*0*0*
Goodnight From Me, Good Morning To You
*0*0*
In the wake of Lucy Q, you found yourself hanging out at the radio station even more than before. If you weren't in class or B02, you were there, taking it all in, learning what you could, working for Adam, and patiently awaiting the reaction of your set that night.
The Facebook page, the one you had frequented when Santana had been talking about the mysterious Grace Kelly, was the best place to see how you did, as the students weren't shy about voicing their opinions.
You were new, you were refreshing, you were a nice one off, you needed more practice, you were too quiet, you didn't have enough personality, you played great songs, you played rubbish songs, you sounded dull, you sounded hot, you should be on the radio less, you should be on the radio more, etc. etc.
It was all there, in black and white, for everyone to see and look over, and while it probably didn't mean much, you found yourself kinda fixed upon looking at the comments. You had had so much fun that night, picking songs, going over the choices, working in the booth, being on air, you were worried the listeners were going to hate you and that would be the end of that.
Santana was convinced otherwise.
"Please, don't let it get to you, they know nothing," she muttered, shaking her head as she slipped a vinyl back in place. For once, she was finally helping out, and you were trying not to let the fact that you asked her kindly get to your head. Maybe she did help out, even when you didn't ask.
"But their opinions matter-" you argued back, not convinced with Santana's words.
"To no one. They're not the ones that make the decisions. Unless you seriously sucked ass, which you didn't, then you're fine." Another vinyl back in place, and another added to the pile for the next rack over.
"But it was a one off, I might never get back on air-" you said, frowning, looking at the vinyl in your hand with wonder. What if you didn't? What if that was you last shot? What if Lucy Q was just a one off? What if you never spoke on the airwaves again?
"You will," she replied quickly, not even looking at you, or at what she was putting back. Maybe you needed to check her work later, to see if she really was helping.
"Santana," you moaned, looking at her exasperatedly.
"What?" she asked, sounding aggrieved. "I know what I'm talking about." And she did, because she'd been working in the radio station since her freshman year. She'd gruelled away for months on end, and only got lucky one night when her host had to leave middle of their set with food poisoning. She had her own sets ready to go, ready to play, with her own twists to it, and just like that, she was better than the previous host.
Santana had an understanding that you didn't have, and she wasn't plagued with the same insecurity and anxiety you were, which was telling you that no one liked it, no one liked Lucy Q, and that you should quit while you were ahead.
You really needed to learn to listen to her.
"Dave liked your set, Quinn. You're fine."
"I don't know what that means." Other than the obvious, but the way Santana said it, the way she looked at you as she spoke made you think there was more to that simple statement than initially thought.
"Dave's a senior, do the math." And with that, she grabbed the stack of vinyls that needed to be sorted elsewhere, and wandered away.
He was a senior, so he was graduating this year. Which meant...which meant next year his slot was up for grabs. But there was a long time between now and then. Unless, unless Santana knew more than she was letting on, and okay, you'd need to find that out.
You could add that question to the bunch of others that had slowly stacked themselves up, and maybe when you finally found the courage, you could start asking for answers.
Until then, you'd drum over what you would do if you were to get on air again, and never be unprepared. Adam abandoned you during his set once, he might do it again, in which case, you needed to be ready.
*0*0*
Lists of songs, printouts of past set schedules, rehearsing different ways to 'gain a personality', and every once in a while, you'd actually attend your classes. College was finally living up to the dream you had of it, with friends, with fun, laughter, and enjoyment; and Santana was an added bonus.
Hell, the way she looked at you, the times you caught her staring, smiling, made you chew your lip in frustration with yourself for not having kissed her already, and that infuriating smirk of hers, all of it was so much more than you could ever have bargained for.
You knew making the transition from celibacy queen, and teen mom, to out and proud gay college student was going to be hard. You never thought that your inability to act, to do anything to come out further, to make your college experience about your sexuality, to look for a partner would in fact find you a stunning girl who was wholly interested in you.
Or, at least she seemed to be. Santana wanted to make out with you, which was a start, and you could only assume she was after something other than sex, too, given that the two of you hung out more than ever before.
