ketchup on her apron-skirt from when that little brat threw a sauced fry at her. She isn't able to dwell on it for long, though, because the door opens and Elliott's looking at her all confused. He's probably hoping she's not there to move in, too. One high-maintenance near-stranger from Lima, Ohio, is enough.

"Santana. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hi, Judas. I'm looking for your new roomie with comparable moral leanings."

Elliott rolls his eyes, opening the door wider to let her in. "She's in the bathroom." He reaches to grab his jacket off the coat rack, looking over his shoulder to call out, "Rach, Santana's here to see you. I'm going to walk around the block several times and maybe hang out with some non-crazy people who preferably aren't gleeks from Ohio." He looks back at Santana, offers a tight-lipped smile, and walks out of the apartment.

Santana turns to close the door behind him, shrugging off her jacket and laying it across the back of the couch. The opening bars to "Give Your Heart a Break" sound from somewhere on the couch, and Santana digs out her phone to see a text from Dani.

Are you still mad? If you come over, I can probably make it up to you. ;)

Her thumb hovers over the keyboard on her phone as she considers her reply. After glancing at the closed bathroom door, she types out her response.

Am I still mad that my own gf pulled a Destiny's Child and now Rachel and I are LaTavia and LeToya? Yeah. I am. But maybe I won't be as mad tmw, Bey. xo -S

Santana briefly debates whether she should tell her she's with Rachel, but ultimately decides against it. She silences her phone and is putting it back in her jacket pocket when Rachel finally comes out of the bathroom, already changed into a set of gold star pajama shorts and top. Santana recognizes the set from last Christmas. It was a gift from her dads. Rachel always loved getting new PJs from them, and these were her favorite so far. She stops and stands on the other side of the couch from Santana, her face freshly washed and hair brushed neatly.

Taking in Rachel's smooth, mositurized legs, Santana nods appreciatively. "Wow, manscaping that hobbit lady body hair must be taxing. I hope you didn't clog the drain. Poor Elliott better be charging you extra to keep a plumber on retainer." Even as the words leave her mouth, something in her gut twists. She swallows it down, arching her brow and plastering a smirk on her face in her attempt to ignore this unsettling feeling.

Rachel takes a calming breath, crossing her arms in front of her. "What do you want, Santana? If you just came here to insult me, you'd better leave."

Santana steps around the back of the couch to stand across from where Rachel is standing. "Or what, you'll kiss me again?" Santana leans one hip against the couch, cocking her head in challenge.

Rachel purses her lips, glancing down at her feet. She lifts her head before speaking. "Look. Clearly that was an error in judgment. I was caught up in the moment, and you know how I appreciate theatrics." She clears her throat, visibly uncomfortable, knowing Santana can see right through her.

"Right. Because kissing your so-called non-friend in an empty bar bathroom is the performance of a lifetime. I'm not buying it, dwarf. But whatever you wanna tell yourself. I came by here to make sure you weren't in love with me or whatever. Because, not that I care, but I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't have a midget fetish."

Rachel's face twists in shock, letting out a huff of air in disbelief. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, Santana. In love with you? Please." Santana feigns offense, though something aches in her chest at Rachel's near-disgust at the idea of having any kind of feelings for her.

"What, exactly, do you think you have to offer?" Rachel takes steps toward Santana, her hands ticking off reasons Santana's claim is absurd as she moves. "First, you've never been kind to me. In fact, you have been downright cruel. You are vindictive, and even when you weren't being awful, you were a horrible friend. You are the one that is truly a selfish, petty, manipulative bitch. And you could never care about anybody but yourself."

Rachel is standing in front of Santana now. Never breaking eye contact, Rachel leans forward until her face is inches from Santana's. Santana does her best to stand her ground and not flinch from Rachel's words or proximity. With as much vitriol as Rachel can muster, she speaks in a low, eerily calm voice. "You are mean, and I don't know why I ever bothered to care about you in the first place."

