Chapter 14
High school parties are the epitome of lame. I've known that I'd prefer a quiet movie night since my first time going to one, but nothing really put it in perspective until Santana and I both agreed to go to Tim's completely sober.
It's the beginning of April and it feels like spring, but the football jocks are still wearing their heavy letterman jackets and keep bringing up highlights from their games from six months ago. There's a bunch of slutty freshman girls sipping wine coolers and giggling obnoxiously in one corner while Tim hits on them mercilessly. Finn is holding a red cup and sloshes beer down his shirt as he whines to anyone who will listen about how Rachel is still not putting out.
Santana groans loudly after the third time he brings it up within ten minutes. I try to repress my snort when he glares at her. He stomps out of the room under the pretense of getting another beer. Britt is across the room and I catch her little smile at the scene before she focuses her attention on the lacrosse boy that is tonight's target.
"God, this is so freaking lame," Santana announces loudly to nobody in particular. A few heads turn in her direction at the remark. I don't respond even though I completely agree.
"You upset that there are hotter pieces of ass here than you, Lopez?" Tim taunts, slinging his arm around the nearest freshman girl, who gives Santana a smug once-over.
"If you think that piece of fresh meat you're holding is hotter than someone like me, you have definitely taken a cum shot to the eyes in the locker room one too many times," Santana snarls at him, keeping her expression completely unreadable. A few of Tim's buddies laugh before he turns to glare at them.
"Covering up for your own locker room activities, Santana? You used to spend an awful lot of time on your knees in the boys' locker room, but lately I hear you prefer to join your own teammates in their shower stall after Cheerio practice instead."
The freshman girl laughs raucously at Tim's comeback and before I can step in, Santana lunges at both of them. She lands a solid punch to Tim's jaw before Puck can get in between them. Tim looks furious as he rubs the spot where she made contact and Santana strains to get out Puck's grasp to continue her assault on Tim's face. The freshman girl now looks terrified of her and scampers back to the safety of her friends in the corner.
"Outside," I say firmly to Puck, who nods once before wrestling an irate Santana towards the door.
I follow them out, trying to ignore the jeers from some of the upperclassmen guys. I'm thankful to see a pair of sympathetic eyes across the room in the form of Brittany before I slam the front door, separating us from the party.
Puck releases Santana and she strides across the lawn. I watch from the porch steps as she dropkicks her water bottle into the next yard and screams angrily in rapid Spanish.
"Good luck," Puck says to me, patting my shoulder lightly on his way back into the party.
I walk across the lawn to where Santana is still stomping around. I reach out, grasping her upper arms. She jerks immediately, pulling away from me and moving to put a couple of feet between us. She crosses her arms across her chest and glares at me.
"Are you just trying to fuel the rumors, Q?" She's seething and vulnerable right now, but her words still sting.
"Give me your keys," I respond icily, holding my palm out to her. She digs into her pocket for a moment before dropping them into my outstretched hand. "Let's go, we're leaving."
I turn on the spot and walk down the sidewalk to Santana's car. I climb into the driver's seat and Santana hops into the passenger seat while refusing to look at me. It's only two weeks until my birthday when I'll actually be allowed to have my own car, but I figure it's better for me to drive than Santana in her angry state. I take my time adjusting the seat and the mirrors, double-checking everything before turning the key into the ignition and pulling away from the curb.
I drive cautiously the entire way to Santana's, which just seems to make her even angrier. I sigh in relief when we finally pull into the garage and I can shut the car off. Santana wastes no time in grabbing them from me and leading the way into the house.
Mrs. Lopez is still awake when we get in, which feels weird because usually we're sneaking through a dark, quiet house after a party. The clock on the microwave tells me it's only nine-thirty.
"You girls are home early," she comments idly as we walk through the kitchen.
"It was stupid and Quinn's making me study all day tomorrow, so we figured that a good night's rest would be helpful," Santana lies, not making eye contact with her mom. Santana gestures for me to follow her, so I say an awkward goodnight with a tight-lipped smile to Mrs. Lopez before following Santana upstairs.
As soon as we're in Santana's bedroom with the door locked, Santana starts breaking down. I'm frozen in place as she falls apart right before my eyes. She hasn't even gotten her shoes off before the sobs begin and I have no idea what to do. I move towards her, unsure if she'll freak out if I touch her like she did at Tim's house. She flinches slightly when my hand grazes her arm, but then melts into my touch. I feel a little better that she's not pulling away from me anymore. I lead her over to the bed and she sits on the edge, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. I climb onto the bed and settle behind her, letting her fall back into my arms.
My own head is overwhelmed with replaying what happened at Tim's and freaking out if people know what is going on with Santana and I. Right now, she needs me to be the strong one, but my own resolve is dissolving fast and I feel so claustrophobic being in Santana's room right now. But I can't leave her when she's such a mess.
"I fucking hate it here," she chokes through her sobs. Her feelings resonate through every fiber of my body. At least her mom knows and still loves her. She'll always have that no matter how the rest of the world treats her. I don't think I'm ever going to be lucky enough to have that.
"Me too," I mumble against her hair, wrapping her even tighter in my arms as I try to hold back my own tears.