She had stopped being a bitch, too, which you needed to ask about, because surely she wasn't as immature to do the whole 'if they're mean it means they like you' thing. If she did, then ugh, you needed to have a word with her about what was appropriate. Already you could see that conversation going down like a lead balloon.
But you digress, college was getting good. Life was getting good. And with each passing day, it was only getting better.
Little did you know how much better it was going to get.
Always knowing how to make an entrance, Santana found you in the racks of CDs at the radio station, leaning back against the shelf, and taking your hand in hers. You hadn't seen her all day, you hadn't spoken to her, and then here she was, with her hand entwining her fingers with yours, and okay; you were listening.
"I'm doing this thing," she began, refusing to give you eye contact. Instead, she was looking at the two of your hands together, and gosh, she had soft hands. "You should come to it. Bring Rachel." That really wasn't enough information for you to make an educated decision, but maybe that was the whole point of the handholding, of the caressing her thumb was doing to the back of your hand, to how soft she was being with you, and how soft she felt.
"What thing?" you asked, finally finding your voice, and giving up on the CDs, to lean next to her, and watch just how her thumb moved over the back of your hand exactly.
"Just a thing. Get your ass there. It's this weekend. I've already invited Rachel, but like, pick her up from the station or whatever. You'll get more details then." Right. Okay. "By the way, your hair is beautiful." This time she looked at you, and you felt yourself swallow the lump in your throat from her sudden attention.
Well, while that compliment was completely left field, it also had your heart thumping unbelievably in your chest. Good lord, get a hold of yourself.
"Eh...Thank you," you replied, frowning deeper. "Santana, what are you up to? What's this weekend?" Obviously there was more to this than you realised.
"Something mediocre," she teased, her mood shifting, and that damn smirk appearing. It was there a second, like her, before she gave your hand a soft squeeze and left.
Something mediocre. Something mediocre, like Blondie, like you calling Blondie mediocre, and what in lord's name was going to happen this weekend?
Whatever it was, it had you slightly nervous. From Santana's smirk alone, you should have known she was up to something truly wicked, but her gorgeous face sometimes distracted you from that smirk. You needed to learn to be more resilient and observant around her. It might help in these situations in the future.
The only clue she had given you as to where to look for more information was Rachel. She had mentioned Rachel so automatically that meant you needed to call her right away. You couldn't wait, and you knew from Rachel's schedule that she'd be home now anyway, so it wasn't like you were bothering her. Yet.
"Quinn, what do I owe the pleasure?" Rachel asked, sounding her usual chipper self.
"You're coming up this weekend, right?" you asked, getting right to the point.
"I am indeed, and I see Santana has spoken to you, hence this phone call?
"Yeah, she has. And not that I'm not excited that you're coming up, but do you know what gosin on this weekend? Did she say what was happening? What we would be doing?" The questions just kept coming, and you needed to take a breath. You weren't Rachel, you didn't have superior breath control.
"She neglected to give me those details, I'm afraid. I believe it was, because she knew you'd ask." Of course she did. "What I can tell you is that we'll have an amazing time! She's promised a good time, and I am one to believe Santana does not make promises lightly. Anyway, do you want me to meet you at your dorm, or shall I see you at the station? And what is the weather like on campus for you? I need to know what clothes to suitably pack-"
Filling in Rachel on the details, the weather, the times of the trains, the arrangements for sleeping as your roommate might actually be there that night, you managed to get off the phone with nothing but a perplexed frown. What was Santana up to?
You had a few days until the weekend, and no doubt by the time it rolled around, you'd be certifiably insane. Not that you weren't already, mind you.
*0*0*
When Saturday did finally roll around, you awoke early to pick Rachel up from the station, and then the two of you went and had some breakfast. She filled you in on all the craziness of New York, what was happening with that creepy date that wouldn't leave her alone, and Kurt. It was refreshing to be around her again, and you were thankful that Santana had arranged this, whatever this was, because otherwise God only knows when you would have next seen Rachel.
After her news, you filled her in on the radio show, Lucy Q, which she gave you a soft smile to, and your classes. Then she asked about Santana, because Rachel was a shark when it came to news and gossip nowadays, and of course she smelt blood in the water.
"What's going on with the two of you?" Apparently Rachel still hadn't learnt tact, either.