Santana narrows her eyes at Rachel's words, refusing to be the first to back down. The apartment is so quiet, save for her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She struggles to control her breathing, which had begun to become erratic as Rachel ticked off her biggest flaws with ease. Unable to stop herself, her eyes flick down to Rachel's slightly parted lips then back up to her eyes, which seemed to track hers. The minty freshness of Rachel's breath fills Santana's nostrils.

What she wants to do is tell Rachel to go fuck herself, to grab her jacket, and get the hell out of Elliott's apartment. To forget about ever having considered Rachel a friend. To pretend like she never accompanied her to that clinic, or held Rachel when she cried in relief that she wasn't pregnant. Like she never helped her pick her audition song for Fanny, and hugged the shit out of her when she got the part. Like she never made her tea every night after they found out about Finn's death, even though Rachel didn't speak to either of them for days. What she wants to do is drowned out by Rachel's squeak of surprise when Santana pulls her by the back of her neck, mashing their lips together in a fiery kiss.

Her brain hasn't caught up to the fact that Rachel is returning the kiss with equal fervor, that her hands are on Santana's hips, pulling her closer. Or that Rachel is now sitting on the back of the couch, her legs wrapped around Santana's waist.

All Santana can hear are Rachel's words echoing in her brain to the rhythm of her rapidly increasing heart rate. She takes Rachel's bottom lip between her teeth, biting until Rachel rears back in a gasp. Rachel soothes her lower lip with her tongue to ease some of the sting while Santana sets a trail of wet kisses down her jaw, settling at Rachel's pulse point. Santana can feel Rachel's heartbeat beneath her tongue, her heavy breathing matching the pounding of her heart. Santana scrapes her teeth along the skin she's been working, causing Rachel to groan and bunch Santana's uniform tighter in her fists, pulling her impossibly closer.

Santana can feel Rachel's heat through the girl's shorts and her own uniform top. Her hands slide down from where they were tangled in Rachel's hair to roughly palm both of her breasts through her PJ top. She can feel Rachel's hard nipples through the fabric, and her thumbs instinctively roll over them firmly. She's somewhat surprised at how good Rachel feels, how she smells, how she sounds. What's not as surprising is how vocal Rachel is. Her voice always has been her strong suit. And she gets even more vocal when she's frustrated, apparently.

"Santanaaaaaaaaaaa" comes out in a sort of whine-groan. She draws out the last syllable until she's cut off with a gasp when Santana pinches both nipples swiftly. Rachel arches her back, pushing her chest into Santana's hands. Needing a change of scenery, and more surface area, Santana drags her hands down Rachel's body to under her ass. After giving both cheeks a satisfying squeeze, she lifts Rachel off the back of the couch. Rachel gasps in surprise, hooking her ankles behind Santana's back. Her arms move to circle Santana's neck. As they walk around to the front of the couch, Rachel's mouth finds Santana's again in a desperate kiss. Careful not to stumble, Santana drops Rachel down onto the cushions in the center unceremoniously. Rachel leans back, her chest heaving and her eyes raking over Santana's face and body, trying to take in as much as possible.

Santana swiftly undoes the top few buttons of her uniform, and slides down the side zipper so she can lift her top over her head, letting it fall to the ground. As she undresses, Rachel works on the buttons of her PJ top, keeping it on and allowing it to lay open when she gets to the last one. Santana removes her skirt and boots just as quickly as she did her top, and she's left standing in front of Rachel in her matching black bra and cheeky boyshorts. Santana smirks knowingly when Rachel's eyes widen almost comically once she stands up from undressing. She pauses for a moment to allow Rachel to appreciate the sight before her.

