Random Pezberry Thoughts of the Day

by purrpickle

Exactly as it sounds. These are thoughts, headcanons, almost complete fic/drabble inspirations, and the like. Some are more substantial than others (and yes, there are fics in here). All are proudly Pezberry. If anyone would like to use any of these as prompts, go right ahead. Just credit me and let me know so I can read what you come up with.

34. Chapter 34

Random Pezberry Thought of the Day #331:

Courtesy of an anon!:

7 months. 7 months since she dug through the trash, since she whispered that everything would be okay, since she held her as she cried in the waiting room. 7 months since their lives were turned upside down & right side up at the same time. As she lays there in their bed, Rachel's head on her shoulder, their hands resting on her belly, she feels the movement that never gets less amazing & smiles. She can't wait to meet the person who gave her everything. She can't wait to return the favor.

(Tumblr tags: *sniffles*, thank you)

---

#332:

So parts of this were featured in previous RPTOTDs, but this quickly (and lengthily!) veers off from them. Enjoy some more amazing thedeadflag (and me) awesomeness! :D Just, uh, be warned - FEELS ahead.

/

purrpickle sent a post Every Time

jupiterjames:

ao3: they were trapped in a blizzard, a single vacancy at the motel with only one bed. What will happen between them?

me: *clicking on the fic* omg what will happen between them?!

/

*sparkly eyes*

thedeadflag

XD that's me 10000%

purrpickle

…I just had the thought of Santana, forced in close to Rachel, one of her first thoughts being that Rachel's nightly routine smelled fucking GOOD on Rachel's skin.

There was no way Rachel was allowed to smell so good. Was RUDE.

thedeadflag

It was rude and obscene and maybe she'd put on a totally appropriate display of aggression like physical intimidation via standing close to Rachel and being in her space. To non-verbally express how rude she felt it all was, and definitely not to, you know, be able to smell her better

purrpickle

…Which is shattered later, of course, when Santana's half asleep, Rachel sprawled all over her with Santana's nose in her neck and Santana mumbles a weak protest that Rachel's not allowed to smell so good.

thedeadflag

But of course. And of course Rachel eventually figures this out. And as much as Rachel absolutely would mentally plan out a speech to Santana about how she doesn't appreciate being harassed for the crime of smelling apparently unexpectedly nice (which of course earns its own subsection in her rebuke), she sees it as a prime opportunity for bonding

purrpickle

And then the lights go out. The power lines are down. And Rachel's terrified, almost shaking, because this is one of those old hotels where the bathroom is actually out in the hall, and she REALLY needs to pee but she doesn't want to go alone.

Santana's like, "Nuh-uh, bitch. I's not going out there with the serial killers, etc. etc."

thedeadflag

But Rachel's being all pushy and getting in her space, and Santana's having a hard time thinking with Rachel smelling illegally fine. And before she knows it, she's getting dragged out of the room and into the hallway, Rachel yelling about her father's connections with the ACLU startling her out of her stupor, but it's too late by then, they're already out of their room and down the hall

purrpickle

Santana's in her underwear, nipples practically falling out as it's SOOOO COLD, while at least Rachel has her camisole and, like, actual pajama shorts because somehow, freakishly, Rachel was prepared for anything - and, like, so what if Rachel had tried to tell her to be prepared too and she'd just tuned it out because she was watching Skin Wars while Rachel rattled annoyingly in her ear through her phone? - but at least they had light courtesy of Rachel's flashlight app, but then Santana realizes Rachel's taking it with her inside the ancient bathroom and going to leave her outside in the hallway, sexy and alone and premo cannibal or ghost bait.

*falling OFF

*not out. *giggle snorts*

thedeadflag

XD

purrpickle

Rachel would only be so lucky.

thedeadflag

Rachel would probably faint tbh

And then lay out an overly wordy half-apology about her reaction, because Santana is a human being, but Santana really ought to have listened to her when she told San to prepare for the trip

Because she, otherwise, would not have had a nip slip :P But yeah, Santana's not staying out in the hall with the serial killers and children of the corn

purrpickle

Oh, she gets a good look when she opens the door and illuminates Santana in front of her, Santana actually in the process of lunging forward and pushing Rachel back into the bathroom and slamming it shut and cursing as she scrabbles for the lock - because she heard a creepy ass noise, okay? But honestly, Rachel had expected a push up bra or something otherwise padded, not the thin thing she got, gloriously putting Santana's cleavage on display and being very, very clear that Santana's cold - "ONLY cold, Berry," Santana growls, "It's not like seeing you in your skivvies is doin' anything for me."

And yes. Thin enough to slip when Rachel hangs onto her in fright, burying her face in her chest. Ooh. Poor Santana. Hot breath right on her sensitive parts.

thedeadflag

And Santana's having an internal conflict over whether to hold her close or push her away until Rachel kind of nuzzles her cleavage, asking if Santana uses cocoa butter, and it's absolutely 100% not the time for any of that when there's probably a crazed lumberjack hunting them down

purrpickle

I want to say it ends up being the hotel owner's dog (let's be real, this is more like a bed and breakfast now, old European style so Santana's also grouchy because they both had to pitch in money to pay for the night and it was very much more expensive than she would have liked), having pushed his way out of the kitchen and roaming the halls. All Santana heard was panting and claws clicking on the floor coming up the stairs, and that's it, she was gonna barge her way into the bathroom - with Rachel fortunately opening the door before she slammed her body into it. "Now is NOT the time, Berry!" Santana hisses, swallowing as Rachel exhales again, making her legs shiver, "We gots to arm ourselves. And turn off that damn light - we'll be seen!"

Rachel NOT AT ALL ON PURPOSE drops her hands to Santana's ass as they wait for the "serial killer" to move on, ears pricked to make sure it doesn't try to break into their room because, for the grace of god, Rachel remembered to bring the key with them and locked it behind her. Santana's body's just warm, okay? And she's sweating a little with cold dread and Rachel's hands slip down her naked, tight back…

thedeadflag

And Santana's about to tell Rachel to get her hands off the goodies, because she swears she hears breathing in the hallway and she needs to focus on that and not how rudely nice it feels to have Rachel pressed up against her and palming her butt, but then there's a bump against the door from the other side (the dog's wagging tail lightly impacting against it, unbeknownst to them) that startles Rachel and suddenly those hands on her ass are squeezing hard

purrpickle

Squeezing hard and pulling Santana into her so their hips knock together and Santana swears Rachel's mouth slides down completely on top of her nipple as she buries her face harder into her chest - also accidental, of course - and Santana's mortified, absolutely MORTIFIED that a low, husky groan leaves her mouth completely involuntarily, and she's freezing and grimacing, it not helped at all by Rachel squeaking and shushing her because she doesn't want to die and they need to be quiet!

But she's also sorry for squeezing Santana's… derriere.

thedeadflag

The seconds that pass after that are agonizingly long, Rachel's hot breath washing over her breast, Berry's hands no longer clutching at her ass but still firmly cupping it, that tiny body pressed her against her and holding them close as they listen for any noise, the muted clacking of feet slowly fading into the distance and down the stairs.

And as the fear and near-death anxiety slowly leaves Rachel's body with every breath, maybe she finds a particularly ample amount of curiosity filling that vacancy. And maybe Santana's body is gloriously warm, but by the frustrated and mortified expression etched across Santana's face, maybe there's even more heat hiding in those cheeks of hers. Cheeks she might openly consider cute if it wouldn't likely get her defenestrated

purrpickle

Rachel only realizes when Santana's strong hands wrap around her shoulders and pushes her away, that she's still nestled into her. Santana's glaring at her, then telling her it's HER time to use the bathroom, and Rachel's gonna wait outside like a good dwarf, okay. Rachel protests quietly, telling her the serial killer JUST left and what if he turns around? Santana scoffs that that's not HER problem, but unless Rachel has a fetish for watching people pee and a thousand dollars to pay Santana to let her watch, she's out of luck. Finally, her own face burning, Rachel just leaves and tells Santana she can knock on the door when she's done - but ONLY two knocks followed by a pause and then four more so she knows she's not the serial killer - and MAYBE Rachel will let her in. Inside, she's planning on using the time to think about what had just happened and unpack it and figure up a way to apologize for groping Santana like that.

Rachel hears Santana stumble down the hall before the heel of Santana's hand bangs on the door, followed by a sharp curse, then, as Santana's doing the knock Rachel told her to do, Rachel's already answering the door, pulling her inside and closing and locking the door behind her. "Come on, come on, into the bed, Santana Lopez! You're freezing!" Rachel rubs her hands up and down Santana's arms, pointedly keeping her eyes from where the light from her glowing phone shows off her still hard nipples. They dive into the bed, and somehow, grumbling and huffing the whole way, Santana finds herself wrapped around Rachel again, nose buried in her hair, sharing body heat with her ears still pricked for someone trying to break down their door. Rachel STILL smells so good. It's so unfair.

thedeadflag

There are two things that Rachel notices immediately. The first is that for how chilly Santana's extremities were when she pulled San into the bedroom, they quickly turned into a warm cocoon of limbs practically the moment they tumbled into bed. Sure, Santana's torso ran as hot as ever, but Rachel knew her rubbing alone couldn't spur on that sort of warmth that quickly. The second part was that after settling in against each other, Santana huffing and puffing the whole way and still more tense than normal, Rachel couldn't help but feel Santana's heart-rate increase. And sure, there was a statistical probability that there was a serial killer roaming around, but the noise had faded, and as seconds of silence turned into minutes, Santana only seemed more tense, more worked up. Which was bizarre, because as cognizant of the threat outside her room as she was, she couldn't help but feel safe, a swell of relaxation pushing her fear toward the edges of her mind as she breathed Santana in, the strangled moan from earlier echoing in her mind. She hardly even noticed her hands drifting back down to Santana's hind-quarters again before a low half-aborted moan escapes Santana.

purrpickle

((I'm not sure how to work it in here, but I almost want Rachel to put her hand on Santana's forehead and ask her if she's coming down with a fever. XD))

thedeadflag

Haha, okay, but she would. because Santana moaning and feeling overly warm is (in Rachel's mind at least) much more explainable as a fever than, you know, attraction. And Rachel's squirming a bit, trying to gauge Santana's temperature and test her for a fever, and she's making so much noise, and Santana just wants to (A) avoid being murdered, and (B) get some quality Zzzzs, but Rachel's making that impossible, and she's just everywhere, and smelling SO GOOD, and Rachel insists she's sick (Santana insists she's not and she's just sick of Rachel poking and prodding her), and that Santana's coming down with something (which only gets Santana thinking new, dangerously alluring thoughts about going down on Rachel to see if she tastes as good as she smells, which only gets her more flustered because WHY IS THIS HAPPENING)

And maybe Santana's so frustrated that she lets slip, in trying to control the situation, that Rachel needs to calm her skeeterbites and put her hands 'back where they belong', while re-securing Rachel's hold around her (back a half inch or so above her butt) Which of course sends Rachel's mind spinning at a certain B-word in there that suddenly casts a different light on recent happenings

purrpickle

(Is the b word belong?)