We sit there, me holding Santana together the best I can, for what seems like an eternity until Santana's sobs die down into watery sniffles.
"Do you think someone actually told him about the locker room or he just took a shot in the dark to piss me off?"
I don't answer her right away, choosing instead to hug her tightly and brush my lips against her cheek. Despite completely freaking out internally, there's something soothing about having her pressed against me.
"I really don't know, San," I say softly, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.
"God, I should've knocked his damn teeth out," Santana added bitterly.
"It wouldn't have helped anything," I tell her honestly.
"How are you so okay with all of this?" she questions me, turning to look at me. I loosen my grip on her and she nudges me onto my back before lying next to me, her arm tucked over my stomach.
"I'm not," I admit, squeezing my eyes closed to keep the tears from spilling out. "What the hell am I going to do if my parents find out? They'll disown me."
My biggest fear hangs heavily around us. Santana grips me tightly and rests her cheek against my shoulder, but I know she's just as tense as I am.
"We'll figure this out. Together."
I know she's trying to soothe me, but I don't think there's really anything that could calm me down right now. I feel like my life has turned into a ticking time bomb in the last two hours.
Santana sits up and kicks off her shoes. She slides from the bed and undresses, replacing her dress with an oversized t-shirt. She tosses one at me and I scramble off the bed to change as well. Santana turns off the light and we climb into the bed together. My chest hurts from the stress and emotion from the night's events, but we lay tangled up together and it eases the slightest bit.
"I love you, Q." Her words ring out in the silent room. I feel my body tense up against my will.
I don't respond. I know I should I say it back. If I'm honest with myself, I do love Santana. But the words stay locked up in my heart. She stays still against me, her breathing coming in long, steady intervals. I appreciate that she doesn't push me to say it out loud, but I squeeze her hand and hope that she understands that how much I love her actually scares the shit out of me.
It's a restless night of both of us. We stay pressed against one another, trying to find even the littlest bit of comfort, but Tim's words rattle around in my head repeatedly. Did he actually know something or was he just pushing Santana's buttons? Had Brittany slipped up and told someone else? There were so many unanswered questions and I found myself completely unable to relax. Santana didn't seem to be much better and she spent her night kicking around as well.
Breakfast is a quiet affair despite the spread that Mrs. Lopez has made for us. Max and his friend gobble down their pancakes and talk excitedly about their plans to play paintball that afternoon beside us. Santana doesn't touch a bite of her food, choosing just to drink black coffee in silence instead. The bags under her eyes are noticeable and Mrs. Lopez eyes us both with concern as she drops a plate of bacon directly in front of me.
I eat a minimal amount so as to not offend Mrs. Lopez, but my stomach is churning unhappily still. I'm relieved when we can finally get out of the room again, but Santana's bedroom doesn't offer much relief. We're skirting around one another, awkwardly lounging on her bed. I don't have my backpack with me to even suggest that we get started on our schoolwork. I think we're both too distracted to study anyway.
"You any good at Mario Kart?" Santana asks as she fiddles with the strings of her sweatshirt and giving me a half-smile.
I finally return to my own house an hour before dinner. My dad is yelling at somebody on the phone in his office, so I just say a quick hello to my mom before retreating to my bedroom. I feel like I'm on the verge of a panic attack at the very thought that there's even the slightest of chances that they could find out about Santana and I. Frannie would throw me under the bus in a heartbeat, so I pray that even if they find out, they don't bring it up to her so I can deny it to the best of my ability.
Dinner is the normal awkward affair and I do everything possible to not draw attention towards myself more than necessary just in case they actually notice that something is wrong. Of course, they don't because they never do, but it's still a relief nonetheless.
By Monday morning, the tension still hasn't dissipated between us. We ignore the issue on the entire ride to school, but Santana makes a point of keeping a few feet between our swinging hands as we walk into the school.
I don't push her on it and let her walk to homeroom without me. I drag my feet to class, but keep my shoulders back and my head held high. Despite all the crap going on in my head, I need to keep my appearances up. I'm still head Cheerio, even if I'm dating one of my teammates secretly.
Santana and I don't hang out after school, even though I know I should probably help her study for our history test. But she pulls up in front of my house and I don't suggest otherwise. Instead, I just tell her that I'll text her later and I climb out of the car.
Tuesday morning is much of the same but I bite my tongue once again. Santana squeezes my hand quickly as we turn into the school parking lot, but as soon as we're around our classmates, we leave plenty of space between us.
It's silent on the car ride home too, but I finally crack when she pulls into my driveway.
"Can we please deal with what's going on?" I plead, looking over at her. She's staring out the windshield at my house and her knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.
Santana doesn't respond, but she throws the car into reverse and backs down my driveway. We don't speak as she parks at her own house or as we walk in. I follow in her wake until we're in the basement. She walks around the room, her fingers grazing along the edges of the pool table. She's biting her lip adorably and I just want to kiss her, but I don't really know if that's okay given our awkwardness right now.
"I know that what happened at Tim's freaked you out," she says quietly. "You're still freaked out."
I can't deny what she's saying; I can't stop thinking about it and what would happen if our relationship became common knowledge. I'd be looking for a new place to live for starters.