Santana kneels on the floor between Rachel's legs, her hands hooking behind Rachel's knees, pulling her to the edge of the couch. Santana pushes Rachel's top off her shoulders and down her arms, trapping Rachel's hands in the shirt behind her back. Taking a moment to admire Rachel's near-perfect boobs, a dark spot on her ribs catches Santana's eye. She leans forward, kissing Rachel's breast but never touching her nipple. She makes her way lower to see the dark spot. Written in simple script that matches the necklace Rachel always wears is one word - Finn. Santana feels something twist in her gut, and in a moment of reverence, she kisses the word. Not wanting Rachel to know what she's doing, she places light kisses in the area around the tattoo, making her way back up to her breast. She can't look at Rachel.

Instead, she closes her eyes and licks a trail from the side of her breast to her nipple, taking it into her mouth. Rachel lets out a breathy moan, and feebly fights to free her arms of Santana's grasp.

"Santanaaaa…" Rachel whines again.

Grateful that Rachel was seemingly too caught up in her lust, Santana looks up at Rachel, smiling around her nipple. She bites down with just enough pressure to sting. Rachel gasps, holding her breath as Santana continues to hold her nipple between her teeth. Maintaining the same pressure, Santana scrapes her teeth along her nipple as she pulls back achingly slowly until her teeth release it with a soft click. Rachel whimpers at the release, and seems to remember to fight a bit more to free her arms from her shirt. Leaning back onto her feet, Santana regards Rachel thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"What is it, Rach?" Santana tightens her hold on Rachel's shirt and wrists, pulling her closer to teeter on the edge of the couch. Rachel is forced to sit more upright, and her legs spread further apart to accommodate Santana. Santana can smell her arousal with the slight change in position.

"Am I not doing enough for you?" She glances down to the visible wet spot on Rachel's shorts, and chuckles humorlessly. "Well, by the state of your shorts, it looks like I'm doing quite a bit."

Their faces are close enough that their breath mingles in the space. Rachel's eyes narrow at Santana, her cheeks tinged pink. Santana isn't sure if she's embarrassed by how noticeably aroused she is or if it's just a result of their feverish makeout session.

Rachel swallows in an effort to moisten her suddenly dry mouth, and possibly to muster up some dignity. She lifts her chin and almost regally leans forward to close the gap between them. Santana holds her breath and closes her eyes, assuming Rachel is going to kiss her. A shiver rolls through her body at the feel of Rachel's lips and breath skating through the tiny hairs on her ear.

Rachel's voice is barely above a whisper and about an octave lower than Santana's ever heard it. "If you were doing enough, I'd probably be coming right now."

Santana's eyes snap open and she turns her head to gape at Rachel. She kind of hates how hot the smug grin on Rachel's face is. Sneering, Santana shoves Rachel back against the couch, letting go of the shirt and pulling her shorts down her legs in one smooth, swift motion. Rachel frees her arms from the pajama top, tossing it to the side. Spreading Rachel's legs so far apart she's practically doing the splits on the edge of the couch, Santana wastes no more time as she licks one long, firm stripe up Rachel's slit. Rachel shudders in pleasure, gasping as she buries her hands in Santana's hair.

Santana's tongue teases at Rachel's entrance before pumping it in and out of her a few times as she tightens her hold on Rachel's legs to keep them in the same position. She licks from her entrance up to her clit, flicking it over and over again until Rachel's panting and moaning. Santana slides one hand from Rachel's thigh inward, her index finger drawing lazy figure eights through her lips.

Rachel lowers the leg that no longer has a hand supporting it, resting her foot on the floor. Her nails scratch at Santana's scalp, pulling her mouth closer to her. Rachel gasps when Santana starts fucking her with two fingers, curling them with each in-thrust. She's going to come way sooner than Santana anticipated, and Santana chuckles smugly against her at the realization. That'll teach you to question my skills. Rachel shudders at the vibrations from Santana's laugh, but tightens her grip on Santana's hair. Santana hisses in pain, though a self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Feeling Rachel clamp down on her fingers, Santana focuses her attention on her clit. Rachel wraps both legs around Santana's head, her back arching, her body sliding down the couch the rest of the way as she comes undone.