(Also yes. Yes to everything.)

thedeadflag

Haha, yes. Because Rachel's insecure, she would wonder if she belonged as a part of Santana's inner circle, someone she counted as a close friend. Someone Santana would willingly involve in her world. And she knows Santana's abrasive and defensive and doesn't always mean what she says, so she's gotten better at not taking it all to heart, but now…. …Now she's been physically close with Santana for a short time and Santana's already admitted she smells nice, and that she wants Rachel to hold her, and there were moans on two separate occasions (and then light consideration of past interactions over the years of Santana complimenting her, the consistent themes of their duets together, or those intense dark eyes lingering on her in what she thought was anger but might have been something else instead), and maybe a new conclusion is forming as to a far fetched but now not entirely impossible way that Santana considers her. And suddenly the bonding she wanted to accomplish this weekend is cast in a new light. Because Santana's so warm and her heart is racing

purrpickle

Rachel's breathless. She has near perfect breath control, but she's breathless. She's scared, too, but feeling so warm and safe, and she buries her face into Santana's neck, pulling her closer into her.

"Santana?" she asks softly, feeling like her voice is catching in her throat even if it doesn't sound like that. And Santana grumbles, her heart triple beating as Rachel's soft nose and warm breath brush along her neck. She inhales, almost gritting her teeth as Rachel's scent grows stronger in her nose. "What?"

"I… I really would like to kiss you, if you were interested."

thedeadflag

And all sorts of curse words are filling her head for being so damned transparent, but Rachel's so soft, and warm, and smells so damn good, and if this is to be her last night on earth before being murdered by some michael myers slash norman bates wannabe, then maybe kissing the lips she'd spent years admiring wouldn't be the worst way to go out. Maybe kissing Rachel wouldn't be the end of the world, even if it'd probably lead to drama and endless rambling on Rachel's part, meaning a total lack of sleep ahead of her. But with the room as chilled as it was, Santana was in no rush to leave the bed, or the arms of the girl pressed up against her. Santana reluctantly removed an arm around Rachel and gently prods berry's chin up, angling them on path for a collision course. Even in the pitch darkness, Rachel's eyes are just gleaming, making Santana halt a breath away as one last stray defensive, inadvertently illuminating thought fell from her lips. "Fair warning: If you pull cat calendar craziness on me I'll ends you"

purrpickle

Heat and shock ripple through Rachel's chest, and her mouth is pursing open as the thought of SHE'S REALLY SUGGESTING A *RELATIONSHIP*? runs through her, and she's inhaling deeply, eyes wide open and seeing Santana's shining in the light and the squeak of, "Oh-okay," is on the tip of her tongue - and that's how Santana finds her lips, plush and warm and trembling, pursed and pillowing her upper lip, and Santana groans, increasing the pressure, her fingers under Rachel's chin moving forward and down to map out her neck, Rachel's throat muscles swallowing under them.

((I'm just laughing because one part of Santana's mind is sputtering because, "Aren't we hiding from a serial killer? How did it end up like this?"))

thedeadflag

XD yep. Like, she's not one to turn down a hot macking session, especially when Rachel's only getting more and more intense in her kissing as time ticks by, and damn. But still, there was a serial killer, like, right outside their door! She wasn't just hearing things! So it makes her feel like one of those girls she hates in horror movies who are too busy making out or having sex to notice the serial killer creeping up, but damn it, how can she stop?

purrpickle

Not to mention the adrenaline of almost certain death is making both girls more brazen, and it's not long until they're practically rolling all over the bed, gasping and moaning into each other's mouth as each girl takes a turn being on top. They're definitely not cold anymore.

However, when Santana elicits a loud, sharp moan by sucking on Rachel's neck, they both freeze, shocked back into reality.

thedeadflag

You know I'm not sure what idea I like more… Hearing a muted bark from the other side of the hall, letting them know they'd been freaking out over a damned dog this whole time, Santana wanting to go out and scare the thing away but Rachel's arms are snug around her waist, fearful that Santana would kill the poor pup…

…Or the both of them freezing for a full minute and a half before letting out relieved sighs. Santana telling Rachel to be quiet and putting a hand over Rachel's mouth, only for Rachel to kiss her hand, eyes full of mischief. And Santana's super pumped that Rachel's into it, but now that reality's setting in, she's got all these previously unearthed feels rising to the surface and she's already blabbed on enough tonight, but the idea of this being a one-off and messing things up is already getting kinda scary for her, and she's not sure how to handle that, not when Rachel's usually the one rambling a mile a minute but seems content to just keep kissing, which Santana's not sure how to interpret, and everything just starts feeling so tight in her chest

purrpickle

The second second second second one. Insert even more meaning and emotions into this thing!

thedeadflag

And Rachel, she's too spooked about Santana's disparaging remarks about her wordiness in the past to even approach talking about this, at least not until maybe the morning, but she really, desperately wants to. She just doesn't want to scare Santana away, because ever since their lips brushed against each other's, all these moments in the past have started to click, so many confusing moments in their history and confusing feelings coming under new clarity, and it's all so heavy in her and building and building and all she can do is hold on. As cared as she is of the potential serial killer roaming the property, she's terrified to the bone of losing whatever this is before she had a chance to foster it and get neck deep in it. It's the most frustrated she'd felt because she'd so burdened with all this clarity and with the knowledge that if she put it to words, it'd likely slip right between her fingers. She'd always been a dreamer and she's never let one die on her before, so she wasn't about to start now.

But at the same time, in Santana's head, her composure's chipping away with every second Rachel's not using her big over dramatic words to clarify what she meant to her. Because Rachel was moon-eyed for Finnept and Jessie St. Jackoff right away, incapable of shutting up about their 'burgeoning romantic potential'. Was she not good enough? Did she not measure up? Was she just a warm body and a nice bit of adrenaline-induced entertainment for Berry? And damn it if all of that doesn't have her eyes stinging, forcing her forward to pull Rachel into a kiss to keep Rachel from noticing, to try and derail the path her emotions were on. Maybe if they kissed hard enough, maybe if they touched each other in the right places enough, maybe she could sidestep the persistent presence in her head telling her that, yet again, she wasn't good enough.

purrpickle

(I both love and rue you. This is perfect. Do you think they're in high school here? That's what I was picturing.)

(I ask as I formulate what to add next.)

thedeadflag

I wasn't committed to any particular time frame tbh, but high school was a definite possibility.

purrpickle

I like the idea of high school Pezberry because the sheer drama of it, the intensity of being unsure but WANTING so much.

Rachel's confused, inside. Santana's kisses are almost more… Desperate now. Hot. The girl having taken her hand away and replaced it with her mouth again, body pressing into Rachel's from above, from her chest to her hips, and she's… Like Santana's way of expressing panic at near certain death is getting translated by her hands running up and down Rachel's sides, tangling in her hair, the girl ONE second away from starting to rock into her. And yes, it made Rachel's heart pound, and her body squeeze, as her own hands swept up and down Santana's burning, smooth back, palms catching against her bra, but there was just something… OFF that filtered through the haze inside her own mind.

"W-wait," she gasped - mindful, barely a whisper, unable to stop a whimper when Santana's lips brushed along hers as she dropped her head back to put space between them; undeterred, Santana just moved her attention down Rachel's chin, administering to her neck again, almost as if she'd forgotten it had made Rachel moan before. "Sa-Santana. WAIT." Sure, she was screaming inside her own head that she was going to ruin EVERYTHING now, that can't she just, this ONCE, stop the babbling inside her head - - but this hurts.

thedeadflag

aAaauughhh I am slain! Seriously, this is so good and it hurts so good

purrpickle

I knooooow.

It's the rewarding, GOOD type of painful angst.

thedeadflag

Santana doesn't hear Rachel's first 'Wait'; not really. She's too worked up, too frantic, too in need not to hear it for what she's used it as before…rejection. A soft form of it, perhaps, maybe even a polite one allowing for prospects of improvement. Which is why she moved to Rachel's neck, scraping her lips along its column in frenzied fiery kisses, hands scrabbling against Rachel's expanse, knowing that against all reason and logic, this felt right. This felt right and she didn't want to lose it so quickly. But Rachel's second protest hits her like a railway spike to the heart, pinning her down in breathless agony, waiting for the inevitable late Christmas gift of coal she'd be getting in the form of a roaring ten-tonne full-steam train of rejection. And maybe one of those god damned squeaky whimpers escapes her at the prospect of being trapped in that room to fester in it, what with the storm, and the serial killer outside. And maybe a tear or two fall, and maybe Santana wonders what she's going to do about that because she can't live with Rachel's pity, but she's half a breath from falling apart, and even if this is all just a shameful one-time romp, she wants it too much not to latch onto it. To latch onto Rachel, burying her face in the diva's neck to hide from the scrutiny Berry was sure to unleash on her, even if there'd be no hiding from being told again how she wasn't enough, that this wasn't right. And maybe she just really needed Rachel to either shut up and just hold her tonight without pitying commentary, or to just keep kissing her without pitying commentary because she really fucking didn't need to hear Rachel babble on about how there'd be someone great out there for her in the world, not when she lived in Lima fucking Ohio, not when she always felt so damned lonely, especially since Britt shacked up with the transformer. She'd heard enough about how it 'gets better', she wanted to be okay right now. Why was that so wrong?

purrpickle

When Rachel realized the wetness on her neck isn't just from Santana's lips and tongue, she froze, knowing something truly WAS wrong. "Santana?" she whispered again, hands curling on the cheerleader's shoulders, as if she was about to attempt to push her up, but paused, listening to the both of their heavy, stilted breathing loud in the suddenly cold air of the room. Santana was warm, burning hot on top of her, shoulders trembling, and Rachel wanted to sit up, to curl the shaking girl into her arms, stroke her cheeks and ask her what was wrong… But she knew what was wrong, didn't she? Reality had hit Santana.

