Reminder: The next five or so chapters (including this one) will be done in the form of months, as was the last one.
Recap: Quinn and Santana officially become girlfriend and girlfriend. Quinn tells Kitty before they come out as a couple and Kitty accepts them, but doesn't support them. She does promise not to tell Heaven about what's going on down here. Quinn and Santana come out and get some shit from Brittany, but tell her off. They have an adorable study date with more kissing than usual.
Crash
Month 2
I feel a finger tap me on the shoulder from behind as somebody whispers, "I'm taking you out tonight." The mysterious voice spins around and reveals their identity.
"Oh really?" I challenge with a raised eyebrow as I hug my book to my chest. "What if I'm busy?"
"Then clear your calendar," she replies.
"I'm afraid I can't go out with you. I have a super hot girlfriend and she'd be pissed off if I went out with somebody other than her," I flirt.
"Damn right I'm hot," she says with a laugh, officially breaking the strange game we had been playing.
"And she's oh so humble," I add sarcastically as I slam my locker shut.
She pops the collar on her leather jacket. "When you look this good it's not considered vain because it's completely justified." I laugh as I put my books into my backpack and throw it over my shoulder. "I'm sure your well-aware of that feeling." She says, throwing her arm over my shoulder and sending me a wink.
A blush creeps up into my cheeks. "Of course not Santana."
"Well, you should. You're the sexiest person at this hell hole, other than me of course," she adds cockily.
"Of course," I reply sarcastically. Funny thing was, even though I was only joking, it was completely true. Not necessarily the first part, but to me she was the sexiest person around here. I'm an angel. I shouldn't be thinking about how sexy Santana is. I shouldn't even be able to think she's sexy. I shouldn't even be able to think she's attractive in a romantic way. But I do. The thought worries me, but I decide to push it down and worry about it some other time. I clear my throat, "So, where are you taking me?"
She looks over at me, excited and vibrant. "It's a surprise," she says.
I don't like surprises. Sometimes they're nice, but more often than not they're untimely, unhelpful, and uncomfortable. I much prefer to be prepared. "Come on 'Tana, can't you tell me?"
"Nope."
"Tana," I whine.
"I said no," she responds curtly. "It's a surprise, Q." She steps ahead to open the door exiting McKinley for me. The two of us walk outside and she stops a few steps before we hit the parking lot. "You really need to relax and loosen up. Not everything is under your control, Q." I sigh begrudgingly because I know she's right. She places a chaste kiss on my mouth before casually walking away towards her car, hips swaying completely on purpose. I feel my mouth go a bit dry. "I'll pick you up at eight. Wear something sexy!"
**143**
"Fuck," Santana breathes out when she sees me walk down the pathway from my house and to her motorcycle.
"Language!" I scold.
"Sorry, just… damn," she says with disbelief. She lets out a wolf whistle. "Who knew jeans and a t-shirt could be so freaking sexy." I momentarily glare at her for saying 'freaking' but she ignores it.
"You look… hot as well, Santana," I compliment, ogling her from head to toe. The black dress she's wearing is so tight it almost looks attached to her skin. Her breasts are practically spilling out of her dress and it barely comes down to cover her underwear. I'm licking my lips before I even know it. When I see her three-inch black heels I genuinely think I'm going to pass out from the rate my heart is beating.
She smirks and I know she knows I was completely checking her out. "Thanks, babe." She reaches for the two bike helmets hanging on her handlebars, offering one out to me.
"No, no, no!" The words tumble out of my mouth in protest. I cringe, looking upon the motorcycle with disdain. "I'm not getting onto that death trap."
"Babe," Santana pouts.
I remain adamant, physically putting my foot down. And now it came down to a battle of wills. The two of us stood there, staring at each other in complete silence as our eyes drilled into each other. Either she would give up under my harsh, unmoving scowl or I would give up to her challenging fire, pouty lips, and raised eyebrow.
We stood like that for a minute, but it was over before it began. She was my weakness. And I couldn't, despite my deep disapproval for motorcycles, say no to her. Especially when she pouts. She knows that I can never, ever say no to that. I sigh and hunch forward in shame and defeat as I walk towards her and grab the helmet from her hand. She smiles. "I knew you'd see things my way," she says cockily. I can't decide if her vanity from this victory is hot or annoying.
I huff and grumble. "We better not die."
"Then you better hold on tight," she flirts with me as she straddles her bike and puts the helmet on her head. Hot. I decide it is hot and so worth its annoying points.
Still a bit upset I lost, I grab onto her waist with a hint of excitement and resentment. "Hold on tight," she says sinfully. She revs the engine twice, and we're off.
