"What are you thinking about?"
"Not you, blondie."
"I doubt it."
"A little too confident, there blondie."
Santana was thinking about does red lips, the same ones she's been staring at for the past couple of minutes.
It's been two days since the kiss. Both having a lunch date again, in Santana's office.
"I was thinking, we could go to a bar this weekend..." Quinn said.
"Sure." Brown eyes, once again day-dreamed of the kiss.
The bar.
"This is Sam...and that's Mercedes."
"Hi."
"She's prettier in person Q." Mercedes said, as all sat down in a small table away from the dance floor.
"Thanks." Santana smiled.
"We should, get some drinks." Quinn mention to Mercedes.
"We'll be back." She kissed Sam.
"So, how long have you been together?" Santana asked, as she kept her eyes on Quinn's ass.
"Two years, married three months."
"At least you're getting some." She sighed.
"I've been there, I took way too many ice baths." Sam laughed.
"We've been going out for...two months, but we've known each other for four. And am fucking dying...we've kissed four fucking times."
Sam laughed so loud, people though he was crazy. At some point he was crying.
"Yeah, we didn't sleep together until our wedding night."
"Oh God." Suddenly Santana had a headache.
"Yup."
"What are you talking about?" Quinn sat their drinks down.
"You, of course." Santana placed her hand on Quinn's thigh. The blonde blushed.
Santana knew better than, to pressure her into something she didn't want to do. That's why both stopped talking in the first place. But Santana was now going to wait forever; that thought alone was hell.
I am going to be best friends with my fucking hand, for a long time. God, my wrist is starting to hurt. I think, I'll need a cast at the end. Or bags of ice, a lot of ice. Fuck, what if she keeps me like this until we get married. I am not waiting for fucking Cinderella, to finally fuck her brains out. I need new porn. Like really dirty...
"Wanna go dance?" Quinn asked after a couple of drinks.
Santana didn't realize, she'd been rambling in her head.
"Sure."
"Good luck!" Sam shouted, knowing how Quinn gets when she's tipsy.
"Why? Baby." Mercedes turned to him.
"You'll see."
Quinn got really handsy, moving her hands from Santana's neck; to her back, down to her ass. Never stopping her way towards her hips, up very closely to her breasts; back to her neck again. So slow and painful, for Santana. All Santana could do, was to hold on to Quinn's hip and lower back, after the second round from Quinn's hands; Santana had to get some air. So, she ran to the bathroom.
Get it together. For god-sake, this is not high school. Don't c...
Santana took a few deep breaths, splashed water on her face. Re-arrange her dress, looked in the mirror. And finally, when she was done...
"What are you doing?"
"Ah...I-"
"You ran away, are you ok?" Quinn got closer; Santana moved away from her. Knowing very well what Quinn does to her body.
"Yeah..."
Quinn looked in the mirror and pushed her dress up, by cupping her breasts.
Don't jump her. Keep it in your pants.
Santana's toes curled; her head tilted, as she rolled her eyes. Her hands were fists. She was trying so hard, not to cum at the sight.
"You don't like my dancing?"
"What? No!"
What else can your hands do? I mean fuck...
"Then?" Quinn pushed together her breasts for reassurance.
Santana was sweating bullets, at this point. She was sure, that if she'd stayed; Santana was going to cu...
"I got a call...from work...am sorry, I have to go." She lied, well just a white lie. But that got her out of there.
"Ok, Call me." Quinn saw her leave.
That weekend, Santana didn't leave her room. At the end, she did need a cast. End product was; two broken finger nails, one head board scratched, and one fucked up wrist. All thanks to Quinn. But that wasn't enough, oh no. Any blonde that passed by, Santana thought of a way to fuck her, many different ways too. The wind was not cooling her down, no; that fucking wind made it worse. Skits were lifted, blouses tight to their breasts. Trying to stay abstinent was the fucking worse, her damn torture.
A week later.
Baseball game.
"The game doesn't start in another ten minutes, am going to grab somethings. Wanna come?" Santana asked. Holding hands with Quinn, this was now normal.
"If you're paying."