Who she was with. Why they were huddled together. Fear came roaring back into Rachel's chest, now emotional and not just for her own mortality. This was wrong. This was all wrong. And in sheer mortification, Rachel could feel tears pricking her own eyes. She was only a teenager, and this was too much. First getting stranded, then the serial killer, then the rather fast-tracked discovery of her feelings. She didn't want to die, to lose herself, or ANYTHING to change that would ruin EVERYTHING.

thedeadflag

*a gif of Ron Swanson saying "Boom, sadness"*

Because that just tore out my heart

purrpickle

I know.

I just keep on thinking, "Those poor little miscommunicating assuming babies!"

thedeadflag

They need to be loved and happy :(

purrpickle

And they can be! It's a good thing they're stranded there, honestly. Makes them actually talk to each other (eventually). As well as circling back to sweet lady kisses. But… More reverential, after confessing kisses.

As well as figuring out it was a puppy all along.

thedeadflag

(Just one way I see this going down, but there's a lot of ways to pull the trigger on this) Santana feels Rachel freeze underneath her, and no matter everything she's known in the past, that chill quickly rises up into her, knowing that even her best efforts weren't enough to win Rachel over, to convince her she was worth it. And combined with that massive hit to her pride that she was trying to prove to anyone that she was worth it… "Whatever, Berry, I get it, alright? But if you speak a damn word about this, I'll show you how we do it in Lima heights adjacent" Santana knows her voice is squeaky and strangled with tears but it doesn't stop her from grabbing the covers as she rolls off Rachel, cocooning herself in them the best she can, knowing the levee of her composure is on the verge of breaking from the emotions storming inside her, and she's not sure she'd be able to reel herself back from this one so easily.

And Rachel's just laying there perplexed, because she'd been waiting for the words in that second sentence so intensely that she almost missed them, having been caught off guard by the first words out of Santana's mouth. She expected being told to shut up. To never speak a word about Santana's spiral into the depravity of kissing and touching HER of all people in desperation. After all, she was Rachel Berry, social outcast, heavily-maligned diva extraordinaire, blabbermouth 'treasure trail', but… She'd spent most of her life growing up alongside Santana. She didn't survive this long without knowing when Santana was defensive, or when Santana was hurting. Both scenarios were liable to break out into pandemonium and collateral damage, so while her brain was tossing up all the red flags it could muster, the not-quite-concealed despair in Santana's opening words had her taking a rare moment to think before she reacted, before she inadvertently made this worse and ruined everything in a way she hadn't foreseen. Because, despite all logic and history between them, it halfway sounded like Santana was trying to spare herself the shame of being rejected, rather than sparing herself the shame of admitting she'd kissed and touched Rachel Barbra Berry with passion and fervor. And that thought, as impossible as she would have thought it an hour ago, left her colder than the crisp chill of the draft permeating the window and walls. She'd striven all her life for power and control, but hearing Santana's squeaky, half-muted cries from the bundle of covers beside her, Rachel was positive she'd never wanted this. If this was what it meant to be desired and wanted badly enough to reduce someone to tears, it'd make for a good half-censored entry into her memoirs, and a solid experience to draw upon for her future acting career, but their hearts had beat alongside each other just a few seconds ago. She could feel the aching vacancy grow with every passing second, but she didn't know how to bridge that gap, if she was even right about what it was between them. She couldn't just do nothing, though. Not with her heart yearning to be close to Santana, to feel Santana, to develop the spark they'd had together tonight into something bigger and brighter. She had to take a leap… It just needed to be a calculated one, one that Santana would understand, and one that would keep her from being murdered.

But at the same time, she was frozen in place by consequence, nothing about their situation allowing her even the slightest relief in order to catch her 'd just narrowly escaped death and, more importantly, the loss of her dreams, and she deserved time to process that, and to heal from it, and yell and scream about it and all the fear bubbling up in her lungs and tearing at the sinews between her ribs. She had every right to be terrified and exhausted and bewildered, and to take a breather, but the cries from the girl next to her stole that from her. She deserved to have time to process ad think things through and make a game plan for how to approach this, complete with a series of power points and diary entries and emotionally cathartic musical performances, but they were stranded, alone together in a serial-killer's hideout that masqueraded as a bed and breakfast, and Santana was so utterly unpredictable right now that there was no right answer and she needed one just as much as she needed Santana back in her arms again.

purrpickle

((Honestly? I think the phones are down as well, the snow's piled up to the rafters, almost, and they're forced to spend another night at the bed and breakfast. So in between staring at everyone suspiciously and staring yearningly at Rachel [until the girl looks at her] - because let's be real. The girls are both exhausted. Maybe Rachel gets a quiet, reluctant, "We'll talk tomorrow," from Santana before her overworking mind makes her fall asleep still thinking about pulling Santana back into her arms. But they DO wake up tangled together - Santana's face down on the bed and groaning into it when Rachel comes back from the bathroom, the door to the room quietly clicking shut behind her.))

((Frankly put, they both make mistakes that first night.))

thedeadflag

Haha, yep, they're both too romantically clumsy not to fumble their way

purrpickle

It won't be easy! But it'll be worth it.

Definitely worth it.

I can ALSO see an almost self righteous Rachel being steamed and snapping at Santana to sit up, face her, and they are going to TALK.

To which Santana apathetically says something about "serial killer proofing their room."

'Cuz maybe Santana had been ignoring Rachel, trying to shelter her own heart and lick her wounds.

thedeadflag

Absolutely, I could def see Santana using some distance along with misdirection/deflection to keep herself safe and not aggravate her heartache any more than it already was

purrpickle

Santana also "convinced" the proprietor of the bed and breakfast (also! Let's say there's terrible to no cell service there, either, to cover those bases) to "give" her an extra large shirt that has, like, the logo of the bed and breakfast on it, so she can sleep in it, make her feel a little less "exposed" when in front of Rachel. Rachel both appreciates and hates it, because a) it covers up her distracting cleavage and abs and skimpy, skimpy underwear, but also b) it makes her legs look even more attractive somehow, and she can barely look at Santana without drooling because it's just so… It's almost like Santana's more attractive half clothed than half clothed in underwear.

thedeadflag

And as time passes, Rachel just grows more and more frustrated. Loves the way that the tops of Santana's thighs peek out with every swish of the shirt, loves the fact that despite the boxy shape of the top she can see hints of those familiar curves behind it, knows those curves intimately and it only reminds her of what Santana felt like by concealing them. However, she hates the fact that it essentially symbolizes Santana closing herself off, especially with how confused Rachel's been since the previous night. It only reminds her of the opportunity slipping through her fingers. She wants… No, she NEEDS answers. And despite knowing it could blow up in her face, that it could unleash a lot of heartbreak against her, she eventually loses her ability to put up with it later the next night, entering the bathroom while Santana's brushing her teeth, and locking the door behind her.

(At this point, I'm not sure what Rachel would do. One part of me thinks she'd be courageous and go for broke in dramatic fashion, singing something like Norah Jones' "Turn Me On" as a gambit, knowing that if Santana had a really bad reaction, there was no way Santana would ever speak of it when they found a way back home, not with everything that happened. And if Santana felt like murdering her, it would have happened last night, not when Santana was sullen and distant)

(And the other hand, I also think that Rachel would be so worked up and so buzzing with plans and ideas that she'd probably mix up her words and accidentally demand that Santana disrobe ('Stop hiding behind that silly shirt, Santana! You know I deserve to get a feel for what you're keeping from me and I'd like to think my relentlessness and dedication is too well known to you by now for you to deny me") when in her mind she'd cobbled together a sentence demanding Santana stop hiding from her in a more general sense, but that danged t-shirt just kept teasing her and before she knew it, she'd insinuated that she was going to physically ravage Santana whether the girl consented or not. And she'd be 100% aghast at herself for that, but then the most peculiar thing happens… Santana starts fiddling with the hem of her top, taking hold of it as if she's thinking of pulling it away.)

(Or maybe something else, I'm not sure, there's so much that could happen)

purrpickle

God, Rachel SO WOULD garble something like that out, thinking she's saying something more, well, non-sexual and not so directly telling Santana to strip.

Santana, for her part, is plussed, almost staring at Rachel with her jaw dropped, but damn if it doesn't also make her heart pound.

The fire, the passion in Rachel's eyes, and her voice, it momentarily shocked her still, surprising her out of her normal usual instant anger.

thedeadflag

Absolutely, because Santana does not really like being told what to do (at least outside of certain specific contexts), but her frustration over Rachel ordering her to strip is not nearly as intense as the bevy of thoughts storming in her mind over what Rachel's relentlessness and dedication would look and feel like, and she wants that passion burning in Rachel's eyes to be real. She takes a step forward as she grabs the bottom of the shirt and pulls it over her head and away, a flash of anxiety coursing through her in the half second where the t-shirt obscured her view, dreading that Rachel's expression would change like a mirage of an oasis to someone dying of thirst, but the diva's molten gaze only grew darker, pupils almost completely blown as Santana stepped up to her. Her heart was like a school band's snare drum, each beat quick and sharp, unsure if this yearning of Rachel's was just for her body or more. As scared as she was of 'more', standing a breath away from Rachel, she came to the stark realization that she needed it. This couldn't just be physical. She couldn't handle another night like last night.

"Well, Rachel? Here I am."

purrpickle

Rachel's shock is what saves her, saves them. It stills her tongue, doesn't let out a scandalized sound or gasp of outrage. Rachel won't realize it now, her eyes glued to Santana's body, all the air sucked out of her lungs as if Santana had stolen all of it, but she will, later, wrapped up in Santana's arms, so warm and excited and HAPPY, and thank Lord and Barbra she didn't stop them when they'd barely started. It's already chilly in the bathroom, the power still out, and no fireplace inside like some of the fancier b&bs Rachel had seen on HGTV before, and Santana's body… Reacts to the removal of her shield. Goosebumps are evident on her arms, when Rachel drags her gaze away, but that's not where her eyes are snared. Currently the only light in the bathroom is supplied by a flickering candle, Rachel's phone long dead, and what it does… How it frames Santana's lean frame, and definitely NOT lean chest or strong line of her hipbones leading down to her skimpy, skimpy panties… The girl's brazen, but almost as if she could reach into Santana's mind and deconstruct and take her apart, she can see she's vulnerable, too, and even if that wasn't what Rachel expected, telling Santana not to hide behind her shirt, she can't help letting out, her hands coming up to cover her mouth, in a near-gasp, lungs working overtime to draw in enough air even just to keep her STANDING, is, "You're beautiful."