Santana gently guides Rachel to the floor, her fingers slowing their pace but remaining inside Rachel. She extracts herself from Rachel's thighs and slides up her body to hover over her. She takes in Rachel's closed eyes, her parted lips panting out uneven breaths, the beads of sweat that have collected along her collarbone, her heaving chest. Santana's fingers still as her eyes travel back up to Rachel's face in time to see her eyelids flutter open.

Rachel's fingers tickle Santana's hips, where they had found purchase. She fiddles with the material of Santana's boyshorts, sliding her index fingers beneath the waistband and dancing her fingertips along Santana's skin from her hips to the top of her ass and back. Her fingers stop at Santana's lower back when Santana leans forward to nip at Rachel's ear lobe.

Santana feels Rachel's sigh more than she hears it. She places a light kiss just below her ear before whispering, "Still think I'm cruel?" She begins to slowly scissor the fingers that are still inside Rachel.

Rachel tenses beneath her. The fingers on Santana's back that, just a second ago, had been delicately caressing her are now carving tiny crescents into her skin. Regardless, she continues taunting Rachel, each word punctuated by increasingly sharp nips along her neck and jaw.

"Awful?" Nibble. "Petty?" Nip. "Vindictive?" Santana pulls her fingers out almost all the way before achingly slowly pushing them back in. "Selfish?"

Rachel lets out a growl and scrapes her nails up Santana's back to her shoulders, drawing screaming red welts in their wake. Santana arches her back and lets out a gasp, her head lifting quickly to glower at Rachel.

"You bi-" She's cut off because suddenly she's on her back, Rachel is straddling her, and she somehow got Santana's hand out of her and pinned to the ground.

Santana is taken aback as Rachel regards her with a look that is a combination of contempt, unadulterated loathing, and insatiable desire. If her underwear weren't already soaked through, it definitely is now.

Struggling to free her hands from Rachel's grasp, Santana demands, "What the fuck, Berry? I was knuckle-deep about to make you scream."

"Well, your incessant need to prove me wrong kind of killed it for me."

"That's not what your body was saying."

"Oh? And what's your body saying, Santana? What was it that you said before? 'I don't have a midget fetish?' Let's see, shall we?" Santana holds her breath as Rachel maneuvers to place a leg between Santana's thighs. She sighs in relief as Rachel rubs against her engorged clit. "I think you do have some kind of fetish. You want me. Don't you?"

"Fuck off," Santana spits through clenched teeth.

Never ceasing the torturous pressure between Santana's legs, Rachel taunts, "Just admit it, Santana. You want me. Your dirty little secret, huh? Is that why you treated me so poorly in high school?"

Santana lets out a strangled moan at the feel of Rachel's body connecting with her nipples as she leans down by Santana's ear to whisper. "You just wanted to fuck me, but you hated yourself for it."

"Shut the fuck up, Berry. Put your mouth to something useful for once," Santana seethes.

Rachel shakes her head defiantly. "Only if you admit it."

Jaw clenched and staring intently at Rachel, Santana considers her options. On the one hand, she's so fucking turned on that it hurts, and Rachel is still rubbing her thigh up and down, never adding any more pressure. On the other hand, she really fucking hates Rachel right now and she would never admit to actually wanting her. Nor would she admit to having wanted her in the past. That's such a crock of shit. After carefully weighing her options, Santana makes a rash decision.

"Fine. Yes. I want you. I want your fucking mouth on me and I want you to fuck me until I forget it's you fucking me."

Rachel laughs ruefully at that. "Oh, you'll never be able to forget this."

She releases one of Santana's wrists as she parts her legs with her own. Reaching down, she slides her hand down the front of Santana's boyshorts. Without any preamble, she plummets two fingers into Santana. She shifts her weight onto her other elbow to pull the cup of Santana's bra down. Rachel pulls her fingers out of Santana, sliding through her wetness to pinch her clit between her index and middle finger, stroking it up and down.