"What do you mean?" Acting coy was your best bet to buy yourself some time.
"She was very secretive on the phone. And she says that tonight is something special for you. Something magnificent."
"Something magnificent?" you repeated, not believe that those were Santana's words.
"Yep. So, is this some sort of serenade thing she's doing? Because Mike said we're going to some hall to see a performance-"
"You spoke to Mike, when?" you asked, interrupting her. That didn't earn you any points, but Rachel decided to humour you with an answer anyway.
"On the train. He sent me a text telling me that we are to meet him and Sam at some address, as they have the tickets." Tickets?
"We're going to a show?"
"I believe so," Rachel began, "but Santana doesn't have a ticket with us, which makes me think she's performing. I'm getting the distinct impression that this is like when we all used to serenade our crushes in glee club." Oh god, no.
"Rachel, with one hundred percent certainty, I can assure you that is not the case. Santana is not serenading me." She wouldn't. She's not that crazy.
"She likes you, though, so I don't see why not." Wait...how did Rachel…?
"Why do you think she likes me?" Did Santana say something? And god, were you back to being an anxious fourteen year old after hearing about your first crush?
"Please, you're all she talks about with me, and don't worry, I've learnt from last time, not to give any information out about you, but still. While we do talk New York and fashion, amongst other things, you are the main topic."
"How? What does she even…?" You weren't quite sure how to finish that sentence, but Rachel knew what you were asking.
"She talks about you working at the radio station, and after your set the other night, she raved about you. So, again, how certain are you she's not serenading you tonight?" Rachel teased, and okay, now, you had no idea.
God, she wouldn't. Would she?
That night, you met up with Sam and Mike, and the four of you made your way to Crusaders Hall, a small venue tucked away behind a crappy bar and an abandoned lot. It wasn't the most upmarket of places, but from the queues outside, you knew that whatever was going on tonight had a lot of folks interested; mostly students, from the looks of it.
"Mike, what is this?" you finally asked, having held that question in for the entire day, and only choosing to ask once inside the place, and standing at the bar, with some illegally obtained liquid courage in your system. You needed it.
"Santana's friends with a few of the burlesque dancers, and they were having this thing tonight, so she asked it she could put her own song in. and they agreed to help," he explained, shrugging like that was no big deal.
"Burlesque?! Oh how exciting!" Rachel began, sipping her own illegally obtain drink. "I've always wanted to take a class. After all, it's sexy and sinful, but with a story and there's so much teasing - Oh, Quinn, you'd be great at it!" You shot Rachel a foul look, and she laughed to herself behind her glass. Sam grinned at the joke, too, which earned him a glare, while Mike tried to ignore the comment entirely. Good man.
"She's got her own song?" What did that mean exactly?
"Well, no. She's not singing. Santana doesn't sing on stage. She's mouthing along to the words of the track, that's about it. They all do it. It's easier that way. Or so I'm told," he finished, trying to make it clear he didn't go to many of these things. But the snort from Sam told everyone otherwise.
"Right." God, what were you about to be sitting through?
With the starter bell ringing, the bar and lobby began to move for the hall. Ensuring everyone had everything, Mike led the way to the seats. You followed, with Rachel behind you, and Sam at the rear, who was eager to strike up some kind of conversation with Rachel any way he could. Poor guy didn't know that if he just gave Rachel a chance, she'd lead the conversation herself.
Once in your seat and settled, you heard your phone go off, and went to get it out your bag. There would probably be a reminder at some point before things began, but you were thankful for whoever it was texting you for the quick one beforehand, in case you forgot.
You here? - was all the text from Santana read, and you frowned at it bemusedly, before glancing up at the curtain on stage, and then back down to your phone.
I am. There was no point giving lengthy responses, especially when she probably didn't care what seat you were in, just that you were there.
Good. Enjoy the show.
You frowned at your phone again, before putting it on silent and tucking it back into your bag. You fully intended to enjoy the show, although you had no clue what to expect. The posters and flyers that Sam was passing you said burlesque acts with musical flare, whatever that meant.
Twenty minutes later, you learnt that 'burlesque acts with musical flare' summed up exactly what you were watching; stunning burlesque acts with well timed music playing, or being worked into the act.