Also, she's painted in shadows and moving light, and it makes Rachel's heart pound even more than the unexpected nakedness.

thedeadflag

*fluff-driven eternal screaming*

purrpickle

You know, I also think it's a turning point for Rachel. She's so used to thinking of Santana as "hot" (the hottest girl in McKinley, after all), but right at that moment… And it means SO MUCH to Santana, too, that that's where Rachel's mouth went.

thedeadflag

Absolutely. I often headcanon Santana always hearing she's hot/scorching/etc., and that Brittany's called her pretty a small handful of times, but that's about it. So Rachel saying she's beautiful just… Means everything to Santana in that moment, because everyone who only wanted her for her body always said she was hot… This connection with Rachel was new, and there Rachel was throwing a new word her way she'd never been called, at least not by anyone who wanted her. Which is a huge relief, with how it offers the notion that Rachel doesn't just want her for sex, but there's something more

And yeah, Santana's always had this more or less very put together facade/presentation in public, and it sort of plays on and lends to her reputation, but here Santana is, nearly naked physically as well as emotionally, and it's absolutely a case of Rachel realizing she's seeing Santana in a new light. All the same familiar features, but just like a song that's been transposed to a different key, there's no mistaking the difference. And so many of the old familiar words she often applied to Santana fell away, no longer viable as she sought out a more fitting vocabulary, and it's then that the simplest, easiest word that forms in her mouth comes out. Beautiful

purrpickle

The expression on Santana's face after those words left her lips is heartbreaking.

(I'm kind of conflicted what happens next. I can't see Santana being, you know, unsure about showing her body, being a cheerleader and all, but I think it's different because this is an emotional vulnerability. Not to mention it really IS cold in the bathroom, and if she's not sharing Rachel's body heat…)

thedeadflag

100%. I don't think she'd be shy about her body, but I do think she might be a little… Cautious about the way she opens herself to Rachel's touch. She'd absolutely be emotionally vulnerable, and Santana's panic threshold in those moments can be like a hair trigger at times, and so i could see her not wanting things to progress, on a physical level, in a way that's too familiar. I could see that if Rachel's touching her in ways that make her a little scared that she was wrong, that this really was just physical… I could see her moving Rachel's hands, her head, her lips, I could see Santana slowing things down to test Rachel's patience, I could see her definitely feeling on edge, and a bit uncomfortable with the newness, not to mention the chill in the air.

Not that she'd necessarily need to exercise all of that caution. Rachel, seeing Santana all new now, I think she'd take a new approach. She's always been a perfectionist, incredibly thorough and meticulous and detail oriented, and I think she'd want to learn Santana like her favourite song, inside and out, and that would mean a lot of exploration. A lot of reverence and awe. Rachel loves to learn, and as much as she'd be all for Santana guiding and teaching her, she'd absolutely take initiative and have her own priorities. And she, too, would not favor the chill, and would probably do well to keep their bodies close until either of them decided to drag each other back to the bedroom to the comfort of their warm bed

purrpickle

Agreed with all of that (though I was thinking it would be more likely someone would knock on the door, wanting to use the bathroom before too long). Just, how would they even START Rachel touching her?

I think it would be Santana who took the initiative to pull Rachel into a kiss in the bathroom, so gratified when Rachel moans and trembles against her, her skin so soft and cool against Santana's heated, bare skin, only thin fabric keeping Santana's goodies from meeting Rachel's, only her camisole between them.

Rachel's hands settle, jumpily, on Santana's sides, Rachel exhaling into Santana's mouth as Santana keeps her cheeks cupped in her hands, having taken a step forward and drawn her in. Rachel's heart is pounding, and she's acutely aware of Santana's burning skin both under her hands and against her front. She both wants to slide her palms up and down and in and back… But as much as her heart is telling her to dive in, to wrap herself up in Santana and never let go, Rachel knows, somehow, that pushing too much, too soon, will break the spell, make Santana skittish. It's her psychic ability kicking in, perhaps, but she also remembers the night before when Santana had frozen when things had gotten… Handsy. And Rachel doesn't think she could stand a repeat of last night. So as Santana expertly, slowly, explores her mouth with her own, Rachel doesn't try to speed them up, or let Santana's near nakedness get to her. It's chilly in the bathroom, but Santana's minty toothpaste is addicting, and maybe, if she presses in close enough to Santana, it'll keep her warm, too.

thedeadflag

Santana is so deeply immersed in Rachel's kisses that she nearly jumps out of her skin when a loud knock sounds at the door. One of the other guests at the B&B asking to use the bathroom, and while it could be a serial killer, she doubted the portly dude and his wife were capable of much violence given the dude calling out from the other side of the door was hobbling around the whole time she'd seen him. Rachel, courteous as always, announced loudly that they'll be finished in a second, making the decision for both of them, stepping away from her. Which sends a fresh panic spiking through her heart until Rachel's returning with her top and slipping it back over her head, those smouldering eyes not breaking focus from her own. So maybe she's not as spooked when Rachel opens the door and steps out. And maybe when the man rushes in and Santana squeezes out past him, and Rachel takes hold of her hand and gives her this entirely Rachel Berry sort of look, the same one Berry gave her before marching off to perform "Don't Rain On My Parade" in their first Sectionals, maybe her heart skips a beat and she clutches that soft, lithe hand of Rachel's.

And Rachel leads her back to their room, to their bed, tugging her to follow Rachel under the covers. The sheer relief Rachel exhales as she wraps Santana up, foreheads pressed together, Berry pulling her into a languid kiss, has her melting. Rachel didn't need her naked. Rachel didn't need her curves or her orgasms. Rachel just wanted her, no real pressure to escalate, nothing telling her Berry wanted to use her. And maybe Rachel still hadn't talked endlessly at her, but she'd looked at her like she was something special, and she was being so patient and careful, and maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

And Rachel can feel the tension and fear slipping away inside Santana, heart bursting with pride at the happy little sounds escaping Santana with each of her kisses or ministrations,

In a moment of pure emotion and impulse, Rachel whispers "We're going to hold hands in the halls," between kisses, startling herself at letting those words slip after working so hard to contain them only for a bit of hand-holding between the bathroom and their bedroom to undo all her hard work.

And, after a moment, Santana startles as well as the words register, but when all she sees is confusion and yearning in Santana's eyes, Rachel continues. "When we get home. I'll refrain from 'cat calendar madness', but we'll hold hands. We'll hold hands in the halls and walk each other to class. You'll sing occasional duets with me in glee. And I'll take you to Breadstix on Thursdays because that's the night they expand their vegan menu, and I've always wanted to have a regular date night. I think it'd be important for our burgeoning romance." She worries she's not been concise enough, and then that she'd been too concise and ended up sounding authoritarian, not wanting to order Santana around so much as lay out her expectations. She needs to be clear. Before she gets too deep and has her heart broken again, before they get too intimate, she needs to be clear. The words had been building up over their time stranded together, and she couldn't hold them in any longer. She'd already put up such a gargantuan fight on that front, knowing Santana hated her rambling.

purrpickle

Santana's eyes almost melt, looking wet in the muted flickering of the candlelight from the bedside table that filtered through the bed sheet above them. "And I'll," Santana husks, her hand coming up to curl in Rachel's hair, fingers almost trembling as her palm brushed along her cheek, "I'll give you my Cheerio's jacket. If we make it out of here…" She searches Rachel's eyes, "I… I'd… Maybe you won't wear it at school, but," Santana inhales, her eyes darting away, as if she was starting to realize how silly or stupid she sounded, sounding a little uncomfortable even as a soft yearning threaded through her words, "I'd like you to have it. If you wanted it." She shrugs, hand sliding down Rachel's cheek to rest, a little heavily, on her shoulder. "I dunno."

It was like Santana had lost nerve somehow, for some reason, obviously in the midst of remembering something that made her uncomfortable, and Rachel frowns, hating how the sight made her heart ache. She wanted to reassure her, but there was still one thing that she wanted to make sure, for her heart. "Would you… Not want me to wear it at school?" she whispers reluctantly, convinced Santana could feel the faltering of her heart in her chest, "Because I'd… I'd really like to."

(Santana's faltering because of many reasons - she never was able to give Brittany her Cheerio's jacket as she had her own, and besides, it would be a reminder to Rachel that Santana had been part of - and still was - the institution that had made Rachel's life terrible, as well as… That was so big. So huge. To give her the jacket. And what if Rachel turned her down? What if Rachel wasn't as eager for this as it seemed? And… Even though she'd offered it, was SANTANA really ready to give it to her, either? And what would people say at school? It had seemed a good idea at the time, when she'd first brought it up, but now, it seemed like more and more doubts started to grow with each new word she'd uttered.)

thedeadflag

Rachel can see her words haven't registered, that Santana's too lost in her own head, eyes growing glassy. Whatever was going on in there, she needed to stop it before Santana worked herself up enough for them to lose this new connection before it ever really began. She brings a hand up to Santana's face, risking the less secure hold on the girl for a more intimate cradling of her cheek. "Santana…" She speaks clearly, each syllable deliberate and with purpose, drawing Santana's focus, even if the girl seems a little shaken now. Truth was, she was a fan of PDAs, and wearing Santana's jacket would count as a huge one. It was far and above what she'd spoke of, which were largely things that random passersby could chalk up as friendly occurrences, much as they had between Santana and Brittany, or at least most had. As much as she appreciated the offer, as much as she yearned to wear it despite the troupe's history with her (after all, it would be a clear sign of her conquering her past with them and claiming acceptance by their leader, evidence that she hadn't succumbed to their past efforts against her, and instead rose above and thrived in spite of them), it was a major step. As much as she wanted to sing an intimate a-capella version of Sara Bareilles' 'Brave" to the trembling girl in her arms, there was time for that at a later date. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day they get back to Lima. "Santana…I want to hold hands in the halls, and sing duets in glee, and have date nights at Breadstix…"

She brushed her thumb across the swell of Santana's cheekbones, drinking in the increasingly intense cautious focus Santana was sending back at her. "…And when you're ready, I want to wear your Cheerios jacket if that's something you want to give me. I'd like the whole world to know I'm your girlfriend, but not before you're ready for that. As you well know, I have two gay fathers who have experience in coming out, and I myself have been preparing slideshows and memoir chapters on my experiences and struggles as a semi-closeted bisexual woman in high school, and we've all seen what happened with Kurt and Karofsky so I understand the trepidation and how jumping in deep very quickly could be overwhelming and fraught with concerns, and certainly with your history of singing your romantic feelings in the past I could see Glee being a better environment to have a test run of being open before expanding it to the whole school, so I can be patient for you. I just…I would need a lot of *this*. I'm rather high maintenance, and if I can't get all the attention I need in school, then I'd need more outside of it, which was already my plan of action to begin with with step two being…"

purrpickle

Santana could hear what Rachel was saying, but the words weren't really registering. Instead, she was drinking in Rachel's expression and the feel of her hand on her face, her earnestness and soft, determined look. She had shifted some, resting on Santana's side as she looked down at her, and Santana inhaled deeply, turning her face just enough to press her cheek into her palm, Rachel trailing off. When Santana opened her eyes again, Rachel was gazing at her with semi-furrowed brows, studying her, teeth biting into her plump lip. "Santana?" she whispered.