"You just want my money."
"You're not wrong." Hazel-green eyes had a spark.
Quinn let Santana drag her to the gift shop. Quinn could actually see herself doing this forever. Her stomach had a mind of its own; it felt full, and yet hot and cold. Fucking butterflies, had nothing on the feeling she had now.
"Can you do me a favor?" Santana asked Quinn. A good tactic to stop Quinn, from looking at the price.
"Sure."
"Can you get me a beer?"
"I thought, you were paying."
"Okay, gold-digger...take this." She handed a second credit card.
"For the record, I don't want a prenup."
Santana laughed, and rolled her pretty brown eyes.
"Alright, but I'll get custody of all the giraffes."
"Whatever." Green eyes rolled this time. Quinn walked away.
"Can you, customize the jersey's?" She asked the employee.
Back outside the shop, Quinn was waiting on her with two beers.
"Thanks, let's go sit down..."
Both headed down the rows, until they got to the second row. Very close to the team, Santana had a friend; who gave her tickets to a Yanke's game for exchange, of an Elton John concert.
"You better get me a ball." Quinn stated as they sat down.
"Why can't you get, me a ball?"
"Because am the gold-digger, not you." She smiled at Santana.
"Well then princess, I better get something in return." She winked.
"Get me a ball, and I might..."
Fucken tease. No, no, no. Not know.
The wind was her worse enemy, Quinn's dress was being lifted; showing her endless legs. Santana was starting to get a little too excited, her hands were sweating; and so was another part of her body. She couldn't look away when, the wind made Quinn shiver; and looking down her cleavage. Santana was losing it, and fast.
"I...gotta, go to the bathroom."
"Okay." Quinn didn't seem to get it.
Santana on the other hand, was fucking running to the bathroom. Once the friction of running was intense, she walked instead. I'd be weird if you got off in a public place. So, she turned to the bathroom.
A minute passed by, and so did five.
It was twenty minutes, when Quinn realize Santana haven't come...back.
"San?"
Santana stopped what she was doing.
So close, so close.
"Yeah." She tried to sound normal.
"Are you ok?"
"Ah, yeah...just give me a second."
She couldn't stop now; she was so close. Santana bit her lip, and finally some release. It was a miracle she didn't make any noise.
"Why are you sweating?" Quinn asked as Santana came out of the stall.
"What?" She washed her hands.
"What happened?"
"Nothing, it's hot in here." Nice save.
Santana seemed more relaxed, all that pressure was lifted. For a while. The blonde noticed the change in her face, but couldn't put it together. Once Santana was done, both walked back to their seats.
Holding hands as they walked out.
That fucking wind again. Keep your eyes on the game, not her boobs.
"So?"
"Yeah." Brown eyes didn't want to look at her gorgeous eyes. She needed to think of something else.
"What did you get?"
"Oh, jersey's and caps." She got them out.
"Both say, Lopez."
"Of course, princess." Santana winked.
Santana had a better time now; the game was a good distraction. She smiled more; sipped her beer, she put on the cap and jersey. Danced in her seat, as some stupid song played.
"Homerun!" Santana shouted, and stood up. When Quinn did, her breasts bounced. She had a stupid grin on her face.
It was a good game. Until some asshole started talking to Quinn.
Not today.
"Why don't you put your dick in your pants, and leave my girl alone."
"Your girl? You are not even, paying attention to her." Some guy said.
Fuck, she had forgotten about her blonde.
"Can you read, asshat...she's wearing my name on her jersey."
Quinn noticed the change again. She knew what was going on, more like a really good suspicion.
"I bet she likes dick..."
"Get the fuck up..." Santana stood up.
"What are you gonna do? Slap me?"
"I'll shove my foot up your ass..."
"Santana!" Quinn had enough, of her behavior.
"What? You're going to defend this asshole?"
"No! Am going home."
"Wait."
Quinn got up and left her seat; she got close to the entrance, when she heard Santana call her name again.
"Quinn!"
"What!?"
"Fuck, stop walking."
"I'm going home Santana; clearly you pay more attention, to the game than me!"