"I'm not ready for it to come out either, Q. My mom knowing is bad enough, but I can't take the stares or the whispers or any of it."
She crosses her arms across her chest like she's trying to hold herself together. I walk towards her and she doesn't pull away when I rest my hand on her bicep, which is reassuring considering how we've been for the past couple of days.
"So we don't let anything get out," I say barely above a whisper. I'm terrified to know what's really going on inside Santana's head.
"I heard Tim's buddy talking to JewFro this morning. He was saying that he has evidence that Brittany and I were getting it on in the locker room."
My teeth automatically clench and my whole body tenses at her statement. It's not me that the rumors are about; it's more about Brittany and Santana.
"What does Brittany have to say about it?"
"You know Britt. Things like gossip never really bother her. But if they realize that Brittany and I aren't a thing, they'll start sniffing around for new evidence because now I'm already on the gossip radar. Who the hell knows what JBI is going to run on his stupid blog as it is."
She's acting tough, but I know that she's crumbling. I know Santana better than I ever thought I would and she's completely a mess over what could happen if JBI really does run an article based on some gossip from Tim's friends.
"So what do we do?" I ask, letting my hand stroke her arm soothingly.
"I think we should date guys and make sure we don't draw any attention to how close we've gotten."
"You want us to have beards?" I ask incredulously. The idea of Santana being with anybody else makes me sick.
"We don't have to sleep with them or anything. We can just keep them around as arm candy at school and at the occasional party but really just keep seeing one another." Santana had obviously spent a lot of time thinking about this plan.
"I don't know, San."
"I meant it when I said that I love you the other night. You're amazing and I'm so happy with you. But we can't come out right now and we're one careless mistake away from being thrown out of the closet against our will."
As much as I don't want to, I melt at Santana's words. She does love me and I have seen her worry in every movement since Friday night. Santana was trying to protect the both of us.
"Fine," I say, knowing there's really no good solution. "But nothing more than kissing with any guy and we still have our sleepovers after the parties. Saturday nights are reserved for just us."
Santana answers me with a firm kiss and my world feels like it's falling back into place.
By lunch on Wednesday, the gossip mill is running at full steam about the fact that Santana Lopez is dating a lacrosse guy named Chase. He's a junior with brown hair that falls into his eyes. Santana invites him to eat lunch with us and Puck and Finn scowl at Chase due to all of the attention the girls at our table are giving him. I immerse myself in my AP English homework while I pick at my salad and avoid the topics of conversation altogether.
Thankfully, today is Celibacy Club. In reality, I've only been going to keep up my membership to boost my applications when I finally apply for college, but vowing to be celibate seems a lot better than finding a fake boyfriend to keep my actual relationship a secret.
One of the junior Cheerios has kind of stepped in as president lately since I've been doing basically nothing for the club, but I reclaim my throne as soon as I walk in the door. She doesn't argue with me in the slightest and instead updates me on what our agenda looks like. Santana comes to the meeting and looks bemused through my whole rant about the importance of abstinence despite societal pressure. I have to bite my lip from laughing when she announces to the club that she's never going to sleep with Chase because she wants to be a born-again virgin.
The Chastity Ball is less than a month away and the other girls have made most of the plans, but I give my input and make it clear that I'll be attending to solidify my commitment to my celibacy. I tell my parents about the Ball over dinner and they both beam at me with pride. My dad happily agrees to escort me and my mom insists that she takes me shopping for my gown. It's really the exact opposite of what I'd like to spend a Saturday night doing, but it's really the perfect distraction to keep the attention away from the rumors.
A week later, I'm being dragged through the local department store with my mother in search of the perfect dress for the ball. My only requirement is that it has to be white, but my mom also insists that it has a modest neckline while still accentuating my body nicely.
I don't complain as she pulls a million dresses off of the racks and thrusts them into my hands as she shoves me into a fitting room. After the fifteenth dress, she finally exclaims that we've found the one. It's white and simple with some lace detailing. Santana is going to make fun of me for it so much, but my mother is happy and it meets the criteria for the ball.
We stop at Breadstix on the way home for dinner since it's already pretty late. We order salads and my mom orders a glass of chardonnay to go with it. I'm starving and the breadsticks are sitting right there, but I don't feel like being lectured on the evils of carbohydrates tonight.
"I'm so happy that you're focusing on something worthwhile, Quinnie," my mother says affectionately as she moves onto her second glass of wine.
I look up to see that gleam of pride in her eyes again and it kills me how hard I have to work to have the satisfaction of seeing it there. I give her a forced smile and turn back to pushing the tomatoes around my plate.
"Being on Cheerios is wonderful, but I think you spend too much time focusing on that glee club you're in. Celibacy club is a better investment for your future."
"I like glee club," I respond lamely. It is true most days; despite all of the drama and watching the saga that is Finn and Rachel's relationship, glee club is pretty cool. At least I know when I'm there, I can just be myself for an hour a day without really worrying about it since I'm surrounded by even bigger losers.
"Oh, I know you do, sweetie. I just think that you'd be better off with a club that has members on your own level."
