This is part of my prompt challenge on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted here on FF; this is one of them. Enjoy! :)
SPEED DATING
Tina looks at her with her best pleading expression.
"Please, Rachel, you can't quit now," she whines, pulling Rachel by the hand into the newest coolest bar. "I'll do the laundry for a whole month. Please."
Damn her if she wasn't born a negotiator. "And the dishes."
"And the dishes!" Tina tugs on her hand again. "I need to get laid, Rachel. You're not helping."
She lets herself be dragged into the establishment.
Her little black dress is too tight even for her own standards, she's put on her best Sephora make up, her richest Chanel perfume; still, all she gets is a bunch of uninteresting, if sometimes attractive, people.
She is definitely not a girl for speed dating.
The man in front of her dabs his glistening forehead with a paper napkin and tries a smile. "So, uh, what do you do?"
"I'm a composer," she says, tight smile.
Tina is going to suffer a very slow and painful death later.
The bell thankfully rings, and it's time for a break. She goes straight to the bar because she physically needs hard liquor.
The bar is all blue lights and pretty bottles on display; the bartenders are all very handsome and their shirts are all very tight.
One silver lining to the evening, at least.
She gulps her first glass of scotch – Dewar's Highlander Honey because she fucking deserves it okay, she fucking deserves it – much faster than she should; the bartender gives her a refill automatically, and she thanks him.
A woman sits by her side. "Hey there. Rachel, right?"
"The one and only," she says, shrugging, body turning to the woman anyway.
"I'm Santana." She offers her hand; her handshake is strong and determined. Rachel likes that. "I'm organizing the event tonight."
She's kinda gorgeous, Rachel has to give her that. Santana's sleeveless dress display toned arms, and her high ponytail draws attention to the high cheekbones and the elegant chin.
"I couldn't help but to notice you," she continues, looking right into Rachel's eyes, "and you don't seem to be having a lot of fun."
"The candidate's pool is," Rachel nods, sipping her drink, "lacking."
Santana examines Rachel – her cheeks may burn a little at that – before touching her forearm gently. "How about," she says, leaning forward, "I pay your tab tonight? Would that make you feel better?"
"Very," Rachel answers, her own voice dropping an octave. "Excellent customer service."
Santana smirks, handling her credit card to the bartender. "It's done, then."
The bell rings.
The next suitor is handsome, well-kept beard and perfect haircut, but he's a stock broker and that's all he talks about.
Rachel sighs, nodding absently, eyes wandering.
She locks eyes with Santana.
"Thank you," she mouths, raising her newly filled glass of scotch in a fake toast.
Santana winks at her, smiling before answering her phone.
One hour later, it's thankfully over.
Tina waves her a goodbye, hand firmly locked in a tall hunk fella.
Rachel considers her options. Leaving empty handed is not one of them.
She goes straight to Santana. "Thank you," she says, leaning against the bar counter. "For the drinks."
Santana's eyes linger on her lips as she turns her body to face Rachel. "I hope the experience was less traumatic."
"Definitely," Rachel answers, heart rate picking up. "There's one more thing, though."
"What could I do for you, Rachel?" Santana says, smiling spreading across her face.
"You could give me your number," she answers, pressing against Santana now because really, what does she have to lose besides her fucking dignity, "and then you could kiss me."
Santana's hand finds Rachel's lower back, settling their bodies fully against each other. "That's a very good idea."
Rachel bites her lower lip, one hand on Santana's shoulder and the other on the back of her neck.
She knew, somehow, that Santana would be a good kisser, but she's excellent. She starts slow, sliding their lips together, sighing in pleasure; she leaves small bites on Rachel's lower lip, abusing the flesh and soothing it with the tip of her tongue over and over again.
Rachel's breath picks up too easily, and she moans when Santana's tongue finally enters her mouth, long strokes against Rachel's tongue, languid and unhurried.
"I just changed my mind," Rachel gasps, scratching the back of Santana's neck. "We should definitely go to your place."
"Definitely," Santana answers, running her thumb on the corner of Rachel's lips, cleaning the lipstick smudged there.