Summary: Quinntana Week 2014: Future Quinntana. What happens when Santana gets a call from Quinn?

The Love I Meant to Say

I hear my phone ring, interrupting my episode Criminal Minds. I wiggle my way out from my fluffy blankets surrounding me, groping around carelessly. I'm sure it's just another business call.

Finally reaching it, I glance down at the contact. Quinn Fabray. I suddenly feel my pulse race, knowing exactly what's about to happen.

"What," I growl into the phone. I can't sound overeager about this call. I have to play it cool.

"Nice to hear from you too, Santana," Quinn replies sarcastically.

"What do you want?" We both know, but it's all part of the foreplay. This is how we've always done it. This is how we've done it for three years. Some things never change.

"I don't know. James went away last night for business," she says ever so innocently. I can just imagine her on the other side of the line, twirling a piece of that perfect blonde hair around her finger as she bites down on her lip. "I guess I was just feeling a little… lonely."

"I'm sure," I respond a little seductively.

"I was wondering if you could come over." If anybody else had been listening to this conversation they'd think it was just two best friends comforting each other. Maybe for her it was. For me, it was far more. It was the call I lived for once every month when her stupid boyfriend would finally leave her home alone.

"What's in it for me?"

"Wine. Company. Conversation." Her voice lilts. "Maybe even more if you're a good girl." I can already feel my blood rushing and my head go light.

"Nothing better to do," I say, adding a shrug as if she could see me.

"Be here in an hour," she demands. Her voice lowers an octave. "I'll be waiting for you." I can already feel my panties dampening.

As soon as she hangs up I immediately begin rushing around. First things first, I need to change; I can't show up to her house in sweatpants. I need to look hot, but like I'm not trying. I quickly jump into the shower, shave, and throw on a casual pair of jeans and A Cliks t-shirt. I put on a heavy coat of eyeliner, no mascara, and some lip-gloss. We both know that we're rushing around at home trying to look as sexy as possible, but it's part of our unspoken agreement that we don't talk about it. So putting on any more make-up would make it clear I was trying.

After a few more touch-ups here and there I jump into my car and begin the half an hour commute to Quinn's house. Doing your make-up in less than fifteen minutes is a skill, I know.

It's funny, really, how this all began. I still remember it from so long ago. We were never really best friends to begin with. In High School we were 'best friends' on the outside, but my only true friend in high school was Brittany. Quinn and I just had this tenuous agreement that we'd use each other to climb the social ladder. We'd occasionally have a sleepover, share a secret or two, but we were more like backstabbing bitchy acquaintances rather than friends. But there was an amount of respect between us.

In college she shipped off to Yale and I went off to… I don't like to think about it. It was a low point in my life when I believed in energy exchanges and gave up my happiness because I thought college would get me farther in life than just dropping out and moving to New York, no plans. Halfway through the year I finally decided to follow my dreams and move to NYC, best decision of my life. It's really kind of funny actually. We never lived all that far apart from each other for four years. It would've been an hour trip each way and she has a MetroPass, as do I, but it didn't cross my mind or hers.

We only saw each other on the rare occasions here and there. The first time we ever hooked up was at Mr. Schue's wedding. I don't know if it was because she was drunk or if she was really into me or if it was just valentine's day and she was feeling lonely, but it was one of the best experiences of my life. She was a freak in the sheets. There was no way that was her first time with a girl. It was beyond mind-blowing.

After that we saw each other at a few other events. We met up at the Glee Reunion before the club shut down. I guess it couldn't survive without my raw talent. We didn't hook up then. Back then the two of us were still trying to desperately cling to high school, to everything we'd lost. She went back to Puck and I went back to Brittany. Her and Puck broke up a year later; I saw it on her Facebook account. Britt and I lasted a while, but eventually we realized that as much as we love each other it wasn't mean to be, romantically speaking. She's off dancing on Lady Gaga's tour now, solving some math equations on the side for MIT.

Quinn and I ran into each other here and there. We flirted a little, but it was harmless. She came to one of Rachel's performances of Funny Girl. When Kurt and Blaine finally got back together for good, we both showed up at their wedding. When some idiot at MIT broke Brittany's heart we both came to console her, neither of could ever say no to the sweet blonde. We'd see each other here and there, but it wasn't really a big thing. We'd hook up every so often, not on purpose, and meet again and pretend it never happened. It was how we worked best.