I don't give her the satisfaction of responding. I could easily remind her that less than two years ago, I was just as big of a loser. In fact, I was probably worst off than any of the kids in glee club. Middle school kids didn't throw slushies, but their words hit me in the face every time I took a step down the hallways. It's almost as though my mom has forgotten about Lucy altogether.
It's too late to go to Santana's when we finally get home, but she's online.
Q: Hey you :)
S: Hey, Q
Q: I got my Chastity Ball gown today...
S: I can't believe you're going to that lame ass dance. You do realize that it's going to be a room of girls that are choosing to be celibate because they can't get laid, right?
Q: No it won't. You and I will be there.
S: Hell no, Q. I joined your stupid fucking club and I let you prance around like you're actually a celibate princess, but I ain't going to the fucking ball
Q: Even if it means afterwards you have the privilege of getting me out of my chastity ball gown?
S: you don't play fair, Fabray
Q: so you'll go?
S: only because it's worth the irony of getting to fuck the Celibacy club president afterwards.
Q: you're the best, baby :) I'll see you tomorrow!
S: goodnight you beautiful, manipulative bitch
The following Saturday, my mom insists on taking me to the hairdresser to get a fancy updo for the Chastity Ball. I also get a manicure/pedicure, my eyebrows waxed, and my makeup professionally done before she's done with me. By the time we get home, I have to get into my dress. My mom calls up the stairs three times while I finish getting ready, telling me I need to hurry up so she can take pictures before we go.
When I finally emerge down the staircase, my father is standing at the bottom next to my mom in his best tuxedo. It's hard to not admire how handsome he looks and I feel a little twinge of jealousy that Frannie was the one that got his natural good looks.
He holds out his hand as I reach the last few stairs and I take it. My mom is snapping pictures on the digital camera and barks instructions for poses before she finally kisses dad and I goodbye so we can leave.
The drive to the country club where the Ball is being held is a quiet affair. My dad isn't a man of many words and I don't really care to elaborate on anything, so our conversations continually fall short. I'm relieved when we pull into the parking lot. He walks around to the passenger door and opens it, offering me his hand as he helps me out of the car. We enter with my hand perched in the crook of his elbow, looking elegant.
We find our table and I drop my clutch off with him as I go to check on some final details with the rest of the board. The other girls have everything under control, but I linger anyway to avoid being left alone with my dad for any extended period of time. As the tables start to fill up, I walk back through to our table, glad to see Santana and her dad sitting there. She winks at me as I slip into my seat between her and my dad.
"Nice to see you, Quinn. You look beautiful, my dear," Mr. Lopez says with his easy grin.
"Thanks, Mr. Lopez," I respond politely and I give him a warm smile.
My dad and Mr. Lopez return to talking business and Santana and I chat awkwardly about what the other girls are wearing and try to keep the conversation as neutral as possible in the presence of our dads.
We go through the dinner part of the night and the ritualistic parts of the ball before they finally crank up the music to something other than classical. The bar has opened by now and the dads choose to congregate and talk about their jobs and politics, leaving all of us girls to dance together.
Santana and I slip away from our dads as soon as physically possible. We dance with some distance between us on the far end of the dance floor, interrupted only randomly by some of our teammates coming over to say hello.
I'm relieved when the night is over, but my dad seems happy the whole ride home. He agrees readily when I ask if I can sleep over Santana's house tonight. We stop home and I pack a quick overnight bag, but don't change of my dress. My dad has taken off his bowtie and jacket by the time I come back downstairs and he offers to drive me to Santana's house.
"I'm glad we did this, Quinnie," he says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
"Me too, Dad," I say. I'm glad that he's pleased with me, but right now I'm more concerned about getting into Santana's room so that I can get out of this damn dress.
I say a rushed goodbye when he pulls up in front of their house and I grab my bag from the backseat before walking briskly up the driveway to the front door. Mrs. Lopez answers my knock and lets me in, complimenting my dress. I make a few minutes of small talk with her until Santana appears in the kitchen and gives me a sly grin over Mrs. Lopez's shoulder.
"Goodnight, girls," Mrs. Lopez says, getting the hint when Santana fake yawns really loudly.
We clamber up the stairs hurriedly as soon as we say goodnight. As soon as the door is shut behind us, I reach for the zipper of the dress on my back. Santana's hands cover mine, stopping them in their motions. I turn to look at her, confused.
"I think part of the reward for going to your stupid anti-sex dance should be that I get to strip the queen of the ball," Santana whispers against the shell of my ear and I shudder at her raspy sex voice.
I let my hands fall back down to my sides, but her delicate ones stay against my back, coaxing the zipper down torturously slow. I hold my breath as I feel each tooth of the zipper give way until her hands are resting at the top of my ass. Santana slides her hands up my exposed back and I feel the goose bumps erupt in their wake. She leans forward and kisses the back of my neck lightly, her breath hot against me and her hands pull the dress down over my shoulders until I can slide my arms out of it. The dress falls slowly down my body until the material pooled around my ankles on Santana's floor.
Santana wraps her hands around my waist and pulls me back into her, letting me step over the dress as she leads me towards her bed. We stumble across the floor and she lets out a giddy laugh. As we hit the edge of the bed, I let myself collapse on it and I turn to look at her.
