Title: Every Waking Day (You Take My Breath Away)
Pairing: Santana/Quinn
Summary: She may not be able to say "I love you" with any regularity, but it doesn't mean that she can't express how she feels. Written for a prompt from the Glee Fluff Meme- "I dared you to kiss me but ran when you tried." (from Taylor Swift's "Mary's Song")
Prompt Notes: Preferably Quinn dares Santana. Bonus points if little!Quinntana. Like, age 7 to 11. Bonus Bonus points if it's Quinn and/or Santana reflecting about the incident when they're older. Triple bonus points if they're together at the time of reflection.
Word Count: 2800~
Author's Note;; I tried to stick to the prompt as close as I could, but I wasn't sure how well that worked out. I tried though, so if this doesn't fill your expectations, prompter, I am sorry. ):
This fic was going to be for Novaforever but she's a meaniebutt so pft.
I can't believe that I am actually doing this.
No, scrap that, I can believe that I am doing this. I'd known that this was going to happen since I was seven, after all. Sure, as time passed and life happened and distractions got in the way, my certainty had waned and nearly vanished altogether. All I had to go on were a couple of memories and a promise made by two young impressionable children- And events happening at that age were either utterly inconsequential or would shape out futures. For us, though, I like to think that it was definitely the latter.
It isn't to say that our individual storylines are going to end with this one small act. No, I like to think that this would merely mesh together two different books into a single piece of fiction, where characters had lives that ran parallel to each other anyway. It would be... Basically, it would be like crossover fan fiction instead of eugenics: The taking of characters from different worlds and putting them together to create a story that is even more epic than either of the originals, not the smashing together of traits of two people into one singular being to make a perfect model because let's face it, the both of us are already as perfect as perfect could get.
Well. She is. Mostly. But I digress.
What I thought I couldn't believe was happening (except that I can) is this:
The ground is digging into my bare knee and I am sure that if I took the time to look past her deliciously long legs, I would be able to see fish (and other nosy people) staring curiously at the two of us. But I shoved the thought of scaly eavesdroppers and Peeping Toms out of my head, focusing instead on the way her eyes are so wide and confused; on the bead of sweat trailing down her neck and collarbone to disappear into her cleavage; the way hair is escaping from the loose bun she had put it into, sticking to her forehead and cheeks. If I were a romantic I would say that she has never been more beautiful, but I can recall instances where she has looked even better.
Case in point: When she wakes up next to me in the mornings, hair messy yet soft, expressive eyes bleary with the fogginess of sleep.
I'm not saying that at this point she isn't beautiful, I am just saying that I can think of when she is even more so. She's pretty much gorgeous all the time though. She's one of the most attractive people I know, and that includes celebrities. I love her so much it hurt sometimes because I've never been one to express my emotions easily. She used to be like that too, back when we were in high school, but she managed to break herself of that.
I admire her willpower.
Words come to her so fluidly now that we've made it out of Lima, and I envy her sometimes. The words I love you come easy to her and though she laughs and tells me that my actions prove to her that I love her too, I wish I had her ability to just drop the phrase into random conversations and proceed to watch her lips curve into an adoring smile and her eyes light up with unexpected joy.
But I am not verbally eloquent, so although I had spent hours upon days upon weeks thinking out elaborate speeches full of love and passion, the only thing I managed to say as I knelt there on one knee, fingers holding out a simple, slender ring towards her, was:
"Marry me."
Take me back when our world was one block wide
I dared you to kiss me-
"What?"
Quinn nodded solemnly, her gaze serious, a stark contrast to her companion who was doubled over, eyes scrunched up and mouth wide as she choked on her own incredulous laughter. The little blonde waited patiently until her black-haired friend stopped gasping for breath, dark eyes finally blinking open to meet with steady hazel.
Mirth dissipating quickly as Quinn kept looking at her, Santana fidgeted, rocking from the balls of her heels to her toes and back again.
The two of them had spent the better part of an hour searching for what Judy Fabray had dubbed the 'Good Cookie Tin' which, as its name entails, contained cookies for good children. The parentals were out at a function, leaving Quinn's fourteen year old sister on babysitting duty. Isabel (Izzie) Fabray had booted the two 'brats', as she called them, out of her room once Russell and Judy had departed for the day, and told them to stay out of trouble or she would tie them to chairs until the adults came back. They'd grinned and made kissy noises when the teenager mentioned that they'd better not make a peep while she spoke to Peter, her boyfriend. Then Izzie scowled and made as though to chase after the two seven year olds, so they scarpered pretty fast.
