Santana's been chain drinking (is that even a term? Screw it, she's Santana Lopez, if it wasn't before, consider it coined now) for the past...oh, 15 minutes or so, hoping that nobody would notice. Thankfully, all eyes are on the birthday girl, and the amazing conversationalist that is Brittany. Who knew. However, none of this alcohol seems to be doing the trick of getting her eyes off the blonde. She imagines...Oh, she imagines a lot of things. Santana's feeling rather hot under the collar, must be the drinks.

Occasionally, Brittany would throw a teeny, tiny smirk her way, from above the rim of her glass, but Santana's sure it's just hallucinations from the...well, whatever it is that's in her glass (she'd told the bartender to surprise her).

So when she feels a buzzing from her phone, she expects it to be a work related text. When she sees that it is, on the contrary, a text from a certain blonde sitting right across from her, her heart does not skip a beat.

'Pls stop looking at me lik that. You're making it hard for me not to drag you back to my place right now.'

She doesn't even dare look up from her cell phone screen, even as she senses heat rushing to her cheeks, just feels her breath get caught in her throat. Her heart pounds like crazy inside her chest, so loudly that she thinks people might actually be able to hear it. Even from across the table.

Santana just stares at the text message mutely, the phone laying neatly on her lap, unable to either close it or type up a reply.

"You alright?" Brittany actually has the most innocent expression on her face, like she's genuinely concerned.

"You seem a little -" Quinn looks her up and down, putting a gentle hand on her arm " - flushed."

Santana gulps inaudibly, still missing her voice, and gives a strained nod back, right hand already reaching for her glass.

Just then her phone vibrates again, and it almost makes Santana's knees jerk and bump the table from underneath. This time, she mentally prepares herself by taking a deep breath.

'If you said that to me, we wouldn't even make it to yours.'

She visibly squirms in her seat, crosses her legs quickly. She's not sure how much more of this she'll be able to take. The blonde keeps finding newer and more effective ways to torture her.

"So Santana." Her head snaps up, and her hands automatically flip the phone shut, to a vaguely familiar face, champagne in hand and friendly smile on his face, which probably means he's not a stranger. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a slight frown on Brittany's face, and it gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, that she still has some control over this. But back to the guy, perhaps she's seen him...somewhere. Eurgh, usually Quinn takes care of all this name business, and now said blonde is looking at her expectantly, so he must be either a really important person or someone she's met plenty of times. Oops.

"I have to ask, Blaine and I are dying to know." He leans down, because sure, that'll keep people (Quinn) from overhearing his question, "are you two..." He trails off, gesturing between Santana and Brittany. The former almost spits her drink in his face in her haste to reply.

"No," she splutters out, shaking her head almost violently. "No, no no no. Me and -" she motions towards Brittany - "No, I mean, just, no. Like, seriously,no." Then she even throws her head back and laughs, albeit a little maniacally and somewhat strained. "I mean did you really th-" When she catches the sight of Quinn's raised eyebrow, the laughter magically stops, replaced by a more serious expression. "I mean - " Santana clears her throat " - I'm straight."

A sound suspiciously alike to that of a snort comes from Brittany's throat.

"Sorry. Cold." The blonde raises her hand in apology before drinking from her own glass of what looks to be red wine, a little too amused for someone who claims to have a sore throat and runny nose. "Continue on, please." The beginnings of an already too familiar smirk forming on her features.

The man turns back to Santana, nodding. "Well, are you seeing anyone?"

She's just about to reply when Quinn (finally) decides to jump in and save her ass. "Wow, back off my client there." She pokes him in the arm playfully, and it's enough to get his attention. "You still haven't thanked me for introducing you to Mr. Dapper, Kurt."

Right, that's his name. Kurt Tunnel...Kummer...Tumble...whatever his last name is. Blaine's boyfriend or partner or whatever the gays are calling it nowadays.

Her phone once again buzzes, and she's torn between wanting to rip out the battery and throw the device as hard as she physically can across the crowded ballroom, or read the text. But of course, being young and reckless, she goes for the clearly less wise option.

'i want to go down on you til the sun comes up'

Nobody blinked an eye when the pair promptly left not 5 minutes later, one after the other. Quinn just throws her an airy 'Don't be late on Monday', eyes still fixated to the stage where Berry's performing another Streisand classic. It's a wonder the woman herself couldn't make it tonight. But that's the last, last, last thing on Santana's mind right now.