She is standing on the side of the bed with a bashful smile. Dark tresses fall in waves past her shoulders and clash magnificently with her white gown. It's not nearly as conservative as my own; the neckline plunges showing a healthy amount of cleavage and the slit up the side is sinfully high. But she looks stunning and, more than anything, she looks happy and relaxed. After the couple of weeks we've had, it's soothing to see her look more like herself.
I watch as she unzips the dress and pulls it slowly down her arms, dangling the anticipation of what's underneath in front of me. She knows that how tantalizing her actions are and she bites her lip seductively as she lets the dress fall, exposing her white bra and abs that I'm already desperate to be running my tongue along. She shimmies her hips, pushing the dress down and exposing her panties and tanned thighs before it finally disappears beyond the edge of the bed.
Santana crawls right on top of me until her knees are pressed against the outside of my thighs, effectively holding me in place. She swoops down and her lips are back on mine with renewed fervor. A whole night of stolen brushes of fingers while dancing have built up within me and I just want to have my hands and mouth of every inch of Santana's skin. My fingers move down her shoulders and back until I'm gripping Santana's ass. I squeeze and she bites down on my lip before swiping her tongue across it.
She balances her weight on her right arm and brings her left hand up to cup my cheek as she keeps kissing me. I don't think I could ever tire of Santana's kisses; they're soft and urgent, sweet yet passionate. I dig my nails into the skin of her ass, urging her to lower her body down onto mine. She moves her leg in between my own and lets body press completely against mine.
I bask in the warmth of her skin against my own and I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, holding her against me. She rocks slowly against me as we kiss, her movements deliberate and calculated. I wanted her to speed up, not slow down. I press my thigh up into her core as she rocks as I try to spur her on. My right hand slides up her back until I unclasp her bra, feeling the material slacken between us. She breaks her connection to my lips only long enough to move it and she presses back against me, her bare chest scratching along my lace bra.
Her movements start to speed up, her body rocking more urgently against my thigh as she moves her lips down my jaw with gentle kisses until she's sucking on my pulse point. I find purchase in her hair, tangling my hand in it as I throw my head back against the bed in pleasure. She snakes her hand beneath me on the bed and manages to unsnap my bra and she pulls the garment off completely. Her left hand moves to cup one breast, kneading the flesh with warm fingers, avoiding my nipple altogether.
I squirm at her delicate touches as I attempt to get some sort of relief for the frustration I feel in every limb. I feel Santana smile against my flesh; she's completely aware of how crazy she's driving me. I push up against her hard and I catch her off-guard. She rolls on instinct and I capitalize; I end up pressing her against the bed, her wrists restrained at her sides with my hands.
I take a second to just look at her. She's still wearing her thong, but other than that I have a huge expanse of kissable skin at my mercy. I dip down, kissing her lips once before dragging my teeth along her ear and down her neck. She hisses when I bite down on her collarbone but she arches up into my mouth simultaneously, telling me it's the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. I let her pull her hands from where I'm restraining them she grabs my hips, yanking on me as she rocks her own hips up into me.
Santana's grasping at me, her nails digging into my sides as I take a nipple between my lips. I start soft and slow, quickly building up the suction and running my tongue over it. A small moan gets caught in her throat and I release it with a wet pop before kissing over to the other one.
Santana pushes her hand between our bodies and cups me through my panties. I'm already soaked through and the material is a frustrating barrier from the pleasure that Santana's fingers will undoubtedly provide. She seems to sense my anger directed at the offending garment because she grabs the sides of my panties and tugs them down as far as she can. I shift above her until I can kick them off my feet and I'm immediately met with Santana cupping my sex again, this time without anything in the way. She pushes through my lips and her fingers trail along my wet slit, teasing me and collecting my arousal on her fingertips.
She pulls her hand from between us and I whimper at the loss, but I suck in a shaky breath when I see Santana's lips wrap around her glistening digits. Her eyes close and a little content moan escapes, muffled through her hand.
"Fuck, you're sexy," I say into her ear, running my tongue along the edge of it as I grind my wet sex down against her thigh. She meets my movements with her own movements, giving me even more friction against my throbbing clit. Santana slips her hand between us again, but she doesn't play this time; without warning, she's impaling me with two strong fingers, thrusting deep inside. My walls clench tightly against the unexpected intrusion and she stills for a second, allowing me to adjust before she continues moving.
I'm moving with desperate, wanton desire, letting her slam up into me as I press down onto her hand. When I rock into her as she pushes up, her palm slaps against my clit and I find myself moving faster and frantically against her and feeling so damn full. She seems to read my mind and adds another finger, stretching me. I moan and pound my hips down onto her fingers hard, grinding against her palm before lifting my hips again and repeating.
I sit up and balance on my heels, my head thrown back in reckless abandon. I feel Santana pinch my nipple between her thumb and forefinger and I groan at the fire that is quickly spreading through my body. She seems to recognize it as well because I hear her voice, at least an octave deeper than usual.
"Look at me, Q," she coaxes, her movements frantic as she tries to push me to the precipice.