The cookie search was on.
But someone must have hidden the container or something, because even after searching through every cupboard and shelf, they couldn't find anything. Not a crumb. But, as children were wont to do, they cheered up really fast when they found that the backdoor was unlocked, dashing through to tumble onto the grass, hooting in glee.
Or at least, Santana rolled and slid. Quinn took the more ladylike approach, sitting down carefully so as not to get grass stains on her clothes before sharing with her friend what she had overheard Izzie talking about the night before with a couple of her friends from the cheerleading squad. The three girls were gossiping and the subject of boys had come up, as it always did, and through the thin barrier of the door Quinn heard something that was worth sharing.
Her amazing older sister, Pride of the Fabrays and apple of their father's eye, had kissed a boy. With tongue. Quinn didn't understand what tonguing meant, but she did know what kissing was. And the idea of her sister kissing anyone was hilarious. And sort of gross. But it made Quinn curious, because Izzie had said that Peter was a really good kisser and her knees wobbled when they kissed and Quinn had definitely never felt that way whenever a relative bumped their lips against her cheek or forehead. But perhaps that was because it was never on the mouth?
"I wanna know what kissing is like," She had said to Santana, sending the Latina off in hysterics, which led them to where they were now.
"No." Santana told the blonde flatly, shaking her head for extra emphasis.
"But Saaaaaaan," Quinn whined, fluttering her eyelashes as she had seen her sister do. It didn't work on her best friend, though.
"No. That's gross," Santana made a face. "I'm not kissing you."
Quinn's pleading expression morphed into one of resolve as she triumphantly exclaimed, "Well, I dare you to kiss me."
Santana never backed down from dares, and Quinn knew of that fact rather well. Daring her for a kiss had been Quinn's winning ace, and she grinned smugly as the brunette struggled with her gag levels.
"Fine," Santana threw up her hands and crawled forward, a scowl on her features. When she was a few inches away, she closed her eyes and leaned towards Quinn, puckering her lips, brow still furrowed.
Quinn watched as her friend came closer and closer, brain scrambling along at a million miles per hour before she shook her head frantically and pushed Santana's face away, getting up to her feet and dashing back to the safety of the house.
Sweat is making its way down my back as I wait for her reply, growing more and more anxious as the seconds tick by.
I hadn't been prepared for her to yank me to my feet and crush our lips together, arms winding around my back even as her tongue stroked its way into my mouth. I am not about to complain though, because I can spend hours just kissing my girlfriend; no lie. And though she didn't actually say it, I am taking her enthusiastic response as a yes.
We stood like that for minutes until I realized two things: One, my hand is creeping up her back to toy with the strings of her bikini and we are in public; there are people and children watching us. And aquatic animals. We are, after all, at the beach, water lapping halfway up our calves. Pulling her bikini top off will probably get us landed in jail for public indecency.
Two, I can no longer feel the ring anywhere. Crap.
Shoving her away, I scan the water frantically for a glint of silver on the sand, my heart feeling as though it is going to burst from within my chest. Realistically I know that to be impossible but that is what it feels like. I saved for ages for that ring, if it was gone I was going to throw a tantrum and possibly cry in frustration.
A slim hand slides under my chin, tilting my head up to meet her amused gaze. "Looking for this?" She asks with no small amount of mirth, lifting her other hand to show me- much to my heart's relief- that the ring is safely around her finger before kissing me again, her lips moving enticingly against mine.
I should have known- She has always had dexterous fingers. I have firsthand (aha, a pun! I really am witty, aren't I?) knowledge of that.
"That wasn't funny," I mutter into her mouth, pulling her as close as possible.
She grins widely. "It was and you know it," Teasing, she taps out a beat against my spine, "You love me anyway and want to marry me."
"Yeah," I sigh, "Unfortunately."
"Hey," She pokes at my nose and I wrinkle it, drawing the tip of her finger into my mouth and swirling my tongue around it. Her eyes seem to darken then, in a way I know very well and she breathes, voice low and raspy, "Take me home. We need to rechristen every surface of our apartment."
Well, fuck me if I wasn't going to do anything for her when she speaks with that voice.
Once we are back in our apartment, she locks the door and flings the keys somewhere- they skidded off the table and will be a bitch to find later- before dragging me to our bedroom, stripping off her shirt as she goes. I start to do the same, popping the button of my shorts and pulling down the zipper before she stops me by placing her hands over mine.