Santana licked her lips, her hand, almost forgotten on Rachel's shoulder, stroking down, curling softly around Rachel's thin bicep. She took a chance, cobbling together the general idea of what Rachel had been talking about - what had filtered into her mind, at least. "I'm not good with the emotions, Berry, and I'll probably mess this up. Like I did now. Fuck… Look… In… In a perfect world, I'd be able to give you my… Jacket… Like I said, but you're right. Not… Not yet." She took a deep breath, then reached up with her other hand, urging Rachel down, into her chest, arms wrapping around the girl's slim shoulders, hoping Rachel could hear how fast her heart was beating with her ear on her breast, speaking more for her than her clumsy words could. After a second, Rachel having frozen before slowly, gently, making herself comfortable, curling into Santana's side, Santana reached for her hand, wrapping her fingers around the other girl's, her heart jolting as Rachel laced their fingers together. That gave her the courage, along with the silence of the bed and breakfast, almost as if they were the only people around without the hum of electricity giving her nothing but her own thoughts and Rachel's breathing to listen to, "But I DO want this. And wants those 'Stix nights, and…" When she trailed off again, fingers tracing through Rachel's hair, she was almost startled when Rachel's soft voice wafted up to her, her words vibrating against Santana's midriff: "To get to know us?"

Rachel pushed up, staring down into her eyes again. "I… I don't know if you heard me, Santana, but I'm high maintenance."

Santana abruptly snorted, squeezing Rachel's hand as a laugh left her shortly after. She dropped her head back against the pillow, continuing to laugh even when Rachel huffed, tapping her shoulder strongly. "Tell me something I DON'T know, Rache. I know." She smirked up at Rachel, the last tightness in her chest easing as she lifted her chin, pulling Rachel's pouting lips into another kiss, "And you 'totes should know I am too."

(I think it's amusing they're talking about the logistics of being in a relationship before saying they want to be in a relationship, or like each other.)

thedeadflag

At the same time, I think it's perfectly them to get ahead of themselves when they're in the moment

It's one of many reasons why I love them

purrpickle

Oh yes, definitely. It is perfectly them. Which is why they finally figure out that at some point, every so often, they need to sit down and talk and check in with each other, so they're not assuming or forging ahead or the like. All throughout their relationship.

thedeadflag

For sure!

purrpickle

Back to the "serial killer" shenanigans - how 'bout, that second night, after Rachel and Santana have fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, lips swollen and their hearts beating with hopeful plans about how their relationship is going to go, they get jerked away by the sound of barking and paws running through the halls because maybe a raccoon or other critter scratched its way into the shelter of the b&b, like, through an attic window.

((UGGGGGHHHH now I want a semi-angsty New Years Pezberry fic, or maybe have this happen over New Years. XD))

((Or, ooh! They arrive back on New Year's Eve!))

thedeadflag

it'd definitely fit the winter setting

purrpickle

That's what I was thinking!

thedeadflag

And yeah, the idea of getting back NYE, only to tackle the issue of nosy gleeks and various folks vying for each of them to be their midnight kiss… Intriguing

purrpickle

You know both of them would worry that getting back to "civilization" would break them out of their bubble, starting with whoever's driving dropping the other one off to get cleaned up for the gleek party.

Kurt and Mercedes whisk Rachel away, asking how she managed to survive Satan for three days, while Quinn and Brittany do the same for Santana, though more like The Hobbit and did she talk your ears off?

Ooh, Santana's walking through Tina's house when a small hand flashes out from a side room, Rachel all nerves and wringing hands as she's gazing worriedly/hopefully up at Santana. Her chest's warm, heart beating quickly, but she doesn't want to lose this, lose Santana, and as the hours had passed with only glances across the room and shy smiles every now and then, nothing had happened. It's not that she's expecting Santana to announce them yet, not at all, after their conversation last night, but she's feeling needy and worried. "I…" she starts, drawing herself up to apologize for pulling Santana bodily, but then Santana's eyes dilate and she moves in, hands cupping Rachel's cheeks to tilt her head up, soft lips coming down to kiss her, softly, lingeringly, but also direct and hard, as if she's been waiting, wanting this too, eager to reassure herself that this is real, too.

thedeadflag

*swoon*

purrpickle

"It's nice to know it still feels so good even without the threat of a serial killer," Rachel breathes as their lips part, eyes still closed, her cheeks pinkening as she realizes she's said that out loud.

Santana laughs, shaking her head and kissing Rachel again. "Dork," she says affectionately.

(Tumblr tags: somewhat formatted from its chat beginnings and edited, but again, too much effort to do much more, and i just wanted to share it!, the first day of snow at my place, :D, (AND IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THEDEADFLAG'S FIC YET WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THEY'RE SO GOOOOOOOD))

---

#333:

So this is a fic I started with someone back in March of 2013. As we're sadly not in contact anymore, this fic won't ever get finished, but gosh, it was so exciting when we were writing it. But as it got so far (to where I definitely think it's worth sharing - and it's certainly long enough), I'm going to go ahead and post it. Just be aware that, to make it even more emotionally impacting, I included a kind of 'behind the scenes' thought at the end. Enjoy the angst!

(By the by, the /s denote the switch from writers, while the —s mean a time lapse.)

/

Santana finds Rachel alone on the couch, crying, when she gets back from the grocery store. She throws the burlap grocery bags that Rachel made her take down on the counter carelessly, but then walks slowly towards the crying brunette in front of her.

"Rachel?" She's never been great at dealing with tough emotions. Her first instinct isn't to comfort or console, but to make harsh witticisms and enraged insults. She tries her hardest not to be herself for once, if only because Rachel needs someone. "What happened?"

Her voice is gentle, even soft, and Rachel shoots her a look of surprise. "When—when did you get here?" Rachel mumbles out, turning away from her and grabbing a tissue. "I—I thought you were out."

"Yeah, well, the thing about going out is that you have to go back in at some point."

Rachel rolls her eyes and attempts to hide a small smile playing at her lips.

"So… What happened?"

"It's nothing," Rachel says quietly, wiping at her tears. "I mean, it's something, but it's nothing for you to worry about."

Santana frowns and places her hand gently on Rachel's knee. "Please tell me? I want to help you."

Rachel glances down at Santana's hand, but looks away quickly.

Santana strains to hear her, but she's positive of what she's heard: "I think I might be pregnant." The words are so simple, but the implications of those words are nothing but complicated.

Santana doesn't know what to say. And in reality, what can she say that will make her pain disappear?

Instead, she hugs Rachel, pulling her close and letting her cry again.

"Did you go to a gyno yet? Maybe… Maybe it's a false alarm. Brittany once thought she was pregnant—and guess what? She wasn't."

"You know as well as I do," Rachel says through tears, "That there was never a chance she was with child."

/

That was fair.

Santana frowns. "Well, why do you think you're pregnant? Aren't you, like, Prophylactic PowerPoint Berry? Or is Brody buying the cheap shit? Do I gots to pull out my razor blades on his ass?"

Rachel's small shoulders shake in Santana's arms. "No, no, I think it might have been a f-freak torn condom. And," she presses weakly against Santana's arm, pushing back to glare at her with red, swollen eyes, "I'm insulted you'd automatically think this was my fault."

"Well, you are the one letting Little Brody near your lady bits," Santana drawls before she can fully think about what she's saying. She's already acknowledged the fact she's bad at doing the gentle thing.

Rachel's response, however, isn't what she immediately expects. Instead of throwing an angry defensive outburst back at her, the girl pales and sags back into herself, looking down. "It… It may not be him."

What? Someone else is digging in the berry patch? "What?" Santana hopes her expression isn't completely stupid looking. Instead, while waiting for Rachel to respond, she pulls the girl back into her arms as she dissolves into quiet cries again.

"At the non-wedding," Rachel takes in a huge breath, hands curling in the sleeves of Santana's dress, "I… Slept with Finn."

Santana blinks. The Finncredible Hulk? There could be a baby whale brewing in Rachel's stomach? "I…" She swallows, "Wow. I didn't know you had that in you. Does Brody know?"

/

Rachel lifts her head a bit, and Santana can feel her nod her head. "Yes," she mumbles, "I told him, though not until he questioned me. We're in an open, Sex and the City type of relationship, because apparently that's what New York girls do."

Santana can't help it; her mouth drops and she bites back a gasp. "I thought… I mean, you were always little miss monogamous back in high school. We all thought you'd hogtie Finn and stick him in your trunk… You were that girl, Berry."

Rachel looks up at her with wide, horrified eyes, and Santana realizes she may not have been the kindest. She clears her throat awkwardly.

"Well, I'm certainly not that girl anymore. Brody can sleep with whomever he wants," Rachel says, sniffling.

Tears pour down Rachel's face again, and Santana's at a loss of what to do yet again; Rachel's mouth says one thing, but her tears say another.

"We need to take you to a doctor before you cry a river, JT," Santana says, rubbing her back. "But until then, I can pull some Lima Heights shit on Brody for this Sex and the City garbage you're spewing. The Rachel I know would gag at the thought of some other skank hopping on her man's—"

Rachel stops her. "Don't, Santana!"

Santana can't help but laugh just a little at Rachel's innocence. "I thought you were some high and mighty New York seductress… I thought you were Samantha, Berry. I don't think she'd have a problem saying 'dick.'"