I force my eyes open with much effort and I lock into Santana's blown pupils underneath me. She thrusts up into me, using her thigh in rhythm with her hand to fuck me even harder. My muscles tighten, squeezing her hand between my legs as my body starts to shake. I lose control and do my best to hold Santana's gaze, but it becomes too much and my eyes squeeze shut as my orgasm rips through my body. Santana's name falls from my lips mixed with a moan and I slow my movements on top of her until my body finally goes limp. I lift my hips just enough that she can extract her hand before I roll and collapse onto the bed next to her.
She snuggles into my tired body, her arm casually draped over my stomach as I try to catch my breath. My eyes are heavy and I'm actually throbbing between my legs. My heart stops racing and I feel the exhaustion take over my whole body. I want to reciprocate and make Santana feel as good as I feel in this moment, but it's so much effort to lift my arms.
Santana moves suddenly and the comforter is being pulled from beneath me. She pushes me gently until my head falls back onto her pillows and she covers us both with the blanket. I reach a tired hand across her and swipe my finger over her nipple, but she covers my hand with her own.
"I'm fine, Q. Get some sleep and you can fuck my brains out in the morning."
Her words are soft and playful and I smile dreamily, forcing my eyes open to look into her dark brown ones for a minute. She leans over and kisses my forehead, brushing the hair out of my face with a gentle hand.
I wake with my feet still tangled between Santana's under the comforter. It's warm and cuddly, but I have bigger intentions for our morning in bed than quiet cuddling. She looks so peaceful that I contemplate letting her sleep, but that idea is quickly pushed away as I pin her to the bed with my naked body pressed against her almost naked one.
Leaning down, I brush my lips across her cheeks and forehead in feather-light kisses. I don't stop until she opens her eyes, her expression torn between annoyance at being woken up so early on a Sunday morning and giddiness at me hovering above her completely naked.
"Would you rather go back to sleep?" I ask with my eyebrow quirked. Santana shaking her head frantically, telling me she most definitely would rather be awake if it means what she thinks it does. "Good choice, Lopez."
I start kissing down her body and I feel her hold her breath; I've only done this once and it was a bribe for her to study. She giggles when I run my tongue along her hipbone, tickling her. She grabs another pillow from her side and props her head up, giving her a better view as I move to kiss the tops of her thighs, pushing them open with my hands.
I loop my fingers through the sides of her panties and drag them down her legs before tossing them over my shoulder and onto the floor. Again I use my hands to spread her legs. She's biting her lip adorably when I glance up at her and I grin before turning my attention back to where I really want to be. Using my hands, I push her knees towards her chest, giving me plenty of room to settle on my stomach near the end of the bed with my face hovering over the apex of her thighs. Santana reaches down and puts her hand against my cheek, stroking it lightly before twists some of my hair around her fingers and pulling me closer to her.
The moan she releases as I swipe my tongue along her wet slit is the most primal noise I've ever heard. It's all I need to push in further, tasting her juices between the folds. I explore slowly with my tongue, discovering her soft warmth in every crevice. I never thought that I'd enjoy doing something like this as much as I do, especially in the morning sunlight when I'm in so exposed, but watching Santana's mouth drop open as she pants and feeling her hand tighten in my hair, urging me on, is the hugest turn on in the world.
Santana uses her hand that's tangled in my hair to guide me up to her clit and when I brush across it tentatively with my tongue, her hips buck up into my face. She's reacting completely on instincts and I try different motions and speeds, zooming in on the ones that make her moan and buck. Her hand gets tighter in my hair and I lick her enthusiastically, feeling her clit swell under my movements. I drop one of Santana's legs off to the side and use my free hand to reach under my chin and slide two fingers deep inside her. I look up at her as I do so and her jaw clenches tightly as her head is thrown back, surrendering to the pleasure I'm giving her.
I find a rhythm with both my fingers and tongue and I draw her closer and closer. Her toes are curled and her brow is furrowed. I wish she'd open her eyes again to look at me, but I don't want to pull my mouth away from her in order to ask her. I feel her begin to pulse around my fingers and I curl them inside her, brushing along the ridges as I withdraw them before thrusting back in. A few more repetitions and she starts shaking, her thighs squeezing my head and holding me in place as I keep rolling my tongue over her clit until she literally pulls my head away from her.
My lips and chin are soaked and I run my tongue along them, gathering her sweet nectar from my skin. Her eyes are still closed, but she looks more peaceful than she had a few minutes ago. I crawl up over her body until our breasts are pressed against one another and my mouth is hovering above hers.
She lifts a lazy arm and pulls at my neck, forcing our lips to connect. She releases a little moan at the taste of herself in my mouth and I get tingly at how close I feel to her right now.
~!~!~!~
Monday is my birthday, so after I leave Santana's on Sunday, my dad takes me to pick out a car. I know there's no way my parents are going to give me a Mustang like Santana has, but a brand new car is more than most people in this cow town ever own.
We stroll through the rows of cars at a few dealerships, my dad talking with the salesmen as I peek inside each one at the different interiors and run my fingers along the sleek frames. By the end of the excursion, my dad is holding the keys to a black Mazda 3 with all of the fancy add-on packages. I wish I could drive it home, but he insists that I wait until tomorrow to get the keys.