In all my years I've never tried riding a motorcycle. I considered it an unnecessary indulgence and I honestly thought the invention was stupid and the amount of danger it called for was ridiculous. But now I know why humans love it so much.
It's the closest thing they have to flying. We're going maybe fifty miles an hour, not nearly the highest speed you can fly at, but it's the same feeling. It's the same wind blowing in your hair, it's the same smile that you can't suppress, and it's the same unstoppable, immortal feeling one gets when they fly. Nothing can hold you back. You're going a thousand times faster than the rest of the universe until it all just blurs together and it's the most fantastic thing you've ever felt. You breathe it in.
Santana laughs as my arms grip firmly around her waist. "Not so bad, are they?" There's a tinkering in her voice that's not usually there. And it's because we're riding. We're so high on the buzz that comes off of it we don't even care about the risks or the dangers anymore. We're way too caught up in the moment.
I lean in and kiss her on the neck. Even though I can't see it, I can feel heat rising to her cheeks. "Thank you."
**143**
I can feel the ground pulsing beneath my feet as I bring one leg over the side of the motorcycle and step on solid ground. I can hear a horde of voices cheering, talking, and laughing. I can already feel the difference in the air. There's a different energy around this place. "Where are we?" I ask as I pull off my helmet and throw it with Santana's.
"One of the very few bars in Lima, Ohio that are actually worth going to." She nods her head in the direction of some stairs leading downwards and underground. A flurry of lights bursts out from the frame of the closed door being guarded by a very, very buff guy at the bottom.
"A bar?" I reply nervously. "That can't be legal."
"It isn't," she replies, a black-hearted smile on her lips and a trouble making look in her eyes.
"Santana, we can't do this," I protest. "We're underage."
She reaches into her bra and for a second I lose my train of thought. I barely even notice the two objects she pulls out. She hands me one of the small, white and shiny objects and I realize it's a fake I.D. "Aren't we, Emily Stark?" she wiggles her eyebrows, not bothering to hide the wicked look in her eyes.
My eyes practically bulge out of my head. It's the photo that Mercedes took of me for her photography class. Apparently I'm Emily Stark and I'm 21 years old. I certainly can't be doing this. This isn't legal. This isn't the right thing to do. I have to be a better influence on Santana; it's a part of my job. I glance uncomfortably at the entrance. "San, why don't we go somewhere else?"
"Come on, Q," she begs, squeezing my hand. "Get out of your comfort zone a little. Have some fun. Free yourself from all the other bullshit in your life."
"Santana, this is completely illegal," I hiss back.
"You and me need to get out and have some fun," Santana says, grabbing my other hand. She pulls back and forth at my arms, attempting to get me to dance and lighten the mood. I stand there stoically. "Come on," she pouts.
"Santana, we can't." The pulsing beneath my feet begins to match up with the beat of my heart and I can feel myself pulled to the intoxicating energy of the intoxicated. Still, I know I shouldn't. Still, I know it's wrong. So I stand there.
"With you I've done so much," Santana says, still gripping my hand. "You've opened my eyes to all these new experiences. We live in Lima, Ohio, basically the middle of nowhere. And you're so… travelled. I just want to open your eyes to something cool as well."
"Santana…" My eyes warily glance at the door to the club.
"Please, it'll be really fun," she begs. She looks at me playfully, "I promise to make it worth you while." Her entire body reeks of seduction. "Please Quinnie."
I sigh. I know I shouldn't. I know I should say no. I know this is wrong. But she's the chink in my armor. She's the one person I'd do anything for. She's the one person that could make me choose wrong from right. And that scares me. "Okay," I say begrudgingly.
She smiles this wide smile that makes my heart beat faster, falling out of beat with the music underground and any regrets I had from saying yes disappear with the wind that whipped through my hair as my arms wrapped around her waist on the motorcycle from before. "Yay!" She grabs my hand and the two of us eagerly walk towards the door.
"ID?" The guy asks. Santana holds hers up with confidence and cool. I keep up the façade, if I'm going to do this I'm not going to get caught, but on the inside I'm falling apart under the judging glare of the man. It feels like an eternity before he nods us through.
As soon as we walk through I stop to catch my breath, only to lose it again. The energy in here is incredible. Everything is happening down here. People are at their highest of highs as they grind against each other and kiss. Their entire beings scream of sex and seduction. The influence of alcohol causes everyone's mind and thoughts to blur, hitting me all at once with a flurry of fuzzy ideas. There are a couple people here and there getting high. Combined with the spinning lights and the music that could make anybody go deaf. Everything around me is toxic, but the exhilarating feeling that comes with it makes me not care.