And burlesque. Good lord. These women...well, if you ever had any doubts, you could safely say you were one hundred percent gay.
To reinforce you of that fact, an all too familiar artist's song began to play, and across the stage strutted five women, with one you knew very well leading the charge.
Blondie's Atomic blasted through the speakers as the performers onstage danced, using props of a cane and chair to help them. But in burlesque fashion, it was all about the teasing, and the little clothing they were wearing was now being slowly removed with each specific beat of the song.
Santana was wearing a similar outfit, with a similar cane in hand, and seated front and centre. She was moving her body the same way as they were, but lip synching the words.
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight, make it right
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Oh uh huh make it magnificent
Tonight
Right
Oh your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Atomic
From the way Santana was moving her hips and running her hands up her body, over her breasts, you were hypnotised. You may have accidentally stopped breathing as she danced, moving amongst the other dancers, touching them, helping them build up the suspense of the act, before the marched back to stand in a V formation. The song must have been shortened, because you were sure there was a longer pause between lyrics, but you were not complaining, because every time Santana went to sing, she moved in such a way you would sell your soul to see again.
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight, tonight
Oh your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Atomic
Tonight make it magnificent
Tonight
Make me tonight
Your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Every time the lyric 'your hair is beautiful' came up, the cane would be on the stage, and her hands would travel up her body, with her head falling back, showing her neck and exposed cleavage, and she'd run her hands through her hair, bucking her body in a certain way, along with all the other dancers. It was so well timed, so well executed, and so hypnotising, you couldn't function.
And then the song was building again, building for the climax, which was so perfectly seen in each of the dance moves, and wow. This might just be the hottest thing you'd ever seen.
Atomic
Atomic
Oh
Atomic
Atomic
Oh
The act ended with a loud applause, which you could completely understand, and you glanced to your side to see if anyone had spotted the heat in your cheeks. Sam and Mike weren't looking at anyone but the stage, and if Rachel noticed, she wasn't letting on, but instead giving enthusiastic claps in support.
With a deep breath, you replayed what just happened in your head, before frowning at the familiarity of some of it.
Something magnificent. Your hair is beautiful. It was all adding up. God, Santana had been giving you hints since she mentioned it to you! Laughing to yourself, you shook your head and bit your bottom lip. She was infuriating in that 'I'm completely hung up on you' way, and you couldn't believe she managed to compliment your hair without giving the game away.
But she hadn't given the game away, and now there you sat, completely in awe of her.
That feeling didn't dissipate as the show finished and everyone made their way back to B02. Santana was coming with a few of the performers from the show later, which gave you time to hang out with Rachel until their arrival.
Of course, Santana kept her distance for a good hour or so after she did arrive. She was pulled to play the music, to put on some of her mixes, and you couldn't blame her for eating it up, especially when she was trying out original mixes.
It was only later, much later, when Rachel was ready to go back to your dorm room, did she finally make her way out into the hall to see you.
Rachel was talking with Sam and some of the performers they had made friends with by the steps leading up to the exit. They saw the two of you standing close and it was an unspoken agreement to move away, to let the two of you talk, and for that you were thankful. Not that you couldn't have spoken in front of them, but that they respected your privacy enough not to be around to hear whatever was to be said.
Smiling at you, Santana licked her lips and brushed her hair out of her face, not taking her eyes off you as she did so.
"So, is Blondie still mediocre?" she asked with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes. Even if she had been, you would never have won that argument, because she'd killed it with a sultry outfit and dance moves that should be illegal.
"She never was, but you're so fun to rile up," you replied, hoping that was enough to satisfy her. It earned you a laugh, and god, you enjoyed hearing that.
"So are you." That had you narrowing your eyes for a second, before Santana expanded. "You looked a little flustered during my performance. Were you not enjoying it, Quinn? Was it not good for you? Did it not make you feel good?" she asked, sinfully.
"Fuck off," you laughed, shaking your head and looking away from her. You were not going to justify those questions with any sort of answers. And that amused Santana greatly.
"Come on, that performance at leasts get me first base, right?" she teased once more, taking a light approach, and you laughed again.
Oh, she had no idea.