On Monday morning, I'm not surprised to see a scribbled note from my dad on the counter that says "Happy birthday, Quinnie!" lying next to the keys to my new car. It's the only acknowledgment I'm going to get about my birthday, but I'm really okay with that right now. I text Santana to tell her that I'm driving to school instead and twenty minutes later I'm carefully backing out of the driveway and heading for her house.
Santana is standing on the front porch with her backpack hoisted up on her shoulders and she smiles happily at me as she bounds down the steps towards me.
"Nice ride!" she says when she plops down in the passenger seat. "And happy birthday, Q!"
"Thanks," I say with a grin, readjusting my rearview mirror for the tenth time before pulling away from the curb and heading towards the school.
Santana immediately takes over the radio, programming our favorite stations in and testing out the sound system. My ears are ringing by the time we get to school due to her playing with the volume controls.
School is just like any other day even though it's my birthday. Santana seems extra giddy, but actually tries to pay attention and takes notes so I don't have to scold her. Even Cheerios practice seems more bearable than usual now that it's warm enough to practice outside.
Santana tells me that my mom is making my favorite tamales for dinner, so I text my mom that I'm going to eat at Santana's house before we climb into my car and head home.
In reality, having my favorite dinner is an understatement for the production that is going on in the kitchen when we walk in. Mrs. Lopez is in her apron and is tending to a few pots while checking on whatever is in the oven. The radio is playing softly beneath the din of clanging metal and running water. It all smells absolutely delicious and I tell Mrs. Lopez so.
She beams at me and walks away from her pots for a quick moment to give me a squeeze and wish me a happy birthday before she's darting back to the stove. Santana pulls me out of the kitchen and into the basement to hang out until dinner is ready.
Santana flips the TV on and flops down onto the couch, pulling my feet into her lap. I let her fingers drag aimlessly up and down my bare calves as she watches a rerun of some terrible reality show. I lean over and pull my book out of my backpack and I get absorbed in it instead.
At one point, my eyes stop scanning the page as my thoughts wander. This moment with Santana is what I imagine our Sunday mornings would be like if we were out of school and living together. I'd have my glasses perched on my nose as I get lost in another world within my book while Santana catches up on her DVR queue or plays video games. We'd be on the couch together, our bodies touching without any hint of more than the need to be close to one another. When our coffee mugs were empty, one of us would get up and refill them before settling back down and intertwining ourselves once again.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts by Mrs. Lopez calling us up for dinner. The table is covered with so many dishes, all of them holding Mrs. Lopez's fantastic cooking. Mr. Lopez is still at work, but Max enters from the living room and pours himself a glass of water before joining us at the table.
I can hardly move by the end of the meal and Mrs. Lopez insists that I don't help clear the table since it's my birthday. I sit awkwardly as the three of them carry the plates back into the kitchen. What I'm not expecting is Mrs. Lopez to re-enter carrying a small cake with lit candles stuck in it. She places it in front of me and the three of them sing me "Feliz Cumpleaños" before I blow out the candles. Mrs. Lopez cuts us each a slice, giving me the biggest one. It's been years since my parents had made me a cake on my birthday and I'm flattered by how welcome I feel in Santana's house. It's overwhelming to feel like I belong to a family that isn't really my own more than I ever have to my own.
After cake, Santana and I sit at the table to do our homework. It's minimal for once and we finish early enough that I have some time to hang out before my mom is going to expect me home.
Santana goes into her closet when we get home and comes out with her hands hidden behind her back. I raise an eyebrow at her.
"I know you told me that you didn't want any birthday presents, but I couldn't help myself."
She pulls her hands from behind her back and hands me a rolled up piece of paper that is tied with some red curly ribbon. I slide the ribbon off and unroll it to expose a drawing Santana obviously made. It's the two of us in our Cheerio uniforms and it's goofy in its cartoon form. I have my hands on my hips and Santana is beside me with a big smirk on her face. It's really a spitting image of what we look like and I'm really impressed.
"Thanks, San," I say with a chuckle when I notice the collection of novels sticking out of the backpack she has drawn at my feet.
"It's something simple, but we don't have many pictures of just the two of us so I figured you should at least have a drawing."
I walk over to where she's hovering a couple of feet away and reach up to stroke my fingers along her cheek.
"I love it," I say genuinely and lean in to give her a short kiss.
For the next few weeks, we alternate who drives to school, but we spend very little time together once we get there. Rumors are flying about Santana and her locker room escapades still and she's completely paranoid about someone finding out. I focus my energy on Cheerios and glee club and celibacy club instead of worrying about my relationship.
Apparently that wasn't my best decision because on the following Wednesday, I see Santana down the hall leaning against Alec's locker. He's grinning at her as he grabs his books for class and they walk to homeroom together.
On Thursday, Santana is at his locker again in the morning. I get my own books and walk behind them to homeroom, keeping a few paces behind. I want to vomit when I see Alec stoop down to peck Santana directly on the lips before she walks into her classroom.