It's horrible.
It's wonderful.
"Welcome to the underground of Ohio," Santana utters into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Where life really happens."
I look around on the dance floor. Everybody is wearing short, tight dresses and other revealing clothes and I feel incredibly out of place in my plain white t-shirt and jeans. Self consciously, I run a hand through my hair.
"Do you want a drink?" she asks. Not really.
So caught up in the atmosphere of the people I find myself nodding my head 'yes' anyways.
The beautiful Latina grabs my hand and whisks me away to the other side of the club where the bar is. A couple of the bartenders there are covered in glowing body paint, laughing and enjoying themselves just as much as their customers. Others are shaking out a good drink with a casual laugh and a good-natured smile.
"What'll it be?" one of the younger, suave looking bartenders asks as he throws a rag over his shoulder.
"Margarita on the rocks and a…" She looks over at me for a moment, assessing me up and down. "And a long island iced tea for her." She shrugs her shoulder in my direction.
"I'll need to see your ID," he says casually, already starting to prepare the drinks. It's clear he's asked this too many times and he knows that even if we are underage, we'll just get away with it anyways because there's no way to disprove that we're underage.
I feel wrong. Like a sinking feel feeling in my stomach, telling me what I'm doing isn't right. A thousand alarms blare in my head. I should never lie. Lying is looked down upon as sinful. But then I consider all those times I do lie. My name isn't Quinn. It's Lucy. Every time I mascaraed as human I'm lying. I'm not actually underage, if anything I'm overage. I could never tell the truth all the time. The justification puts me at ease, but I still feel this shadow of creeping doubt in the back of my mind.
Not too long after the bartender sets our drinks down on the counter. "That'll be thirty four dollars." Santana easily fishes it out of her purse and throws it on the counter. She grabs both of our drinks and hands me mine.
"Try it," she urges. "You won't regret it."
I nod, accepting the drink from her hand. I tip the glass backwards and forwards a bit before bringing it to my lips and taking a sip. The cold beverage runs down my throat, stinging only a little bit from the alcohol. Santana looks at me expectantly. I smile. "Not bad."
A grin breaks out on her face. "See, I told you! Live a little!" She then takes a large, long sip of her margarita. As she pulls the glass from her mouth her hands raise up into the air and she cheers. "Ow! Ow!" I laugh. "Let the party begin!" She proceeds to chug the whole glass.
Invigorated, she puts our drinks down on a near table, grabs my hand, and pulls me onto the dance floor. Calvin Harris' "Feel So Close" is playing. The only reason I know it is because Santana showed it to me a week or two ago.
At first it's awkward. The two of us are newcomers on the dance floor. We're the two newbies who have to get into step with everyone else. But after a minute or two we lose ourselves in the beat. It's racing through our blood, directing our every command so that we flow easily with the music. I don't know how much time passes.
All I know is that somewhere between Cash Cash's "Take Me Home" and Zedd's "Clarity" Santana began grinding against me. It is the most amazing feeling in the world. Her hips against my hips and her ass on my pelvis is the greatest feeling in the world. I can practically feel my nipples hardening. She reaches her hands behind my head and begins running her long fingers through my hair, scraping against my scalp. My hands reach for hips. As soon as I do, her ass rubs hard and slow against me. It is sweet, sweet torture.
It's like we're crashing into each other, but in the best way possible. There's nothing that can stop us, no gravity no force that could ever stop it, we were destined from the day things began to crash into each other. Magnetic.
I quickly find myself meeting her with my own hips as I moan into her ear. I sweep her hair to the side and begin nibbling on her ear and elicit a moan from the tanned goddess. After a couple more minutes our hands begin running up and down each other's sides. They roam underneath shirts and down legs. Finally, Santana turns around, her eyes a two shades darker than before.
"God you are hot," she murmurs. Her right hand grips my neck, bringing me in close as the other runs soft circles on my side.
"Kiss me." She gives me a voracious smile before pulling my lips against hers. It tastes of lip-gloss, alcohol, and a slight hint of mint gum. After our teasing foreplay the kiss is nothing but pure desire and need for the other person to be as close as possible.
After a minute or two and some 'that's hot' looks from other people, the two of us separate, remembering that we are two individuals, despite it never really feeling like it.
"Want another drink?" Still high off of the kiss, I nod a yes. I only drink half of it. The buzz of the alcohol cannot compare to the heady feeling of kissing Santana.
**143**
When I wake up the first thing I notice is a warm body sprawled across mine. I look down to find Santana's head peacefully resting on my chest, an arm sprawled over my waist, and our legs entangled together under the sheets. Quietly, as not to disturb her, I sneak out of bed. Subconsciously recognizing my distinct absence, Santana turns around onto her back where I get an unedited, unashamed, and unhidden, full frontal view of her breasts.
