A/N: Smutty flashback chapter. Decided to forgo the italics. Too much is kind of annoying. This story is pretty awkward with all the flashbacks and stuff, so let me know if the layout gets too...unintelligible.

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I'm not what I was last summer

Not who I was in the spring

Tell me, tell me, tell me when will we learn

We love it and we leave it and we watch it burn

Damn these wild young hearts

-The Noisettes

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2013

Santana knows the end is coming.

And it's not just because there's a tiny picture of an aeroplane on their calendar marked five days from now.

Rachel's leaving for New York. It only took one semester of Ohio State and some exceptional planning skills for Rachel to get into Tisch. ("Really, their music program is avant-garde. Exceptional—even in comparison with Juliard!")

And she knows Puck will follow.

It's not like anything big has changed, but when he comes over, more often than not, it's when she's in class. He hasn't made a move, she's pretty sure they haven't even kissed, but Rachel blushes when their fingers touch.

Puck does too.

(Yes, she knew it was coming.

She just didn't think it would hurt so much.)

Puck fucks her one last time. He holds her above him, just high enough that he can still move inside her. It's her favourite position. He holds out as long as he can, teeth gritted, muscles clenching every time her hips roll.

It's probably the best apology she's ever received.

It's not enough.

She hates being left alone.

It'll be another semester before she can make it into NYU. She'll be stuck here, without anyone who gives a fuck about her. Rachel's already found a replacement for her room, a shy Indian kid who Santana hates on sight. She would have hated anyone.

In the morning, Puck looks guilty. His eyes flick to the door as he pulls on his jeans, calculating the thickness of the walls and the distance to Rachel, before sitting on the edge of the bed to watch her. Santana stalks around her room naked. She finds his shirt over her desk lamp and balls it up, tossing it at his chest as hard as she can. She wants to shout, "Yeah, Rachel fucking heard! I hope she changes her mind about you too!"

She stomps past him. Maybe she'll return his DVD collection the same way. Puck captures her around the waist, pulling her onto his lap. She struggles, but he pulls her tighter into his chest. "Don't, San," he warns. She goes limp. Puck doesn't sound quite like himself, and she knows she doesn't feel like herself. With bad hair and no clothes, or make-up, she feels vulnerable in front of him for the first time in years.

He rests his chin on her shoulder. "We're bros, right?" Santana snorts but doesn't disagree. There's probably some rule about not having sex with your "bro", but whatever, neither of them have ever given a shit about the rules before.

"You're leaving me," she accuses.

"You never wanted me before," Puck says with good humour, not denying it. It's reasonable, but he knows what effect reason has on arguments like this. (None.) Girls are crazy capricious like that. Or maybe just plain crazy.

She doesn't know what to say to that. Yes, she never wanted him as a boyfriend, or something more permanent than a fuck-buddy. She likes girls just a little too much to love any guy entirely. But that didn't mean he could just leave! He was still hers, or, at least, had never been anyone else's before.

He never expected a reply. "Please don't fuck this up for me. I really—" And his words abandon him. He should probably say that stuff to Rachel before he says it to Santana. He should probably even see if he has a chance, before admitting embarrassing shit like that. "I really want this. And I know she fucking listens to you, so don't tell her how she could do better or some shit," he growls. "Let her find out on her own," he adds jokingly, though he's not all that certain it is a joke.

"I wouldn't," she says testily.

They both know it's a lie, but because he's her bro he just hums under his breath and hugs her a little firmer. As much as she'd never admit it, she'll miss the way his arms feel around her. She runs a finger over the fine hairs on his arm, memorizes the cords in his muscles with her fingers.

His voice is strained. "Don't make me feel bad about this, 'kay?" He's going to do it anyway, but this might be one of those epic decisions that change everything forever and if it's going to work, if he and Rachel are going to work, then they need every bit of help they can get. Including his best girl (he'd say "best friend", but that's gay, plus Finn had claimed that title at age six) in his corner and not using her bitch-evil ways to destroy him.