Santana's head is reeling from the onslaught of sensations as Rachel lowers her head to circle her tongue around the erect nipple. A moan is cut off by a gasp as Rachel plunges her fingers back into Santana as deep as they can go, curling them against her spot. Santana pants, her hands searching for something to grip onto, finally finding purchase on the side of the couch and a piece of clothing on the floor (she thinks it's her uniform top).

Santana looks down at Rachel as she slides down her body, nestling between her legs. Rachel pulls out of Santana to take off her underwear, replacing her fingers as quickly as she had removed them. Reflexively, Santana spreads her legs, arching her back and groaning at the sensations that wash over her at the slight change in position.

Fingers pumping furiously in and out of Santana, Rachel rests her head against Santana's stomach. Santana watches this girl that she tormented for years fuck her brains out. In that brief moment of lucidity, a wave of nauseating emotions wash over her - regret, guilt, shame, longing, anger, loneliness. The moment passes the second Rachel rubs her clit with her thumb.

Santana knows she's quickly approaching her well-deserved orgasm at that. She tilts her head back against the floor, closing her eyes as pleasure replaces the previous wave of emotions. She's startled when Rachel leans down to bite and suck on her hipbone. Exhaling, her mouth hangs open in surprise, and her eyes roll back because it feels so. fucking. good.

Rachel lets go with a loud pop to look up at Santana, but Santana pushes her head back to the same spot. Glaring at her with as much venom as she can gather with her sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks, Santana threatens, "Don't you dare fucking stop." She misses the smirk on Rachel's face before she resumes her ministrations.

She sucks even harder, increasing the pressure of her thumb on Santana's clit and pushing as deep into her as possible. Santana's back bows against the floor, her knees bending as she lets out an almost primal groan.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Rachel! Rachelrachelrachelllllll," Santana wails as she comes.

She slowly catches her breath, settling back down onto the carpet. She shudders as Rachel carefully extracts her fingers. Rachel's chuckle gets her attention, and she glances down to see Rachel admiring the screaming red spot. They both know it'll be deep purple soon, and that it'll be there for days. Santana sighs in defeat, knowing she definitely won't forget this anytime soon, whether she wants to or not.

A phone whistles from somewhere on the coffee table. Rachel sits up and retrieves her phone, reading the text that came through. Her eyes widen in panic. She slams her phone back onto the coffee table, scrambling to gather Santana's clothes and boots that are strewn across the floor.

Santana sits up, confused. "Uh, what the hell are you doing?"

"Elliott. You - coming - er, HE'S coming. Back. He's coming back. Now. You need to go. You need to get dressed. But not here. You need to go."

Santana shakes her head, trying to clear her head and understand what the fuck Rachel is babbling about. When realization sets in that she's getting thrown out, half-naked, after fucking her so-called non-friend, her blood boils. Oh, HELL no.

"Oh, HELL NO. Berry, I'm NAKED. You can't just throw me out like this. Fuck, YOU'RE naked." Santana stands up, Rachel thrusting her clothes into her arms.

Rachel stops, grasping Santana's arms and taking in their appearance. Santana is in just her bra, her is hair messy, and she's staring at Rachel like either Snix is about to make an appearance or she's going to start crying. Rachel looks down at herself, not a stitch of clothing on. She frantically searches for her pajamas then, stepping into her shorts when she spots them and clumsily buttoning up her top.

Santana throws the pile in her arms down, quickly finding her boyshorts and putting them on. She pulls her uniform top over her head and doesn't even get to zip up the side or put on her skirt when Rachel is guiding her to the door, grabbing her jacket from the couch and shoving it into her arms along with her boots and skirt.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says regretfully.

Santana is standing in the hallway outside of Elliott's apartment, staring at the peephole on the door. She looks down at the pile in her hands. Her eyes find the ketchup stain on her apron. Again, she's left there wondering what the fuck just happened.