I flashback to last night, I gave Santana some clothes to sleep in, so she started stripping down, but she was too sleepy and just ended up leaving the clothes in a pile and crawling into bed in only her underwear.
A deep red blush rises to my cheeks as I stare unabashedly at her breasts before snapping out of it and running to cover her with a blanket. She moves a little, her nose scrunching up in the most adorable way I've ever seen.
After covering her I walk to the bathroom. I brush my hair, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and wash my face. My brain is a vaguely fuzzy, but otherwise any lasting side effects of the alcohol have worn off. I only had 1.5 glasses anyways, not much harm could've been done with that.
When I walk back into the room I find Santana awake, but she isn't smiling lazily or getting dressed or complaining about the 'fucking sunlight' waking her up. She's rolled onto her side, hunched over the far side of the bed, with her phone to her ear. There's a grave expression on her face that immediately has me worried. "Yeah. Absolutely." There's sadness in her eyes. I crawl onto the bed and begin running the pads of my fingers lightly against her arm. "I'll be there as soon as I can… Yeah, thank you for telling me." She hangs up the phone and lets out a weary sigh with the weight of the world placed in it.
"Tana, baby, what's wrong?"
She takes a shallow breath. "It's Brittany."
"What happened?" I worry for the worst. In my midnight escapades last night had something happened? Had something crucial to my mission happened? Had I just put Santana in danger or someone else she loved? Had I failed my mission? Had I just hurt somebody for the sake of gallivanting around with my assignment? I internally berate myself for being so selfish and careless.
"She got in a car accident." She says it so factually, so robotically, like she hasn't processed it yet.
"Is she okay?"
"She's in the hospital."
"Do you want to go?"
She looks up at me and nods. I don't have to read her mind to know what she's thinking. Despite blocking her out recently, Brittany has been her best friends for years and at a crucial moment like this, she won't turn her back on her best friend no matter what. She has to go see her. But there's a guilt weighing down on her. What if her last words to Brittany are trivial, meaningless words or words of hatred? What if this is all she gets? And what if she hadn't gone out and gotten drunk last night? Could she have done something? Could she have changed anything? And why does she feel so sad inside, but she still isn't crying?
I begin to move and help her out of bed, knowing that to dwell on these thoughts too long will only hurt her, but her hand grips my arm, telling me to stay stationary. "Can we just… stay here for a moment?"
"Absolutely." Santana curls up against me. Despite her being half naked there's nothing sexy about the moment. It's only sadness. I don't know what to do. So I pray to God.
**143**
Santana walks into the hallway where she knows we'll find Brittany's room. Her hand is squeezing mine so tight if I was human I'd be afraid to die of blood being cut off from my hand. I want to hold her tight and tell her it's okay, but there's nothing I can do right now. And I feel so helpless.
I can the pain and worry emanating off of her. But she's trying to stay strong. She's trying to make it look like this doesn't affect her, like it's just another day in the office. But it spills out through the cracks in her armor. You can see it in the stiffness of her shoulders and tightened scowl on her lips as she inconspicuously bites down on them to try and quell her own emotions. The way she keeps flexing her hand into a tight fist and releasing it, trying to hold onto any semblance of reality. But most of all you can see it in her eyes, just one step away from shedding a tear.
I see a blonde woman, visage stained with tears and a hand over her mouth. There's a bigger, brown-haired man wearing a plaid shirt with an arm around her shoulder, offering his strength when she can barely stand. The woman looks over at us. "Santana," she says breathlessly.
"Mrs. Pierce," Santana replies. The blonde woman runs to her and envelopes the Latina in her arms as if she was her own daughter. Santana falls easily into the hug, having known the woman for years. I can tell that their relationship is indeed very mother-daughter. Mrs. Pierce always expected she'd either end up stepmother to Santana or that Brittany and Santana would always stay incredibly close friends.
Mrs. Pierce finally lets go of Santana, silent tears threatening to bubble over and begin the barrage again. "Thank you so much for coming."
"Of course Mrs. P," Santana reassures, running a comforting hand up and down Mrs. Pierce's arm.
"I'm not naïve," she begins. "I know you and Brittany have had a falling out recently, but you're still her best friend. She still talks about you a lot." A flood of emotion radiates off of Santana so strongly I feel almost physically impacted. "And no matter what has happened between you two I figured you should know."
"Of course," Santana replies. "I would never abandon Brittany right now."