Santana nods, even though she's not sure how she'll manage that, because no matter what, she's going to feel bad about it.

She finds a way.

It's probably not what Puck wanted, but what the fuck, he's not her keeper.

She helps Rachel celebrate the night before she leaves. They probably should have gone out, but the few almost-friends they'd managed to make were still in finals period. Rachel had taken early examination to get her marks in time for the NYU cut-off. So, instead, they drink vodka sunrises alone, even though it's a grossly girly drink that Santana would usually make fun of, and watch some music channel that's never touched anything made after 1995.

They're both in a weird, slap happy mood that has them laughing at stupid things while still quietly miserable.

"I don't care what anyone says," Rachel whispers secretively, "I like Vanilla Ice."

Santana just grins. "…I rock a mic like a vandal. Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle. Dance go rush to the speaker that booms—" She raps along with the television until Rachel giggles and collapses against her. "Okay, I don't like it enough to know every word."

"S'from Glee," Santana says in excuse.

"Mmn," Rachel agrees in a disbelieving tone. She leans her forehead into Santana's neck. "I don't want to go tomorrow," she whispers in her secret voice again.

"Yes, you do," Santana replies automatically. Rachel's breath is warm on her throat. One small hand rests on her thigh, the other still cradling her drink. "You're just scared."

"No, I'm happy." She has Puck and Santana, and they're the only people she's had except for her fathers. She understands more now, understands why people would skip class to do nothing, would party every weekend, would get pregnant at sixteen. (It really doesn't matter what you're doing, if you're doing it with the right people.) "Don't want to leave you," she pouts. "Maybe I could postpone, just until classes start."

Santana shakes her head and shots the rest of her glass so she has both hands free. "You won't be happy till you're in New York. You're just content." She slides one hand into Rachel's hair, twirls a lock around her finger like she usually does. (But it doesn't feel like it usually does.) "Plus if you miss O-Week, all the good friends will be taken," she warns. "And I know you'll want to sign up for, like, a million and one of your geeky clubs."

Well, the last bit is true, but, "I already took the good friends," she laughs, not caring that she's talking too close into Santana's skin and probably leaving hot, damp marks where her lips brush.

"Lame," Santana complains, ignoring how warm that comment made her.

"But you'll probably make all new friends here. And then you'll forget about me! And forget about our plans in New York! And then you'll—"

Santana scoffs and cups the back of Rachel's neck, pulling her closer again. Puck is actually better at handling Rachel's dramatics (who'd have guessed?), but she's pretty used to them by now. "Enough, Berry. You think I could forget you if I tried?" She takes away Rachel's drink and puts it on the coffee table. This is a clear cut-off point.

"Promise," Rachel demands, knowing she sounds like a child. She never had a friend to get jealous over before, so maybe she's allowed to have her childish moments.

Santana leans forward and slants her mouth over Rachel's. For a second Rachel kisses her back, sweet and messy, nothing but lips and shared breath.

Rachel pushes her away with a gasping laugh. "Santana!"

"Promise," Santana agrees solemnly, not looking away from Rachel's lips. She tastes like fruit juice and lipstick.

"You can't just go around kissing anybody you like, Santana. You're going to end up with a sexual harassment lawsuit, because I saw you and the valet at—" Rachel can't finish her lecture because Santana braces her hands on Rachel's thighs and leans so close that neither girl can avoid eye contact.

Rachel's heart stutters with a sharp breath. "Santana?" It comes out weak and nervous. She's not so much of a loser that she doesn't know what's happening, she just can't figure out how this is happening.

Santana presses a slow, delicate kiss against her lips. And another. And soon she has Rachel stretched out on their sofa, her thigh pressed into Rachel's centre as the other girl rocks against her to the rhythm of their lips.

Rachel tangles her hands in Santana's hair, fixes her mouth over the pulse point in her throat. The hands under her shirt, rubbing abstract shapes over her stomach and ribs, barely brushing the underside of her breasts are making her crazy, and she's not quite thinking straight when her teeth sink into Santana's skin. Santana feels her whole body go slack. She can't even breathe for a second.

