A/N: So I've decided not to put a cap on how many chapters I crank out for the this story since it seems to be writing itself. Short chapter with a little Pezberry smut toward the end. Angst and sap and all that other stuff ahead. Read and Review, and I'll see about posting two a days more often.

Oh and to SilentInformer: The fact that you leave me lovely comments for each chapter makes my day.

To Tinythunder— I swear you swell my ego more than necessary but it gives me the courage to post the edgier stuff that I put up—thanks.

To DEB—you were around since chapter one—feels nice to know I'm keeping you entertained.

Chapter 9

They'd spent every day together for two weeks. Her fathers didn't mind. They were actually happy she was putting herself out there to make friends. The fact that no one knew what they were doing was so thrilling that she ached to be defiant the next day; and the next and so on. Things hadn't changed at school at all. Their tango becoming this game they played before nightfall, when Santana's parents would go to work and she would wait by the bus stop to get picked up by the black shifty two door coup.

She felt like she was on a clandestine mission to rendezvous with her lover. She was so curious, so open to new experiences that the titles didn't matter; and neither did the recognition. She didn't need to be someone's girl, she didn't need for the entire school to know who she was with; or why. Dating Finn she made that mistake. It was like walking proof that someone worth something at that school saw something in her. She didn't need the gossip; the lies, breaking up relationships and sullying reputations. She didn't need it at all. And now she was getting what she'd wanted on a level she'd never began to imagine. She knew the qualms of having sex at her age, she knew all too well from Quinn's dilemma. She knew she wanted it to be special; and with someone she cared immensely about; if not someone she loved. And she realized with the end of her last relationship that love may take too long—and she won't live forever waiting on that special someone who might never come along. She wanted to experience this—this wick that had been lit the moment she kissed Santana. She hadn't even registered why she'd kissed the girl in the first place. But she had, and it set off a chain reaction of want that she'd never experienced before.

And then it got deeper. The sex wasn't a need, laying afterward in stolen kisses and whispered words under the breeze from her open window. 'What's your favorite color?', or 'What do you want to be when you grow up', and just recently, 'What would make your life worth living if you couldn't live the life you wanted to?', all question asked in the dark. They were slowly getting to know each other, discovering acceptance between themselves and night light, curled in each other's post coital bliss. It was terrifying to know that one of her arch enemies would turn out to be one of her biggest allies. She often found herself telling all her secrets to Santana, unwavering in the knowledge that she could trust the girl that writhed beneath her.

And it had only been two weeks. Two full weeks of constant interaction. Every free moment they had, they spent together. Santana would call after she parted from Brittany, or text on her way home. She would let her know when dance class was over; and miraculously Santana would be waiting for her when she walked out. They'd gone through so many firsts in that short period of time that she'd been thinking about giving her something she'd been keeping to herself until it felt right to give it away. If it wasn't special with her; it wouldn't be with anyone else. She was discovering how to be herself with Santana, and Santana was learning how not to be the perpetuation of what everyone else wanted her to be.

She knew she was falling for the girl the moment she'd come to pick her up, happy that her best friend had finally found someone worthy of her time. They'd gone back to her house and they had sex; but it was so much different from the other times. There wasn't only need. There was acceptance. There was admiration and appreciation. There wasn't love—that was true. But there was hope that what they had wouldn't go to waste. She'd tasted her for the first time, that night, the musky scent filling her senses and taking her breath away. She'd kissed every crevice of her skin, head to foot and she did so in return. And they'd danced between those sheets, the breeze from her open window raising her skin with song to meet Santana's melody… and that night she sung ballads of passion and trust. She didn't have to dodge insults in that bedroom, she didn't have to shy away from how she really felt on that bed, and neither did Santana. And they'd bonded over that simple fact, in so few days—Rachel knew she felt at least an inkling of something towards the girl, and that her feelings were at least partially met.

The night Noah climbed through that window she was so embarrassed. But not because she was ashamed of what she was doing. She wasn't ready for someone like him to see her that way—naked, intimate, and vulnerable. She was glad they could keep their secret quiet, if only for a while longer. The extra attention would probably dissolve their affair, and it would dissipate forgotten with yesterday's news. She hadn't expected Santana to pull her aside the following Thursday with her proposition, words went unspoken as they drove to her house. She ate dinner with her family, sitting around the table talking about mundane things and work, and school. To be honest her heart was raging in her chest, pounding a thousand beats per second toward every moment that inched closer to their being alone.

They left soon after, kissing their daughter goodnight and hugging Rachel—the girl with such a good influence on their potty mouthed daughter—who often got away with speaking that way because she did so well at everything she took on. She walked quietly to her bedroom, sitting softly down on the freshly made bed, smoothing out already wrinkle free sheets. She soon joined her, brushing her hair away from her neck and kissing the soft skin there. Santana kissed her for eons, trailing small pecks of her lip gloss along her shoulder, her collarbone, her heart. She pulled her shirt away from her, then her bra; rolling down the loose fitting jeans she had on. Santana undressed herself then, pulling back her sheets and urging Rachel to climb under. She clapped off her lights and snuggled next to the naked girl beside her.