I avoid talking to Santana for the rest of the day because I'm so furious about it. I know that it's her trying to cover her tracks and I agreed to let her flirt her way back into every boy's heart, but I didn't expect her to act like she's dating a random guy. When she was with Puck, they hardly even spoke in the hallways and they were actually screwing around after hours.
Santana seems to sense something was wrong, but thankfully doesn't ask me about it. I just let my anger simmer throughout our classes and Cheerio practice. We drive home in silence and I drop her off at her house, citing that I need to study for AP English, which was the only class we don't share. She shrugs at me and says goodbye without pushing the issue.
A couple of hours later, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I reach over to see a message from Santana asking me if I was okay. I drop it back on the nightstand and go back to my reading assignment for English. But the vibrating doesn't stop. Every fifteen minutes or so she tries to text me, rephrasing the question slightly like I might not have understood what was going on the first twenty times.
On Friday, I text Santana to tell her that I'm running late for school so I'll just drive myself instead of having her pick me up. She bombards me with messages again asking if everything is okay, which I continue to ignore. At this point, she must realize that I'm upset with her but I really don't feel like fighting via text message before school.
We don't talk all day and I take my frustration out on the team, causing us all to run sprints until most of us are limping. Sylvester finally yells into her megaphone that we're done for the day and we all trudge back to the locker room with most of my teammates shooting me dirty looks for the horrible practice.
I wait until mostly everybody else has filed out of the locker room before I strip down and head for the showers. I pushed myself as hard as I had pushed them today and my muscles were screaming from the over exertion. I groan when the steaming water hits my shoulders and runs down my back, easing some of the tension.
By the time I run out of hot water and wrap myself in my towel, it sounds as though the locker room is empty besides me. I walk to my locker and pull out my bag, dressing slowly due to the shooting pains I have in every muscle when I try to move.
I jump when my locker slams right next to my head while I'm bent over tying my shoelaces. I look up to see Santana standing there, her wet hair tied messily in a bun on top of her head and her t-shirt clinging to her still damp skin.
"Shit, you scared me," I say, straightening up before sitting down on the bench.
"Why the hell are you avoiding me?" Santana demands immediately, refusing to get off the topic of why she has been waiting in the locker room for me.
"I don't know, maybe it has something to do with the fact that Alec was kissing you in the middle of the hallway yesterday. I'm sure he probably did today too but I thankfully wasn't standing behind you this time."
My tone is snarky and cutting, but I know Santana can hear the hints of vulnerability that filter through as well. Her face drops when she realizes that I'm hurt.
"Q, he's just my beard. We talked about this a few weeks ago and we agreed it was for the best."
"Yeah, when he was just arm candy at parties or whatever. I didn't expect you to be walking with a guy in the hallway all the time and kissing him like it's actually what you want when you're sober."
I don't bother hiding the fact that tears are slipping down my cheeks.
"You know that I can't let people find out about us so shortly after the rumors about me and Britt were flying. This is for us both. In two years, we'll be free of this place and we won't have to work about the stupid assholes and we can be out. But not now, Q, you know that."
"I just didn't know that meant you were going to date other people," I say shyly.
"I'm not dating Alec. I paid him two hundred bucks to make it look real in the hallways. We never hang out; we never kiss more than what you saw yesterday. The only person I want to kiss is you."
The genuine look in her eyes and the tears falling down her own cheeks tells me that she's being completely honest. She doesn't feel anything for Alec, but he's the perfect cover while we deal with the situation.
"Why can't you just renew your celibacy vow like I did?" I plead with her. Whether it's an act or not, my stomach feels nauseous just thinking about her kissing Alec every day outside of homeroom for the next two years.
Santana laughs raucously at my statement and I frown at her.
"People would never buy that I'm actually celibate as I wasn't the first time I joined the club. I'll go to the silly meetings because you make all of the Cheerios go, but you know that people won't believe that I'm not sleeping with anybody the way they believe it in you."
"I feel like I should be offended by that," I consider, cocking my head and giving her a watery smile.
"Well they don't know what a freak you are in bed like I do," Santana responds, her voice growing deeper and she takes a step towards me.
I let her lean into kiss me.
"Uh, Quinn? Coach wants to see you."
I spin around so fast that I'm dizzy and my muscles are screaming at me in pain. At the end of our row of lockers stands Stacy, a senior Cheerio that lives in our neighborhood. She looks terrified and extremely bemused at the same time and I don't know how I should approach her.
"And how would you know? Were you in her office kissing her ass again?"
I want to slap Santana. Stacy has just found us in a very compromising circumstance and I really don't want to piss her off when she holds all the power. But like usual, Santana doesn't think before she reacts and I know she's hoping to intimidate Stacy into submission.
"At least I'm not fucking my teammates," Stacy retorts, her smirk growing. "I'm sure Coach would love to hear that her perfect role model Quinn Fabray is a carpet muncher and is taking advantage of the private Cheerio locker room."
"What's it going to take for you to forget you ever saw anything here?" I intercede, desperate to fix the damage caused.
"I'm sure I'll come up with something. Nice seeing you, Fabray." Stacy winks at me before turning to look at Santana and scowling. She turns with a flutter of her Cheerio skirt and we don't move until I hear the heavy locker room doors slam behind her.