She pulls back to search Rachel's eyes. The smaller girl shrugs, face heating. "Sorry."

Santana smirks. It wasn't exactly bad; it just surprised her. "Slower next time. If I jerk away when you've got you're greedy little teeth in me that could hurt."

Before she can go back to where they were, Rachel's hands tighten on her shoulders, not exactly pushing her away, just holding her in place. "What are we doing? We're friends, we're not supposed to be doing…this!"

Two months of being sexually active with Finn last year was not enough to teach her how to act in these situations.

"That's a stupid rule," Santana informs her. She carefully unbuttons Rachel's shirt, revealing the candy pink bra beneath. "I want you. You want me. We're friends and you're leaving tomorrow." Rachel stares up at her, half worried, half aroused. She takes off the pink bra in a move so practised it should be illegal. She can't stop her fingers from tracing the contours of Rachel's breasts. Not that she would if she could.

Rachel slides her hands down Santana's waist, as if not quite sure what to do with them. "How do you know I want you?" she challenges, but it's slightly too raspy to be a denial.

Santana presses her hand over Rachel's panties, cups her hard enough to feel the wetness seeping through the cotton. She gives a throaty laugh even as Rachel moans and thrusts against her fingers. "Oh, I'm a little bit psychic too," she mocks lightly. Her gaydar was supernaturally awesome. And there was that time when one of the buttons on her shirt popped open and Rachel stared for a whole minute before managing to form words.

She didn't actually think seducing Rachel Berry would be this easy. She thought she'd have to sing some Celine Dion abomination, or perform the first two acts of Gypsy. Instead, Rachel holds on to her tightly and literally begs to be fucked.

Santana obeys wordlessly.

With her fingers pressed deep into Rachel's heat, her throat closes on any smart remarks. Rachel's hips rock desperately, her eyes shut tight. It's too intense, too real. She can't even remember why she's doing this. All she can focus on is how to rub Rachel's clit just the right way to hear those sobbing screams.

Her breathing catches when Rachel's does, her body throbbing emptily as Rachel comes.

Rachel's still has a death grip around her neck, as she pulls her fingers free. Rachel makes a whining noise, her over-sensitized body still in aftershocks.

Santana's mouth goes dry. She shuts her eyes before they can water. She thought if she took everything Puck had it would make her feel better. She thought if she'd had everything Rachel was taking it couldn't possibly hurt. How could she be jealous if she'd had them both first?

She was wrong.

It only stops hurting when Rachel peppers her whole face and body with kisses and shyly undresses her. Santana throws one leg over the couch and puts one foot on the floor to help her out. She's pretty sure she could come just watching Rachel on her stomach between her thighs with only a tiny skirt bunched around her waist.

Rachel touches her experimentally, fingers dancing lightly over smooth damp skin, tracing Santana's slit with a wondering look. She glances up embarrassedly. "I don't know what to do," she admits quietly.

Santana's heart swells and she has to bite her lip to stop from saying something cutesy and emotional.

She sits up a little, bracing herself on one elbow. Shit. That really was a good view. "Whatever you want," she says gently, voice raspy. She grips Rachel's hand where it rests on her inner thigh.

She doesn't know whether she should kiss or kill Rachel's vocal trainers. Seriously, her tongue never gets tired. She's pretty sure this is the only time she's ever had to say enough because her body couldn't take one more touch.

Rachel crawls up her body, beaming proudly. "You were right."

"Duh. What about?" Speaking took a lot of effort.

Rachel lies half on the lounge, half on Santana. "Sex with friends is definitely a good idea," she informs her giddily. "Am I squishing you?"

She rolls her eyes in response. "Shut up, Berry."

She doesn't say anything else, just let's Rachel fall asleep and cut off the circulation to her right arm.

She can't fall asleep, can't even close her eyes.

She wasn't right.

Not even close.

Rachel leaves and all Santana has is a dark bruise with teeth imprints on her neck. It aches when she turns her head, and aches even more when it disappears completely.

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