This was originally meant to be Quick, but it slipped into Quinntana friendship without me really meaning it to.
Inspired by a prompt from breeutiful: "Bare Feet", and containing the quote "It's funny how the Earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to."
Set before Season 1.
Disclaimer: As if I own Glee.
She places her bare feet on the floor and tries to pretend the night's events haven't happened. That she's not sitting naked next to Noah Puckerman and her boyfriend isn't downstairs somewhere. Fuck.
She stands, slowly, carefully, and replaces her clothes, smoothing them like she didn't just lose her virginity.
What if someone finds out? asks a bitch-face voice in her head. Finn will break up with you. Your popularity will drop away like dead flies.
Shut up, Quinn tells the voice firmly, and stop using insect comparisons.
A glance at the clock tells her that she's been asleep for maybe two hours, and the sounds of a dying party can be heard from downstairs.
She can only find one shoe so she walks down stairs in without them, beaming and stumbling and chugging what's left of her wine cooler.
"Hey, Q!" Santana exclaims. "You totally missed Brittany taking off her shirt and puking all over Karofsky."
Maybe it's because she's hungover and drunk at the same time, maybe it's because she just slept with her boyfriend's best friend or maybe it's because Karofsky's a dick who deserved it, but for some reason this is the funniest thing she's heard in a long time.
"Oh my God, Q!" Santana cries as Quinn doubles over and can barely breathe due to the hysterical laughter pouring from her mouth.
"Where've you been, anyway?" she continues. "Finn called you, like, twelve times. That guy is way too clingy."
"Yeah," Quinn gasps, ignoring the question. "Clingy."
Santana giggles, pauses, then burps. "Where's Britt gone?"
"I dunno. Making out with someone under a table?"
"Yeah," Santana sniggers, as if these are the wisest words she's ever heard. "Are you sober? 'Cos I need a ride home."
Quinn nods because she doesn't want to walk home and she's not that drunk, anyway.
"You're not even old enough to drive," Santana chides as she staggers out the front door. "You're not even sober. You're such a liar." Quinn sighs and guides her down the steps then stumbles and falls down herself.
"Oh my God! Q, are you okay? Oh my God!" The worst thing about drunk Santana, Quinn decided, is that she won't stop crying once she starts.
"I'm fine, Santana. I'm just a bit hungover."
"Why are you hungover? Why've you been sleeping?" It's funny how the Earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to.
"I wasn't feeling well, San. I bunked on the washing machine." Santana gives her that look like she'll sort this out when she's not drunk but doesn't say a word.
It takes a good five minutes wandering around the cars outside Jacob Ben-Israel's house before they realise they don't have keys to any of them.
"I never liked that whiney little bitchface," Santana sighs as she flops on the front lawn. "I can't believe he ditched us without a car."
"That's my boyfriend you're talking about," Quinn protests half-heartedly, because she is pretty pissed, but it's not like she has a right to complain. She just slept with Puck, for fuck's sake.
"Let's just spend the night here," Santana suggests, and Quinn can't think of a different suggestion.
They spread out giggling and shivering until Santana places her head on Quinn's shoulder and winds her feet around her.
Shriek of laughter.
Jerk upright suddenly.
"What's your issue, San?" Quinn murmurs, because she's tired and hungover and just wants to sleep.
"Holy fuck, blonde virgin Quinn Fabray! You just had sex!"
"I- did you- I didn't-"
"Don't give that shit to me! You lost your V-Card to some bitch – that wasn't your boyfriend, BTW- in the back room of Jacob Ben-Israel's house! And you didn't tell me!"
"You wouldn't get it!"
And suddenly, in Santana's eyes, things just got serious.
"Quinn, baby, you just had sex and didn't tell the boy you introduce your parents to. You've entered my world now."
"Look, Santana, I don't want to talk about it."
"Who was he? Was he good? Was he big?"
"Santana!"
"I'm serious, Q! Who'd you fuck?"
"How'd you even know?"
San laughs like Quinn just asked her why Ryan Gosling was attractive.
"You're not wearing any shoes."
Quinn wriggles her exposed feet and sighs.
"Puck."
There's a pause, then; "At least you were good, then. He wouldn't have taken off your shoes if you weren't."
"I don't want to know how you know that."
"Well this one time Brittany and me-"
" I said I didn't want to know!" Santana sniggers in a way that makes Quinn think she's secretly enjoying judging others sex life, before lying down again.
"Come here, Q. I'm tired and you're a good pillow."
"Yeah," sighed Quinn, sinking into the grass. "Good night."
"We are talking about this when we're sober-"
"Shh, Santana."