"God, damn it."
In the cab.
Both sat as much space between them as possible.
Quinn was beyond pissed. Things between them, were starting to be good; both were really doing this. Quinn stopped thinking, and letting go. She liked the way things were going, dates, flirting, and some kisses. But she wasn't ready to sleep with Santana just yet. No, Quinn was making Santana wait, until she knows that Santana was capable of having a serious relationship.
Quinn had talked to Mercedes that night at the bar. Mercedes told her, 'You need to make sure, that she's not sleeping with anybody else. If you want this to work girl; you need to test her fidelity. And am talking about sex; that way, when you wait and she's still there. You'll know, she's the one.'
Quinn was ready to jump in the sack, ever since the first date. But 'Cedes, had a point.
She was going to wait.
The cab stopped and Quinn stepped out.
"Goodnight Santana." She didn't wait for a response; she went inside her apartment.
And now she was dwelling.
What if, she is sleeping with someone else. San's been acting weird. Oh. My. God! She's sleeping with Britt, I knew there was something. That fucking face she made towards Santana. I can't fucking believe this. That cheating piece of...
Quinn had to know, she had to know if; Santana was cheating. So, she went to her apartment at ten a clock on a Sunday night.
Santana had blown it.
She's just so hot.
Santana was convinced Quinn, would never call again. So, she got her emergency weed out. Only used it in times like these.
An hour later, there was a knock on the door.
"What is wrong with you?" Quinn came in
"What do you mean?" Santana didn't notice, the smile forming on her face.
Santana was so high, everything was slow-motion. Gloria by Laura Branigan, was playing on the background. Her head was still moving to the music, her eyes almost closed. And the smile still there.
"Are you sleeping with Britt?"
Santana stopped. Was Quinn asking if she's sleeping with Britt? But she was not paying attention.
Fuck! I forgot how good this shit is.
"What!?" She tried to open her eyes. But failed.
"Are you?" Quinn was in the verge of crying, but she wasn't going to give in.
"No!"
"Don't lie to me Santana!"
"I...am not! Why are we fucking yelling!?" Clearly, she had forgotten the conversation already.
"Because you're cheating on me!"
Santana seemed a little taken back, she stopped to think.
Slap!
"What the fuck!" Santana held her cheek.
"You are! You're fucking her!"
"Am fucking who? You?" Again, forgot what was happening. "Because, you leave me high and wet!"
"Is that why, you are fucking her?"
Quinn was losing her shit. She waited too long, and now Santana was fucking some other blonde. Thanks 'Cedes.
"Who? You?"
"No! Brittany!"
"Is she here?"
Slap!
Quinn wasn't going to leave until she said it.
"Why? So, you can fuck her in front of me?"
"Who?"
This was useless. Santana was never going to admit it.
Quinn sat on the couch, then she saw it.
"Are you high?"
"Are we?" Santana looked around, she tried to hold on to the lamp.
"Santana, do you smoke?"
"You see it too?" Santana looked, around almost worried.
Quinn realized this was useless.
How can she manage to be an adorable dork, even high.
Oh, my god. She came back to the game with a smile on her face. She was smoking at the game.
It all made since to Quinn.
"Do you have a drug problem?"
Quinn couldn't be more wrong.
"What!? Just because am brown-"
"Shut up! And answer the question!"
"Well, what do you want me to do. Shut up, or answer the question?"
Green eyes rolled.
"Do you?" Quinn asked again.
"Do I want to do you, yes!"
Quinn wanted to laugh at this dork. But this was serious.
"Yeah, not happening like this."
"Oh, man...what are you doing here?" Santana sat beside her.
"I don't know anymore."
"Yeah...that's my shit!" Santana said as the song continued to play.
The same song was on repeat.
Quinn left Santana on the couch.
So, Quinn walked around the apartment. Well kept, clean, and homey. The scent was something tropical, but couldn't put her finger on it. Old records, a record player was in her leaving room. Photos of places she's been through the years; books scattered on the dining table. Posters, contracts, and an old camera were also on the table.
Quinn was falling and hard...