"That would get you a home run if my best friend wasn't staying with me tonight." Santana's eyes darkened at your words, and she moved closer, making you step back. There needed to be an even distance between the two of you, and you couldn't have her breaching it. She was too tempting.
"Ditch her," she growled, her voice so much huskier than before, and god, you wanted to do just that.
"Not going to happen." You couldn't have sex, you couldn't rush into it, your body was still a mess, and Santana's….Santana's was that of a goddess.
You weren't ready yet, you wanted to, you really goddamn wanted to, but you were broken, you were injured and weak and a mess. You couldn't last, you would need to be on painkillers or drunk so you didn't feel the pain, so you didn't end up crying, which was pathetic, when all you really wanted was just to have some good sex. You knew it existed.
It might not have happened with Puck, but so many spoke of sex being good, it had to. And Santana, god, she made you think that sex with her could be a religious experience. So no, you couldn't, not yet.
You couldn't risk having crappy sex with her, because that would ruin it all, and then you'd be left with nothing but physical agony that wasn't worth the effort, and a tarnished friendship with her because you didn't explain why it looked like Edward scissorhands had tickled you.
"Quinn," Santana whined, at your words, at your silence, and you took pity on her for half a second before leaning in, and leaving a lingering kiss on her cheek. It was much like the last time, feeling her soft skin against your lips, taking in her scent, feeling her presence so close, and knowing that you were fighting a losing battle not to just lean down and kiss her lips instead.
"Hopefully that'll tide you over for now," you murmured, unable to say much at all, before making a move to walk away, towards the others at the end of the hallway.
You made it ten steps before Santana's voice rang out
"Tide me over?! Oh my god! You're killing me here!" she cried, laughing, and you couldn't help but laugh with her. Laugh, but also sympathise, because you could feel the heat in your cheeks and down your body. You could feel the overwhelming need to go back and slam her against the wall, kiss her hard, and just let things go exactly where they were meant to. You could practically feel her touch on you, imagine it so perfectly, so no, you needed to get the hell out of there, and fast.
"You okay?" Rachel asked once you were back to her side.
"Yeah, great." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't quite the truth. However, you didn't give it time to settle. You entwined your arm with Rachel's and after saying bye to the others, you asked her what she thought of the night as the two of you headed back to your room. Her verbose response was just what you needed to take you from turning around and going back to Santana.
You needed to cool off, you needed to step away, you needed to remember the scars on your body, the pain in your hip, and your aching back, you needed to remember that there was so much more to this than just giving into lust.
And that did the trick.
*0*0*
Later that night, after a few hours of sleep, you found yourself tossing and turning, trying hard not to wake Rachel. You knew why you were awake, you were just trying hard to ignore it. But fuck it, it wasn't six yet, so what was the point of resisting?
"What are you doing?" Rachel asked sleepily. She felt you reaching out of the bed, onto the floor, to gra your phone.
"I just want to hear one thing," you replied, trying to lull her back to sleep by rubbing your hand over her back soothingly.
Popping in your headphones, you brought up the app for the radio station and soon had a song playing softly to listen to. Glancing at the time, you were relieved to see you hadn't missed it. She still had one song left, and you were just wondering what it was going to be. It had to be about tonight. It just had to be. If it wasn't, you were going to be severely disappointed in her.
But when had Santana ever let you down with her song choices?
"Last song of the night, and it's got to be Blondie's Atomic. It's a personal favourite, and rather fitting for tonight. If any of you were over at The Crusaders Hall this evening, you'll know what I'm talking about. Those of you who weren't, you missed a hell of a show, and shame on you. Anyway, this is for Lucy Q, because she needs an education in the classics. And with that, it's goodnight from me, and good morning to you. Enjoy!"
Hearing the song again, you were immediately hit with the flashbacks of Santana dancing, moving in such a manner your body broke out in goosebumps. How she was able to have an effect on you from a simple memory, you didn't know, but god, she was certainly something else.
Maybe it was about time you let her know that, because that mention on air, the songs, the performance that evening, all of it said she was trying for your attention, when in reality, she just needed to know she had it, and she was the only one who had it.
What you didn't want was for her to think you weren't interested, because that was most definitely not the case. And maybe, maybe you could stop punishing yourself already and just kiss her.
Maybe that could be tomorrow's goal.
*0*0*