"Let me," She says, and pushes me back to topple on the bed. I imagine that I am like a tree being felled and the little lumberjack voice in my head yells 'timber!' as I go down, my back hitting the mattress and bouncing slightly. She tilts her head upon seeing my smile and asks, "What?", to which I simply shake my head and pull her down to sprawl on top of me, my hands pulling insistently at her neck until her lips are on mine.
We do nothing but kiss for a while, though my hands do wander to play with the bows of her bikini before sliding past the waistband of her shorts to palm her ass. She has always had an amazing ass, and I cannot resist.
Then she pulls away to straddle my stomach and grins down at me. Her smirk is so contagious that I laugh and echo her earlier question, "What?"
"Oh, nothing," She says idly, though her smile grows bigger. "Just taking a trip down memory lane and recollecting our first kiss."
I let out a hum as one of my hands dip under her top, fingers pinching lightly at an already hard nipple. "I recall some... Manhandling."
She let out a groan and arched backwards, fingers gripping my wrist- Neither stopping nor encouraging. I grin as I buck my hips upwards, causing her to slide along my body, a little closer to my head. My free hand curls around her waist and pull her forward insistently, until she is sitting just above my chest area.
"Somewhat similar positions, too."
- and ran when you tried
Just two kids, you and I, oh my, my, my, my
Quinn could hear the pounding of Santana's feet against the ground as her friend chased after her, yelling something about not chickening out on a dare. She made it as far as the living room before a flying tackle brought her crashing down onto a fluffy carpet, her head narrowly missing the edge of a table.
Flabbergasted, she stared up at the Latina. "Are you crazy?" She finally shrieked, "Get off me!"
"You dared me," Santana told her stubbornly, trapping Quinn's flailing arms under her shins and angling her knees inward to rest against the sides of her best friend's neck. When she leaned back her butt was seated firmly on the blonde's chest, effectively pinning Quinn's top half down.
"You dared me," She repeated, "And I don't welsh on dares." Biting her lip, she obstinately said, "I'm not a welsher."
With that, she leaned down and hesitated for a brief second before pressing her mouth to Quinn's. After a heartbeat she rolled off to collapse on the carpet next to the blonde, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth several times. Then again. And again.
"Eugh," Santana grimaced, scrubbing her face against her shirt, "Gross. When we get married we're never doing that."
"Never," Quinn echoed, nodding her head furiously in agreement.
She let out a sudden giggle, and I can't resist smiling up at her.
"Even at that age we knew that we were going to get married," She muses softly, shivering when I brush my lips gently against her knuckles.
"Technically, we've been married since we were four," I point out needlessly, "We don't need to go through a whole damn wedding." She rolls her eyes with a soft laugh.
"We were a couple of stupid kids," She says fondly, and I cannot disagree, because we were. She had given me a ring pop on my fourth birthday before bossily saying that if I put it on, we were married just as adults were. Our parents had laughed and ruffled our hair fondly, retelling us this story when we grew older. At first we were mortified, but now...
"Too much talking," I murmur, and she grins, scooting off my body and hauling me up to a sitting position.
"Have I ever said how much I love that we live so close to a beach?" Chuckling, I nod my head. She has mentioned it just about every single time we get home still in our swimsuits. "Because I do." She grins then, salaciously. "I love taking off your bikinis. It's like unwrapping a crème egg."
Blinking, I pull away and swat at her hands, feeling slightly affronted. "Hell no, you did not just compare me to a Cadbury egg that's filled with crap. That's blasphemy, Quinn Fabray. ...Lopez? Fabray-Lopez?"
Quinn beams at me, hazel eyes twinkling. I've always wondered how she does that, though I love the way the sides of her eyes crinkle and lines appear. The first time I pointed them out, she had sulked and blamed it on aging.
...We were eighteen.
But I am not concentrating on that because she is distracting me, and I have no objections to her technique. Anything that involves her lips on any part of my body cannot be protested against.
"We'll figure it out," She assures me breathlessly when she pulls back, a wide smile on her beautiful face. It astounds me sometimes, how gorgeous she truly is, though she still gets gripped by random bouts of insecurity. I do my best to reassure her whenever she feels unsure- I may not be the best speaker out there, but I know how my girlfriend (fiancé now, I guess?) works. I may not be able to verbally express how much I love her, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't know how I feel. If I were a romantic, I would tell her so, everyday, that I would love her forever.
But I am not, so I settle with showing her instead, as I plan to show her every day for as long as we're together, because I truly do love her. Forever is subjective, but I do not mind being optimistic and thinking that for us, forever means for the rest of our lives.
Thanks for reading!