Then one day, completely out of the blue, she calls me up and asks me to come over. I do. After a bottle of wine and half of a shitty movie we're upstairs, ripping each other's clothes off. I left early in the morning when she kicked me out because James would be back soon.

I figured it was a one-time thing, maybe she was lonely, and maybe she was pissed off at her boyfriend. I didn't know and I didn't care. I got free, hot sex with probably the only other girl I found remotely attractive in high school. Blondes, they're my weakness.

We didn't talk again for a while, but then she called me to come over. I did. And just like that it became a thing. She would call me and I would come and we'd fuck.

Then she got married. I came to the wedding. I watched them say their vows. They looked so happy. I figured, she'd finally committed to someone. This little tryst of ours would be over. And it was for a couple months. I even got a girlfriend in between that time, instead of just sleeping around. Her name was Nina. But then I got a call from Quinn. I went over to her house. We had a couple drinks and then she practically jumped me. I broke up with Nina the next day.

I started casually sleeping around again; being in a committed relationship wouldn't be fair to anyone else. I didn't even realize it when it was happening, but I slowly tailored my sex-life to revolve around Quinn. Each girl in between her was just another face, just another night; it was just me filling the time until she called.

In the last year or so though, I've stopped sleeping around. I told myself I'm not in a relationship with Quinn. I know that, I really do. But it just feels… wrong sleeping with anybody else. To her I'm just her fuck toy, the girl she calls when her man isn't around to please her.

To me, she's the girl I'd already given up everything for.

Look at poor Santana Lopez, whipped over a girl who barely gives her a second thought. None of my old friends from high school, the few I've kept in contact with, would ever believe this.

I reach Quinn's house before I realize it. The lights are on, looking out of place in the quiet, small town community. Of course she lives here. Her and her perfect husband live in the perfect community with their perfect houses that all look the same and gardens that must be trimmed every weekend. I park a little outside of her house and sneak in under the cover of dark. The only flaw in all of this, her perfect life, is me. I'm her little imperfection, the dirty secret that can never be brought to light.

I knock on the door, hoping she'll answer quickly because it's way too cold outside. She does. She's wearing a blue, slinky dress that hugs her curves just right, a few steps up from those sundresses she wore when we were kids. I subconsciously lick my lips. I can't wait to take it off of her. "What's the occasion?" I murmur, still entranced by her dress.

"No occasion," she replies flippantly, letting me in and offering me an already poured glass of red wine. I take it gratefully.

"You look good," I comment, giving her a once-over. She didn't let the years get to her. It's like she got even sexier with time. She's developed more curves over the years, but she's still kept in shape with her flat stomach and lithe arms. I can't help but take a little more time as I practically devour who pale thighs with my eyes. I'll never get sick of her.

"You too," she replies. I barely notice her eye-fucking me because I'm too doing the same to her.

"It's been awhile, huh?" I comment. It's only been a month or two. It feels like a lifetime.

"Getting clingy?"

"I'm not the one who called," I retort.

She smiles a sneaky smile. Almost as if to say touché, but not willing to admit I'm right. She takes a deep inhale and changes the subject, "So how's life?" she takes another sip of red wine, her lips leaving a slight stain of red lipstick on her glass. She easily wipes the smudge away with one delicate swipe of her fingers.

"The usual," I shrug. "How's James?"

She stays completely cool under fire. She doesn't even look shocked or surprised. "James is fine," she says flippantly, waving her hand as if he was a meaningless subject. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Most wives just love talking about their husband," I comment despite her wishes.

"I guess I'm different," she replies, taking a long sip from her glass. "So, let's talk about you. How's work? You like hearing your voice radiating throughout all the stations?"

"It's pretty fucking awesome," I smirk.

"Is it true you write all your songs?" she asks curiously. She knows the answer to this. I'm as famous for writing my own songs as Taylor Swift.

Still, I indulge her. "Yes I do."

"So you're song 'Never Forget, Never Regret' was that about Brittany?" she asks. There's a double blade to her words. On the surface they sound simply curious, but underneath there's a hint of jealousy, of malice.