Rachel's mouth goes slack and Santana's happy to have her focused on something other than the parasite that may or may not be overtaking her uterus.

"Okay, okay," Rachel grumbles, sitting up and avoiding Santana's playful gaze. "You know very well I don't like this situation. But it is what it is. Brody likes sex and our dance teacher, and I like Brody, so it's…"

"It's fucked up, Berry, that's what it is." Santana doesn't sugarcoat the truth; she never has, and she isn't about to start to. "It would be fine if you were fine, but you're not. You're not even close to it."

"What do I do?" Rachel says after a couple of minutes of silence pass. "Who do I tell?" She bites her lip. "And who's going to come with me to the doctor? I can't go alone!"

Santana can see a panic attack rising and she quickly comes to Rachel's rescue.

/

"Whoah, whoah, calm your tits." Pushing her hands down on either side of Rachel's shoulders, Santana looks her straight in the eye. "Berry. What am I? Chopped liver? I'm not gonna just let you turn into a pathetic statistic." She shrugs, smiling, "What kind of friend would I be?"

Rachel's eyes are wide and very, very dark brown as she stares back at Santana. "What…?"

Santana barely holds back an eye roll. Pulling her hands back, she flips her hair back, behind her shoulder. "I. Will. Go. With. You," she sounds out slowly, overly obvious. After a second, she can't help adding, "Duh."

A giant, slow-growing disbelieving smile grows on Rachel's face. Her body wavers, and Santana sighs sufferingly, opening her arms; Rachel jumps into them. Her chest smacks into Santana's, cheek sticky against Santana's neck.

"You know," Santana smirks as she rubs Rachel's back, "I'm insulted you completely forgot about me." She really doesn't mean it. She knows how crazy Rachel gets, and how oblivious that craziness can make her. God, part of her hopes Rachel's not pregnant just for the sake of not having to deal with a hormonally crazy Rachel in the future.

But she pushes that thought away. Pregnant or not, Santana knows she's at least willing to try to be there for her friend. Since she'd moved in (or, if Santana was completely honest with herself - since the last third of senior year), she and Rachel had come to more of an understanding about how the other worked and how to deal with each other. And with that understanding, a pretty strong friendship had been flirting with becoming reality.

"Well, to be truthful, I had hoped you would want to go with me," Rachel murmurs, "…Even if I didn't initially wish for you to walk in on me." Settling more of her weight onto Santana's thighs, she gingerly sits back; Santana immediately slides one hand down to support her lower back, "Thank you for that."

Rachel looks terrible. Her cheeks and nose and eyes are red, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. Santana makes a face, stretching her arm sideways to bat the tissue box Rachel had been using closer to her until she can grab one. "Here," she proffers the tissue, smirking at the blush that causes, "You look terrible. You should fix that."

/

—

Rachel manages to make an appointment with a gynecologist the next morning, but the earliest the doctor can see her is next Tuesday—a whole week later. Santana swears she can hear Rachel grinding her teeth from across the room.

"They shouldn't be able to do that to a potentially pregnant woman!" Rachel complains, her eyes still slightly swollen from the late night tears. She pushes her hair back behind her ear while pursing her lips.

"Well, when we get in there we can steal a plastic vag if it'll make you feel better," Santana says as if it's the only logical solution. "Lord knows we could teach our girl Hummel a thing or two with it."

Rachel chuckles a little, and throws herself on the couch, exhausted. Santana follows suit. "Maybe even Brody."

Santana laughs. "I knew it; my dick's probably bigger than his," she jokes.

Rachel blushes, and Santana smirks.

"Anyway," Rachel says loudly, awkwardly changing the subject, "The appointment's at 9:15 in the morning."

Santana's not done though. "Have you ever liked sex before? I mean, I've been tackled by that ex-quarterback of yours and I know that's no picnic. And then with Grody and his—" Santana stops abruptly when she sees the look of embarrassment on Rachel's face. "Sorry," she says, not really meaning it. "But I'm just saying. You sound like Quinn at the non-wedding."

/

Rachel's eyes widen. "I sound like Quinn before she slept with you?"

Santana pauses, then smirks. "Well, yeah, but that wasn't what I was meaning. Still, wanky. Coming onto me, Berry?" Enjoying the look on Rachel's face, she chuckles and flops back, sliding her arm around Rachel's shoulders, "No, no, not gonna let you change the subject. Tell me. Do you even like sex?"

Fidgeting, her hands picking at the bottom of her sweater, Rachel licks her lips. "It's… Fine. I've heard that it's supposed to get better, and so what if I have to wait until my thirties to get into my prime? It's not like sex is that important." Her voice is getting steadily louder and more like she's trying to convince herself.

What the fuck is this shit? Santana stares down at the top of Rachel's head. Involuntarily, her arm tightens around Rachel's shoulders. "Rachel," she says lowly, moving her hand to lift up Rachel's chin. "Are you going to start telling me that it must be something wrong with you? Because if you are," she narrows her eyes, "Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear it."

Rachel looks away. "But what if…"

"No. Cállate. Tell me who I have to bitch slap."

/

"You don't have to do that to anyone," Rachel says shyly. "I mean, Finn tried his best, and Brody—well, he's… I don't know… I think he's trying?" Her face is sweetly innocent, her eyebrows furrowed, and Santana shakes her head.

"If you have to ask, then he's not. He's playing on your naivete and getting his rocks off without doing any work for you. It's like an unaired scene from an episode of The Donna Reed Show," Santana says. "And Chubby Checker can try all he wants, but when he thinks the word 'clitoris' is French for butterfly, there are bigger issues." Santana takes a breath and tries to gauge Rachel's reaction.

She twiddles her thumbs nervously, but shakes her head. "Like I said, it's fine. Sex isn't everything." Her voice wavers, but Santana can't help but notice the facade of confidence she puts on.

"You can't tell me that after dressing like a sexually frustrated schoolgirl all these years, you're perfectly satisfied with a sexless relationship?" Santana imagines her briefly in one of her short, plaid skirts that fly up with any and every small movement. It sends a shiver up her spine, but because it's Rachel, she pretends to ignore it.

/

"Our relationship isn't sexless, Santana. I would think - I would think this… Drama," Rachel's hand trembles as she sweeps it up and down over her body, "Would make that obvious."

"It's sexless if you're not getting off." Santana shifts so she can hold up her hand, wiggling her fingers. "And if this and Vibrating Velma is the only way you're Slip n' Sliding, you're getting short shafted. Pun definitely intended."

Pulling away, Rachel swivels enough so it's obvious she's attempting to give Santana her back without moving from her embrace. "That's really none of your business and I don't know why I'm entertaining the notion of continuing to talk to you." She tilts her head back, briefly meeting Santana's eyes, "Besides, I know everything I say you will twist into diatribes against Brody and men in general."

Santana smirks and leans back into the couch. "Your choice in men, and I use that term loosely, definitely. All men?" She looks at Rachel still turned away from her again, "Nah." She lowers her voice, making it as suggestive and coaxing as she can, "You wanna hear about the rest of the guys in glee in case you want to move up? I can tell you length, width, average time devoted to foreplay, and degree in cunni - " She laughs when Rachel's hand whacks her thigh. "You're still so innocent, aren't you?"

/

"I think I'll always be that innocent girl," Rachel says, sighing. "It's ingrained in me. I might even be typecast into the role." She fingers the edge of her shirt.

Santana shakes her head and smirks, tilting her head and scooting a smidgen closer to Rachel. "The day I hear you through that curtain screaming someone's name because you can't not, then I'm pretty sure the Vestal Virgins take your membership card away." Her voice is sultry, and she knows it. She can see Rachel swallow, and maybe Santana's imagining it, but she's pretty sure she feels her move closer, too. "I guarantee, once you dump your drug dealing minuteman, we'll find you someone who will make you feel just as good as Barbra does when she's belting 'People.'" Her voice turns into a near whisper at the end; she knows Streisand is the only way to sell Rachel on anything.

"Well, if I'm pregnant…" Rachel says, "How can I dump him?"

Santana smiles, realizing Rachel's at the very least entertaining the idea. "You don't need to be together to pop out a baby. And why would you want someone around your kid who's snorting coke off the stomach of some prostitute and then selling the leftovers to anyone looking for a dime?"

In reality, Santana thinks, the baby would be better brought up by Rachel, Kurt, and herself. Really, between the three of them, that baby would be incredibly well cared for.

"I'm pretty sure you're exaggerating, Santana," Rachel mumbles, glaring. "We have no idea what Brody's doing with his time; that pager was purely coincidental. Maybe he's starting up an a capella group of gentle old men who don't know how to use cell phones?"

/

"Right, and I'm Jimmy Kimmel in drag. The sooner you accept that your Grody ain't so pure, the better you and that possible bean in your belly'll be better off."

Honestly, aside from a somewhat attractive face, Santana doesn't understand the appeal of Brody Weston. It was becoming increasingly obvious Rachel had the worst choice in men.

Santana frowns. Maybe it had to do with whoever showed her attention.

That was sad. Really, really sad.

Sighing, letting out a big breath of air, Rachel suddenly leans her head against Santana's shoulder. "Do you really think he's doing something so… Uncouth… And irresponsible?"

Uncouth. Santana shakes her head. "If you gotta ask, it means you're suspicious of him anyway. Don't you guys ever talk? Or is it all grunting and fake orgasms and walking around naked like he really thinks he's got the goods?"

Rachel's shampoo smells really nice and floral. It's incongruous to the whole situation, but it's so normal and Rachel that she'd have really nice smelling shampoo that Santana doesn't blame herself for dipping her head to get a better sniff. Girl practically offered it, after all.

Rachel sighs again. Shoulders and chest and neck relaxing, like she's too exhausted to keep herself up anymore, she settles more against Santana. Her voice is small and resigned as she lifts a hand to rub her eyes, "At least he liked me. Not many people… Guys… Do. I'm particular and severe and controlling and crazy. Who would want to put up with that?"

/

Santana pauses, more because it stings her to hear such a harsh statement, (especially since her personality is just as strong and just as severe), than because she doesn't have a response.

"You're being too harsh on yourself," Santana says, leaning into her and pulling her a bit closer, trying to provide some sort of comfort. She takes another whiff of her hair, and then continues. "You just know what you want. And yeah, sometimes you can be an ambitious bitch about it, but that's a good thing, Berry. You've got balls and you're not afraid to go after what you want. You'll find someone who loves that."

