A/N: I've never thought about Santana and Blaine together, but I am a hardcore Naya and Darren fan - so why not bring those two sexy beasts together in one story? This story just came out of nowhere; and originally it was meant to be pure smut, but somehow turned into a story ... The M rating is pretty much for the second chapter onwards (it gets pretty dirty from there, so watch out) ... Reviews would be amazing!

"Open your eyes Santana." His voice is soft - silky like the ocean. I let my eyes flutter open. My palms are sweaty and I wipe them against my tight black dress, hoping Blaine doesn't notice the small gesture. He is watching me curiously. "What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing," I say coolly, looking around the small room. "I just don't know if this is the best idea."

Blaine takes a few steps forward, regarding me carefully.

"You're kidding, right? I mean, no offence Santana, but you're the biggest bitch on earth - you're strong, confident. What have you possibly got to worry about? Except maybe turning down the volume when it comes to your wild sex riots." He grins at me as if to say: yeah, I know what you were like last year. "I'll be honest, Santana: I'm dreading this idea as much as you are - but you need a room, and I need the rent money."

"Look mister," I step closer to him, "I just don't know if I can handle you and Queenie making out every night. Believe it or not, I need my beauty sleep. I'm not naturally this stunning, you know." I look away, examining my chipped black nail polish.

Blaine grins crookedly. "You mean Kurt? Look, if it makes you uncomfortable - "

"Oh man," I throw my head back and laugh. "I ain't got no problem with your boy love." It's true, I don't. Sex is sex - I don't care if it's a boy or a girl. "It's just, I've never shared a place with someone before, and ... " My voice trails off and, with a jolt, I realize I've let my guard down throughout this entire conversation. Normally, my defences are up. I'm Santana fucking Lopez. No one knows how I'm feeling ... Except Blaine Anderson, apparently?

Blaine's expression is knowing as he takes a step back. "Santana, accepting help doesn't make you weak - you need somewhere to stay, your own space."

"You're right," I mumble, looking down. "There's no way I'm spending another night on Puckerman's couch. Ugh." Blaine is quiet for so long, that I look up to see if he's still there. His palms are pressed effortlessly against the kitchen bench, and he is watching me intently. "What?" I snap, forcing myself back into bitch mode.

"Nothing," he shakes his head, still smiling. "I'm just realizing that living with you is going to be very interesting."

Blaine's unit is tiny, of course. He used to get rent assistance from Dalton Academy, but school has been over for six months now and his part time job at the book store wasn't getting him enough money. The thing is, I don't mind living with him. I don't care that he wakes me up at six thirty every morning with his singing in the shower, or when he and Kurt are up giggling until 3am. He's cleaner than me, so he's always running around cleaning up. Sweet deal, if you ask me.

It's funny, because I've never been more comfortable with someone in my life. Maybe it's because Blaine is gay, and isn't trying to get in my pants - or maybe, we just get along. Who knows? I have a mask - I wear it everywhere. It protects me from getting hurt, and after everything that happened with Brittany, that's the last thing I want ... There's no mask when I'm with Blaine; I don't consciously decide to be myself, it just happens ...

We spend most nights in the lounge room, sprawled on the couches, bitching about the ugly people on TV.

"So, what are you going to do with your life, Santana?" Blaine asks me on one rainy night. Kurt is in New York - promoting his new fashion line, so Blaine and I opted to have a 'crappy TV night.'

I drag my eyes away from a particularly dramatic episode of Jersey Shore and look over at him. He's wearing grey track pants and a fitted white tee-shirt - it's a lot different from Blaine's usual preppy look, but it suits him, I think. He looks ... comfortable, casual. His hair is still wet from his shower earlier, and his apple scented shampoo wafts across the room. "What do you mean?" I ask, pulling at a loose thread on my blue boxer shorts.

"I mean, sure, you ruled McKinley High. And yeah, from what Kurt tells me, you kicked ass in Glee club ... But that's over now." He frowns. "Are you going to go to college? Surely you don't want to keep your crappy job at Wal-Mart."

I grin. "Hey, I fucking rock that Wal-Mart uniform. The manager practically drools on me, I'm so hot." Blaine laughs and so do I. "But seriously," I say quietly. "I just need to get some money saved up - that's all I need."

To my surprise, Blaine gets off the armchair and comes to sit next to me. I don't feel uncomfortable. I mean, he's gay - he won't try anything. "So you don't want to get married? Buy a house? Have kids?"

I laugh again. "Don't be stupid. I could never stick with one man for long enough, and kids gross me out. For now, I'm happy living here ... as long as you'll have me, of course."

Blaine smiles, scratching at some of his wild curls. "What about Brittany?" He asks softly. My face falls into an expression of surprise and disgust. "Don't deny it, Santana," He adds quickly. "I know what happened last year - you loved her, and she knocked you down."

I can't deny it - but I can't admit it out loud. I settle for resting my head on Blaine's shoulder. To my complete surprise, he leans into me. With a hesitant hand he strokes his fingers through my hair, looking down at me as if to ask: is this okay? I'm constantly shocked about how comforting he is. Man, if he wasn't gay I might consider ... I shake the thought out of my head. "Look, what happened with Brittany ... It was just a faze. Sure, she's fucking beautiful - and one of the most caring and courageous people I've ever met, but ... I have the rest of my life to fall in love, have passionate sex under the stars ... "

For a moment, Blaine is silent. "You know what I like about you, Santana?" There's a faint smile dancing on the edge of his lips.

"What?" I ask.

"You don't put labels on anything," he says simply. "Man, I don't think I've ever met anyone as laid back as you. Lesbian, straight, gay, bi ... You don't care about any of that."

I shrug casually, although - on the inside - I'm smiling broadly. "What can I say? Maybe I just like sex too much to limit myself to one gender." Blaine laughs loudly, and I wink at him.

I think we're going to get along just fine ...