I clear my throat "Yes." I had some feelings that needed to be fleshed out. Brittany and I were a long time ago, but the feelings won't ever really fade. Just like I said in my song, I'd never ever dare try to forget them. Nor ever will I find myself regretting them.

"Didn't you two break up a while ago?"

"Yes."

"Are you still not over her?"

I sigh and run my fingers through my slightly damp hair. "I think my song says it all," I reply. I am over her, but she's just an amazing experience in my life.

She doesn't reply at first, just lets out a thoughtful hm. "When you covered 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun,'" she physically gulps. "Was that for Finn?"

"Yeah," I mutter. I feel a tear draw in the corner of my eye. I remember when he sang it for me, all the way back in senior year of high school when I was still so unsure about life and afraid to come out of the closet. Finn had been the driving factor that finally let me be comfortable with just being me and when he sang for me, it moved something in me. To this day it's one of my favorite songs ever.

"What about," she begins splashing the wine around in its clear glass, "One Night," she stares up at me with her piercing hazel eyes. I want to look away, but I can't. There's something in the way she stares at me, something in her gaze, that's too powerful for mine to withstand. Her voice drops an octave, "Who did you write that for?"

I wrote it for you. I wrote it all for you. You're the only one for me. You're the only one who understands me, who puts up with my crap, and one of the only girls I've ever given my heart to so completely. And you're the only I'll never ever have. "My ex-girlfriend Nina," I reply. She was the only girl I was ever really semi-serious with other that B and Q.

"She calls me up on the phone/She tells me she's feeling alone/She needs somebody in her home," Quinn says, quoting my lyrics verbatim. "Just for the night." She stares up at me again. She knows its about her, no matter how I refute it she knows its about her. "I tell myself don't go/you're just her toy, her warm body for the night/but she has my soul/and though I'll never have hers/maybe just for just one night I will/I will."

"Yeah…"

"I thought you and Nina were serious?"

"We were."

"I didn't know one night stands were your version of serious," she clucks.

"Well… life is complicated," I reply at a loss for words.

She downs the rest of her wine glass in one gulp. "Santana cut the bullshit." I feel a panicked feeling build in my chest. "We both know who that song was about. So I'm giving you an option. You can either tell me who it was about and maybe for just one night you will have her, completely. Or, you can keep lying and we could go upstairs and you can fuck my brains out, but know that even tonight I'll belong to James."

We both sit there in silence for a moment. She's sitting there, waiting for my response. She looks nervous. I'm sitting there, having a heart attack. Do I tell her? Do I say what she wants me to say? She already knows that it's about her. What do I have to lose? Not much. What do I have to gain? Her.

Is it worth it for one night? I don't even have to think about that question. Of course it is. I'd sell my soul to the devil just for one kiss from her that actually meant something to both of us. Before I can lose my courage or talk myself out of it, I just say it, the words falling out of my mouth more easily than I expected. "I wrote it for you."

Her eyes are shining, flecks of gold jumping around in them as she smiles widely. "I know," she whispers. And just like that her sweet, soft lips are against mine. The fluffy pillows that taste like peaches and red wine.

Unlike other times that were all teeth and tongue and passion, this has more underneath the surface. This has every suppressed feeling, every emotion; we'd kept hidden beneath the surface come to life. It was gentleness and love, desperation and madness. It felt like I had just learned to breathe. In my twenty-seven years of my life, I'd finally taken my first breath.

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

QW14

The sunlight bleeding in through the window forces my eyes open. Quinn is already awake. Her head is lying on the pillow, her hair surrounding her like a halo, as she stares at me. "It's morning," she says. But it wasn't like last night. It wasn't sweet, warm, or tender.

It was frigid. It was her way of telling me that the night was over. She wasn't mine anymore. She was James'. And I had to go.

So I did. I grabbed my clothes, threw them on, and walked out of the house. She got her picket fence, perfect house, and perfect husband. Someday she'd probably have her perfect little blonde children with hazel eyes, so beautiful but never able to hold a candle to their mother.

And I'd be stuck with sad songs and a broken heart. I'd forever be the dirty secret, her moment of weakness, the one night in the dark.

Technically this is posted at 12:15, but I'm counting it as Part of Quinntana Week 2014: Future Quinntana