Rachel sniffles, and shifts herself so that she can look into Santana's eyes. "Do you really think so?"

Her eyes are so hopeful and it touches Santana that she holds her opinion so highly after everything that's happened between them, after everything she's put her through. It hits her, yet again, that they really are friends.

"Yeah, I do," she mumbles, hugging her closer. She's not sure what else to say, so there's a silence, though it's not awkward or uncomfortable. Rachel snuggles into her a bit more, and Santana squeezes her gently.

"I think that's one of my biggest fears, beside becoming a star," Rachel says after awhile. "Not finding someone who'll put up with me."

"I think that everyone's got that fear; it's human," Santana mumbles. She feels Rachel nod against her. She's not sure when their conversation got so heavy, but she feels somewhat closer to the girl in her arms. "But you don't have to cry out in fake ecstasy in order to keep a guy, Babs."

/

Rachel's silent for a long time. Santana, almost counting the seconds, finally forces herself to ignore it as her ears attune to listening for whatever excuse her friend will come up with. She expects one.

Instead, Rachel relaxes even further in Santana's arm. Her voice smiles, "I like it when you compare me to Barbra."

Santana is honestly shocked. "Uhm… Yeah," she says like it's obvious, and it really is, "It's not like you're secretive about your worship of her. And I have ears." Shrugging, Santana's arms tighten around Rachel; even if she's not attracted to the smaller girl - she's really not - she's not going to deny there's an obvious and noticeable parallel between Rachel and her idol.

"You mean that or you're just trying to butter me up?"

"For what?" Santana laughs. "Like you need a bigger ego. I calls it like it is, kay? And you're boss. So?" she continues, nodding her head and tapping Rachel's thigh, "Shuts the fuck up and listen to me when I tells you you're worth so much more than what you're settling for. Preggers or not."

Uncharacteristically again, Rachel's quiet for a couple of minutes. Her body doesn't move; Santana's beginning to wonder if she's broken her somehow. "Why are you doing this?" Rachel finally asks. It's like she's not even sure she's supposed to be able to say what she is.

Santana stares down at the top of her head again. "What?" For some reason, no matter what, she can't get Rachel's shampoo out of her head. That's just too strange and not supposed to happen. At all.

"Why are you being so nice?"

…What? That's ridiculous. "I'm not being nice."

"You are." Pressing lightly against Santana's forearm, Rachel's hand suddenly curls around Santana's wrist. "With this whole thing. With me. Where… Where is this coming from?"

/

Santana doesn't exactly know what to say, so she rolls her eyes dramatically and says, "It's not like I was going to verbally beat down a girl who's preggers; we're not on Teen Mom."

Rachel smiles, shaking her head, and Santana raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I think you've got a bit of a soft spot for me," Rachel mumbles happily, a twinkle in her eye.

Santana pretends to gag, more to hide the blush rising to her cheeks then anything else. "God, no, no, no," she denies adamantly, but Rachel keeps smirking, and her voice becomes weaker. "I mean, we're friends, right?" Santana's voice cracks. "That's all. Friends. This apartment has turned into a gay, overemotional version of that stupid show."

"You know, I'm actually named after Rachel." Rachel shrugs. "My dads had a thing for that 'stupid show.'"

They grow silent again, because really what is there to say?

"So," Rachel starts after a few more minutes pass. "You like me. Who would've thought you'd be friends with a girl you called Chevy Chase for her entire freshman year of high school?"

"That was a mistake; Chevy Chase has bigger tits then you nowadays," she says and Rachel laughs. Santana grins at her throaty, and even somewhat beautiful chuckle. It's like she throws her whole heart into it, Santana thinks. She wants to make her laugh again, just so she can hear it, and just so she can make her smile.

God, Berry was right. She was being nice. Too nice.

/

"So. Right." Squinting her eyes, Santana pretends that she's trying to remember something. In actuality, it's more like she's trying to forget something. No matter how - surprisingly - nice it is to have Rachel in her arms and close like this, it's still Rachel. Definitely not the time to start perving on not only a straight girl, but one possibly pregnant as well.

"Take a shower," she suddenly pushes Rachel off of her as she rises from the couch, smirking at her and raising her eyebrow, "It's time to gets ready."

Rachel stares at her. "For what?" she asks huffily, propping herself up on her elbows. Her bangs have fallen over her eyes, and it's entirely too humorous because it makes Rachel look like a petulant girl.

Santana rolls her eyes, chuckling. Crossing her arms, she pops out one of her hips, continuing her teasing smirk. "Like you really don't know."

"I don't."

"I'm hurt. Truly." Chuckling again, Santana shakes her head and heads to her section of the apartment. "Dress warmly," she calls back, "I'm sure if you think hard, you'll remember. It's not like we hadn't had this planned for weeks." She pauses, tapping her fingernails on the lamp next to her futon, "You wanna meet Kurt, or should I brave the pervert and homeless infested subway alls by myself, grab him, and come back?"

She hears Rachel rise from the couch. "Oh my god! The art show! How could I have forgotten? No, no, I can meet you guys - "

"Yeah, no way." Pushing back out of the curtain, Santana waits until Rachel meets her eyes to give her a pointed look. "Not gonna let you be at the mercy of pregnancy fetishists."

Rachel opens her mouth, eyes darkening. "We don't even know if I'm… Or not, and besides. I wouldn't even hardly be showing!"

"Don't care." Santana raises one of her fingers, cutting the girl off again, "You've gotten lucky so far, but look at you, Berry. No matter the rape whistle, you're tiny. Not gonna happen. Got it?"

/

"Yes," Rachel says, her cheeks flush, clearly flattered by Santana's gesture, but perhaps maybe even embarrassed by her absent-mindedness. "Got it," she mumbles, rushing to her room to put on something a bit classier, and a bit warmer, than the furry slippers and pajama shorts she is wearing.

Santana waits on the couch, silently, trying not to think about anything in particular. Of course, she thinks, that always backfires; when you want to think of nothing, you end up thinking about everything you were avoiding. An image flashes in her head of a nude Rachel, scrambling to put on a bra and fresh underwear. She shakes the picture out of her mind, and tries to replace the scene with another, only to find a naked Brittany in her place.

"God," she whispers to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's like I'm fucking Callie Torres." She folds her arms over her chest, leaning back on the couch. "Come on, Dawn Wells, you can put your hair up in pigtails on the way there."

"Give me a minute, I want to look halfway decent; I'm pretty sure Brody said he was coming."

Santana sticks her finger in her throat and pretends to vomit when she hears his name. "Like you should care what that prick thinks; he's balls deep in fairy dust," she remarks. "And if I remember correctly, we already had this conversation. Get a move on."

Rachel stumbles into the living room, her purse swinging on her shoulder as she puts in her left earring, and then the right.

"How do I look?" she says, rather breathlessly.

/

Santana raises an eyebrow. "Not bad," she finally drawls, trying not to show how Rachel's new wardrobe is actually kind of really sexy and not helping with the thoughts of naked her and Brittany floating in her brain. Yeah, it's probably a good thing she's supposed to have the apartment to herself for the evening, with Brody doing whatever the hell it was he did that probably involved gallons of lube and burning nasal cavities, and Kurt and Rachel off to a NYADA party. It's definitely time that she gets her lady jam on.

Beaming, Rachel walks over and takes Santana's arm as soon as she's done straightening herself up. "I'll take that," she smiles and turns Santana towards the door, patting her forearm and pressing close to her side, "Ready to go?"

Clenching her jaw to keep her expression neutral, Santana lets out a put-upon sigh, lengthening her stride to take the lead and pulling away slightly to push open the door for them, "For ages, Berry. You know, I'm convinced that if you were set on fire, you'd stop to stare at yourself in the mirror before you jumped into the shower."

"Thought often about setting me on fire, did you?" Rachel smiles up at her. Preceding Santana out, she waits for her to join her, once again automatically retaking her arm.

Well. Not really surprising she'd be clingy, Santana tells herself. It's kind of nice having a sizzlin' hot babe on her arm, anyway. 'Bout damn time. People might think Santana's lost her mojo, and that's fuckin' ridiculous.

When Rachel's hip softly brushes against hers, Santana realizes the girl's still waiting for her response. She smirks. "Practically every day during sophomore year, and those oh so rare times during the years whenever your righteous brand of crazy got too much to stand."

/

"And now it's Brody you want to set on fire," Rachel says, smiling. "Oh, how things have changed."

It's true, Santana thinks; she doesn't think as much about the ways she can torture the girl who's fingers are brushing oh-so-subtly against her wrist. She's pretty sure the roles are reversed—but Rachel doesn't realize just how torturous her unintentional grazes are.

"As if," Santana retorts. "While setting you on fire is no longer a wet dream of mine, it still occurs to me when you spend an hour trying to look nice for Bruce Bigalow."

Rachel blushes, but protests as they walk down the steps to the subway station. "Last time I checked, ten minutes does not constitute one hour," she remarks smugly. She pulls Santana a little tighter to her side, and Santana wonders if it's intentional. "And I might be in your wet dreams, but I doubt it's you setting me on fire," she whispers, her voice a little shaky. The words are bolder than Santana ever imagined Rachel would go, and she must say she's a bit floored.

It takes her a moment to compose herself.

Did Rachel just insinuate that it was her getting Santana riled up in her own dreams? She turns to look at the girl beside her, and Rachel has the courtesy to look at least somewhat embarrassed.

"Touche," Santana utters. Rachel's toying with the master; two can play this game. "But when I think of you," she mumbles, getting closer to Rachel's ear, "Brody's not even a part of the conversation." She's so close to her, she can feel her throat contract as she swallows.

Santana smirks, pulling away slightly, and dragging Rachel into the subway train that stopped before them only seconds earlier. "Come on, you can continue to reenact the start of The Bare Bitch Project on the way to the art show."

"Is that a—"

Santana cuts her off, laughing, "It's a porno, Berry; deal with it. You mess with Snixx, you get it back in spades."

/

Leading Rachel to the free seat in the corner of the car, Santana takes the standing spot in front of her. Normally, she would have glared at the person unlucky enough to sit where she wanted to be, but it was, surprise, surprise, a pregnant woman - either that or oddly fat. Either way, Santana doesn't want to give Rachel the wrong idea about how she'd treat her in the future.