"We don't have to, you know… I was just talking trash."

Rachel looked at her in the moonlight, noting how terrified and unsure she looked. She kissed her lips then, pulling her on top of her, kissing her softly anywhere she could reach. She smiled a shaky smile before letting out a rugged breath, trailing kisses down the apex of Rachel's thighs. She settled there, kissing every part of her sex before plunging her tongue into the heat that invited her. And she moaned, Rachel whimpered against her ministrations and urged her to continue, feeling the tingle build deep inside her. And she only noticed she'd been screaming her name in broken syllables when she came, flooding Santana with the scent of her arousal.

And in an instant she was back at her side, rubbing small circles into her taunt stomach, watching her come down from her aroused euphoria. She kissed her lips as she towered over her somewhat shivering body, preparing to enter her—anyone, for the first time.

"Do you have protection?"

Santana kissed her lips, rubbing her stiff erection against her inner thigh.

"It's impossible for me to get you pregnant, Rachel."

She nodded, gripping Santana's penis with shaking hands she guided her inside. She closed her eyes as Santana began to rotate her hips, slowly pushing past barriers to be inside of her. She could only grimace, the full burning sensation a reminder of the novice nature of their coupling, inexperienced and fumbling. She was sheathed completely inside of her for two entire minutes before Rachel told her it was okay to move.

"You feel …so tight."

The words danced on her neck as Santana maintained a slow, steady rhythm, gripping her hips as she pulled out, grimacing when she pushed back inside. Rachel hadn't quite adjusted to the feeling, angling her hips up to cushion the pressure of Santana's thrusts.

"Ugh…Oh my gosh I'm not going to last you feel so …oh my gosh I think I'm going to come."

The muffled words finally registered to Rachel, she lifted her head up to meet her eyes. Kissing the girl who was grinding into her now easing body.

"Just don't think about it. Don't think about how it feels just…concentrate on something else."

She began thrusting more confidently into her, her strokes hitting something deep within her, rubbing at a particular ribbed bundle of nerves. She was starting to enjoy the feeling when Santana rolled them both over, her endurance proving weak after only a mere four minutes of the sexual act. She was trying her best not to finish before Rachel had gotten off.

Rachel on the other hand was adjusting to the overwhelming feeling of being completely impaled with her girlfriend's rigid penis. She didn't move, whimpering against the Cheerios chest as she began to move her already aching thighs. She moved slowly, lifting herself up on her partner, falling uncertainly to the hilt and rolling her hips to rub her clit. She repeated it, Santana throwing her head back as she got used to the clenching heat enveloping her. They rocked that way for a while, Rachel finding that she controlled the tempo of their lovemaking—if she could call it that. She was shaking with anticipation at what would happen, the warmth bubbling in her gut and catching in her throat was throwing her off. The bottoms of her feet were burning and tingling with a desire she had yet to experience. She was ready for whatever came, especially if it was her. Santana was thrusting upward into her at an alarming speed, her abdomen tightening and loosening which each thrust, the sweat on her forehead showing all the exertion of her efforts.

Rachel was screaming, yelling louder than she could ever remember, and falling hard onto Santana's chest with a thud louder than the noise Santana was currently making with the meeting of their hips. She grunted her response, the feeling of her penis stretching and emptying into her was one of the weirdest and most satisfactory things she had ever experienced. They lay there, crumpled and panting, sweat drenching the sheets beneath them as they slept; Santana slipping out of her moments later.

000 0000 000

They left for school together the following morning, smiles plastered on their faces as Santana dropped Rachel off two blocks before getting to WMHS. She parked her car and met up with Brittany, linking pinkies as they walked into the school. The halls were whispering mere moments later when Rachel trudged in, the slushy dripping off her clothes. She stomped down the hallway, walking straight toward Santana, stopping in her tracks as she shouted at the Cheerio.

"Right before Finn called me a dyke and slushied me, he told me it was okay that I cheated on him—because he cheated on me first when he told me he wasn't a virgin. And do you know surprised I was to find that you were his first! HIS FIRST! How stupid I was! You can have him."

And she stomped off, rushing to the nearest locker room to shower and change. Santana stood them, staring between the spot Rachel had left on the floor and where she had gone to. She knew she couldn't run after the diva, as it would probably ruin her reputation and out their little relationship. She stepped over the stained floor, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder before heading to Spanish. She'd text Rachel like she normally did after school, and she'd hash the truth out then.

Hopefully that would happen; she thought as she took her seat, sending her a text before class started.

"Meet me at the bleachers during lunch—I have to tell you the truth."

She closed her phone and doodled on her notebook, too many stars aligning the margins.

End of Chapter 9