Mrs. Pierce nods with something of a relieved expression. It doesn't take much to read her mind. Knowing that the one girl who had never called her daughter stupid or weird was here and willing to help her and just sit here with them until she woke up comforted her. And it was nice to have the only other person she would consider her own here. Santana was family to her.
Mrs. Pierce glances over in my direction. She quickly wipes her eyes on her sleeve before brightening up and addressing me. "And who might you be?"
I take a step forward, offering my hand. "Quinn. Quinn Fabray." Mrs. Pierce gives me a guarded look before accepting my hand. I assume Brittany's talked about me and that no good things have come out of her mouth.
"She's my girlfriend," Santana says, latching her hand in with mine once again. She squeezes my hand and I squeeze hers back.
Mrs. Pierce nods and immediately understands. It's clear Brittany and her parents are close and don't hide much from each other. I read her mind, 'so this is why Brittany hated her so much. She must've been heartbroken when Santana chose her over my baby.' She redirects her thoughts at me. "It's so nice to meet you," she says with a genuine smile, still drowned out in the sadness of her daughter.
"Where is she?" Santana asks.
Mrs. Pierce points back to the room where Mr. Pierce is standing outside of, looking into the window like a vigilant watch dog. "Just in there. You can go in sweetie."
Santana gives a thankful nod to Mrs. Pierce before taking a deep breath and slowly approaching the door. I walk her over, hand still in hand. She's nervous. But most of all she's afraid of what she's going to see. She imagines a thousand different horrible scenarios in her head. So I grip her hand tighter.
When we get to the door she looks over at me with a sad smile, letting me know that this is something she has to do alone. So she kisses me lightly on the cheek before letting go of my hand. She closes her eyes, inhales deep, and opens the door.
Santana P.O.V
I imagined her, beaten and bruised and bloody as all fuck. I imagined what she'd look like from the thousands of car crashes I'd seen on the news or the fake crashes I'd seen on television. I imagined a thousand pieces of glass shot through her. It all made me want to puke.
But when I saw her, it was so much worse than that. It wasn't horrible and gruesome as I expected. It was worse. She was lying there peacefully. Her head was tilted to the left, lying against the pillow. She looks feather light. Her skin was pale and washed out. Her arm was lying against her side, wrapped up in a white bandage. There was a horrible looking gash slashed across her face from underneath her left eye to the ride corner of her mouth. It was clear that it had been cleaned out last night. But it doesn't stop my imagination from running rampant. I think about how it must've looked last night, blood gushing all around her, into her eyes and into her mouth. I think about how much that must've hurt. She tries to move, but moans restlessly in her sleep. I wonder how much pain she is in just to move.
I almost wish I had seen her bloodied and bruised because right now she is lying there, calm and peaceful. Her chest is barely moving up and down. The picture just makes me think of death. That this is how she would look when she died. If she was bruised and bloodied, at least I'd know she was alive and fighting. But right now she's just lying there, limp and week and looking too much like an eternal sleep.
I begin to see her flutter her eyes. I run to her bedside and take hold of her hand. I squeeze and squeeze until I've practically flattened her hand. I just hope she can feel my hand and that it keeps her fighting because that's all I can do right now.
"Hey there," she says groggily. Her eyes open and close a few more times before staying consistently awake. A slow smile spreads on her face, but I can tell it's causing her pain.
"Hey you," I say, slowly running my hand through her hair. She goes to caress my face with her hand, but I stop her. "Don't move." Brittany doesn't fight it. She lies her hand back down on the other side of the bed to rest.
"You're talking to me again?" she whispers. I can see the fear in her eyes, fear that because she brought it up I might remember and leave. But there's also hope that I'll say yes.
Not one to let down the hurt and injured (especially if I love them), I reply. "Yes."
She beams. She immediately cringes, forgetting that the mark across her face makes smiling hurt. Of course she'd forget that. I don't know how she'll survive. Brittany really only has one facial expression: smiling.
"Good."
I smile back. "Yeah. Good."
AN: So, I decided that I really wanted to do a date that was more Santana's speed and a little more sexualized and sensual. Obviously, sexual attraction will/has come up in this story and needs to be addressed. But I figured a lot of their dates will be more Quinn's speed, comfortable and sweet. So I really wanted to show what would happen if we placed Quinn in a date environment she wouldn't usually associate with. What'd you think?
Also, I don't know. I felt like Santana and Brittany needed to reconcile for now. I decided it recently for storytelling purposes. I know, I know. We are sick of Brittany and her getting in the way! I'm sorry.
Okay guys, I'm super excited because of their second month! And I'm excited to see their relationship grow! Are you? Show me the love in the form of reviews, my angels!