"Come with me," Brittany says, more like murmurs, much later. Much, much, much later. After they're both exhausted beyond belief. Even now, Santana just wants to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. She can't seem to get enough. The large hotel suite smells like sex, but neither girl seems to mind too much. They're too busy tangled up in one another. The blonde, for one, is tracing some random shapes (letters?) on her bare abdomen. Cool hands against her fevered skin.

Santana has to force down an instant yes, instead she replies with, "Where?"

The blonde shrugs, "Anywhere. I don't care."

"Right now?"

"Sure, why not."

"But it's like - " Santana turns to her right, checking the digital clock on the bedside table " - 2.30 am."

"So? I don't want you to go, and I definitely don't want to sleep."

To be fair, Santana doesn't want to leave either. So she agrees.

They shower (separately), then get dressed, in more comfortable clothing this time round. Well, Brittany does, Santana's clothes are all at home. Luckily, the drive to Santana's takes only about 5 minutes, with practically no traffic.

They drive around aimlessly through the streets, and it's quite fun, to be honest. Brittany is great company if nothing else.

"What are your hobbies?" Santana's idly deleting certain text messages she received earlier then turns off her phone.

The dancer gives her a half incredulous, half amused look from the driver's seat. "You're seriously asking me what my hobbies are?"

"Isn't that what friends do?" It honestly just slips out before she can stop it.

Brittany's silent for a few seconds, her expression neutral, and Santana doesn't know why, but she feels nervous. Which is ridiculous, since that's exactly what they are.

"Go out with me tomorrow night." The blonde doesn't look at her when she says this for some reason, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the road instead. It's not a request, but it isn't a flat out order either. It is what it is.

"Like on a date?" It's a dumb question, but Santana just wants to buy some time, really.

"Mm hmm. You can find out all about my hobbies then."

She's 100% sure she'll regret this later, in the harsh morning light. She doesn't even want to think about what Quinn might do/say. But Brittany is just sitting right beside her, and seriously, she's fucking beautiful, and to be fair, straight women experiment all the time, so it's not a big deal anyway.

"Okay."

Just like that, Brittany visibly relaxes.

They have breakfast in some diner along the road, and it's not exactly five star dining, but they don't complain.

It's only when they part ways does she come to the horrible realization.

Quinn will fucking know about this, and she'll probably throw a grand coming out party, too. More likely than not with the banner 'I knew all along' hanging from the ceiling.

Then inevitably, so will Rachel. Which, with that blabbermouth of hers, will mean that her two dads will find out as well.

She immediately fishes her phone out and turns it on, ready to call Brittany and cancel. But of course, Quinn, with ninja spying skills or something beats her to it. Santana sighs before pressing the 'answer' button.

"Quinn, I'm sleeping." She even fakes a yawn, but the blonde just laughs on the other end. The brunette knows that laugh, it means that Quinn had lots of sex the previous night (ew! Also, don't ask) or she just had some phenomenally good news.

"Goood morning sunshine. Sleep well last night? Or maybe not at all..." her voice sounds cheery. Too cheery.

"Yes, I slept right up until you called me at 9am on a day off."

Quinn scoffs, "Please, you act as if-"

The fatigue from last night is now finally getting to her, and she'll be damned if she lets Quinn carry on talking like this. "Ok, fucking touche. I slept with Brittany. Happy now?" It's a little louder than she intended, but thankfully, there's nobody around.

The other end goes dead quiet. For 1...2...3 seconds.

"Hello?"

"You...what?"

Santana freezes. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuc-

"You...slept with Brittany? Like, slept slept or slept slept?"

"No, I didn't. What?"

"I was talking about your new single on iTunes at midnight last night." (Of fucking course. How could she have forgotten something like that? No, don't answer) Oh my God you had sex with Brittany Pierce. You had sex with the Brittany S. Pierce. I mean I totally called it did I not?"

"No I didn't. You heard wrong. Jesus Christ." When in doubt, deny everything.

"You're gay panicking. You're gay panicking!" Santana hears a distant 'Rach, Rach wake up. Guess who's gay panicking? Where's your phonebook, I need to start calling some people' then something that could be identified as a scream or an uncharacteristic and slightly serial killer-esque squeak on the other end.

Great, now all Santana's gotta do is either hire an assassin or find a way to kill both the hobbit and her manager then dispose of the bodies.