Besides. This way, Rachel's face is perfectly positioned to get an eyeful of Santana's waist and thighs and hips and everything else Santana knows how to work. She smirks down at the red cheeks and wide eyes glowing up at her. Maybe this subway trip won't be such a goddamn drag like so many of them.

Rachel tugs on her hand. "You're liking this," she whispers into Santana's ear as she lowers herself, making sure not to flash the sketchy looking businessmen behind her. The small girl sounds more amused than anything.

Santana smirks, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I have no idea what you mean," she replies, "But it certainly seems like you now have your heart set on reenacting Subway Hos 6."

"Subway Ho - " Rachel cuts short her loud, strangled exclamation, eyes darting around. "Subway Hos 6?" she stage whispers. Obviously she stage whispers too enthusiastically, because the pregnant woman next to her stifles a cough. Blushing brightly, Rachel's eyes skim along Santana's thighs as she sways provocatively and very on purpose.

"Right." Smirking, Santana places her free hand on her hip. If the trip was going to be longer, she might be entertaining the idea of pushing their luck. But she's not and she's really not an exhibitionist no matter the amount of times she'd been caught doing the beast with two backs in the past. Doesn't mean she's going to pull Snixx back yet, though. "If you were scooted any closer to the edge of the seat, we'd be well on our way into the second act."

/

Rachel's face flushes again, the girl purposely scooting back a bit on her seat.

Santana smiles, her tongue between her teeth, and Rachel looks away, embarrassed. It's easy to make the girl sitting before her red in the face, but she still finds it oddly pleasing when she does. It's as if the stuff she dares joke about could happen, and though Santana hates to admit it, the idea of getting off at the hand of Rachel Berry in the subway is exciting, to say the least.

"I want no such thing," Rachel mumbles, clearly entranced—and lying through her teeth—and she turns her head to look her straight in the eyes.

Santana licks her lips slowly, moving her hand down her hip and a smidgen closer to center.

"But it would seem," Rachel says, breaking their stare and gazing at the placement of Santana's hand, "That you're… Interested in a certain subway seduction." She scoots closer again, and mimics Santana by swiping her tongue over her full lips.

Santana gulps. She doesn't expect such blatant flirting, but after the conversation she and Berry have had today, she's not sure what to expect anymore. She quickly recovers though, placing her hand on Rachel's shoulder, her fingers lacing in her hair.

"I'm not sure if you and your lovely lady lumps can handle it," she says, leaning down to whisper in her ear, it just a plus that her cleavage is perfectly aligned with Rachel's gaze. It hits her, just for a moment, that this is supposed to be a game—just a game—and she wonders briefly if it's turned into something more. But it flits from her mind when she sees Rachel's eyes turn instantly from playful to lustful.

They remain quiet until the subway stops; Santana leans closer to Rachel as the throngs of people make their way on and off, and Rachel says, just loudly enough for Santana to hear, "That's what you think."

Rachel stands up as the subway starts up again, preparing herself for their departure at the next stop just minutes away, and their bodies brush against each other with the sway of the car. Rachel avoids Santana's eyes, but she doesn't try to move away; instead, she lets their bodies touch, graze, and she lets her eyes linger.

Santana doesn't know what the hell she's playing at, but she can't say she doesn't like it.

/

Reaching past Rachel, taking hold of one of the vertical poles, Santana makes sure her arm brushes along the smaller girl's waist. Not even pretending that it's for support, she enjoys the little shiver Rachel does that's only helped by the sway of the subway car. Slitting her eyes, lips curling up, Santana takes the moment afforded to her by Rachel looking up, meeting her eyes, to think over things.

Rachel's possibly pregnant.

Santana's the only one who knows.

Santana's maybe sorta strangely developed a soft spot for the hobbit. And maybe even honestly attracted to her. Somehow.

But weirdest of all, Rachel's possibly attracted to her and openly, in her crazy midget way, flirting back?

Okay, no, maybe weirdest of all, Santana likes it. Likes this. Likes this side of Rachel. It's refreshing and appealing and new and…

Why is it happening? Because Rachel's possibly pregnant and Santana's the only one who knows?

Frowning, tilting her head away, Santana moves her gaze to the doors of the subway. She can feel Rachel's curious gaze along the side of her face, but she ignores her. This is insane. And aside from Quinn, Santana's always told herself to never get emotionally invested in straight girls. And goodness knows she and Rachel are friends, so that side is unemotional, no matter how hard she'd like to fool herself.

Santana shifts. Why did she start to think about these things? Hadn't she just been thinking about public subway sex and how much she can continue teasing Rachel with her body? Why can't she go back to that, dammit?

As if feeding off Santana's thoughts, she and Rachel are silent for the next couple of minutes. But as soon as they're off, Santana automatically making sure Rachel's in no danger of tripping or being bowled over by a fuckin' asshole like that one guy tried to do, Rachel tugs Santana's arm into hers again.

"Santana?"

Santana gives in, looking back down at her. "C'mon," she rolls her eyes, smirking, tightening her arm muscles to make Rachel glance down, "Let's go be the hottest mothers at this art show. But I'm telling you now – gives me wine to make this worth it or I'll hold this forever over you."

Rachel's fingers brush along Santana's wrist again. "Over me?" she says, smiling, barely loosening her grip as they climb the stairs to reach street level, "I think something can be arranged…"

/

Santana bites her lip, torn between her recent thoughts and the clear sexual innuendo in front of her. Rachel's eyes are playful, and she can feel the brunette tighten her grip around her arm. Santana doesn't respond to Rachel's remark, but instead smirks at her (figuring it is, perhaps, a safer option) and they walk quietly down the sidewalk.

"It's not far from here," Rachel murmurs, looking up at Santana. Her eyes are wide, as always, and her bangs are just brushing the tips of her eyelashes, and for just a moment, Santana admires how beautiful she is.

But when Rachel looks away, the moment passes, and she can feel herself being dragged by the gnome across the street. It's enough to make Santana roll her eyes again. But this time, she's not sure who she's rolling them at—herself, or Rachel.

They stay pretty quiet until they make it to the art show. The building's tiny and the lighting's dim, with the exception of the lighted pieces, and Santana can already tell it's not her scene. There's a painting of what she can only describe as an abstract dick, and she makes a face. Of course this would be Kurt's scene.

Rachel's grabs her a glass of red wine off of a tray and Santana gulps most of it down pretty quickly. It's been a long day and she needs a buzz. She glances at Rachel, who seems to be looking at the picture of the cock with befuddlement and she sneaks up behind her and whispers, "Pretty sure that's meant to be a one-eyed snake, Berry."

Rachel jumps, putting her hand on her chest, and turns around to face her friend. "And you would know this how?" she asks with a raised brow, folding her arms over her chest.

"I've had quite a few cocks in my henhouse," Santana replies, taking another sip of wine.

Rachel blushes, clearly looking around to make sure there are no professors or dignitaries anywhere close. "Well, aren't you quite the expert," she mumbles, looking back up at the painting. "What I don't understand," she nearly whispers, "Is why it's blue."

Santana snorts, but revels in her curiosity, and even in her innocence. There's something so magical about it.

But then there's a flash of sadness as she wonders briefly if she'll lose it when (or if?) she's a mother.

/

Deciding to let the girl have that momentary innocence, Santana fades back into the crowd, swiping another glass of wine from a passing waiter. Taking her time with this one, she watches Rachel move from the blue dick to another abstract painting, one Santana's pretty sure is fellatio in progress. She doesn't know when her mind became attuned to this particular painter's psyche, and if she cared enough to think about it, she'd probably find herself disturbed, but it's more like a passing thought, one in the back of her mind as her eyes take in the petite form she'd surreptitiously admired for years.

Right now, that petite body could be getting ready to expand for new life.

Hissing her breath out of her mouth, Santana clenches her jaw. At the least the girl's not drinking herself. No, she's just standing in front of god awful "art", being the dutiful friend and waiting for the other friend who set up the whole evening to get there. Sometimes, Santana rolls her eyes, Rachel's way too lenient.

"Oh god, sorry, sorry," a very loud effeminate voice sweeps up to Santana's side, Santana turning to find a flurried Kurt pulling off his jacket and scarf, an equally hurried Adam behind him, "But at least I'm here now!"

"Joy," she replies, giving the two unimpressed looks. "Tell me," she says over the pulsing faux-club music that seems to be the norm at stereotypical art shows, "Why am I being subjected to Clay Aiken's mushroom induced wet dream?"

Kurt adopts a pouty look of self-suffering, exchanging a barely restrained rolling of his eyes glance with Adam. "It's not that bad."

Adopting her version of the disinterested, almost judging 'mmhm' comment as an expression, Santana waves her hand at the wall of paintings in front of her.

"Oh god," Kurt's eyes widen, his mouth falling open, "It's worse."

Santana nods, hiding her biting remark behind her glass of wine. Her eyebrows quirk up. Watching the bright blush and almost hyperventilating panic cross Kurt's face before he hurries over to Rachel's side with a tossed, "I'll… Be right back!" she turns her gaze to a laughing Adam.

Seeing her looking at him, he grins, shrugging.

Santana'll take that. Tilting her head, she smirks back, then knocks back the rest of her wine. "So tell me," her lips quirk up, fingers fluttering at the wall of gay porn, "Got any comments on Fellatio #6?"

/

Adam bites back laughter, subtly snorting into his drink, and Santana places her empty wine glass on a table nearby that holds information about the artist. As long as Kurt doesn't notice, she's sure she'll get away with it.

"When Kurt told me this was a sexual exhibit, I thought it would be tasteful, but…" Adam's voice trails off, and the two stare at a painting that Santana can only understand to be a hot pink cock sitting atop a set of incredibly muscular man boobs. Adam cocks his head to the side, and Santana shrugs.

"Whatever," she grumbles, glancing at Rachel and Kurt talking intimately in a corner by a glass dildo on a pedestal. "It's not as if dicks are foreign to any of us, anyway—as flamboyant as this show is." She looks around. "I wonder if Elton John's here." She grabs another drink from the waitress passing by, and saunters over to Rachel and Kurt, leaving Adam without another thought.

"…And so we've just been flirting non-stop, Kurt, and I'm just—"

It's all Santana can hear before Rachel stops mid-sentence and looks up at her like a tarsier. She smirks, but pretends not to hear the beginnings of Rachel's new book, Confessions of a Questioning Jew. "How are Glinda and Elphaba enjoying the colorful cocks of the 21st century?"

Rachel rolls her eyes, while Kurt throws a hand in the air.

"I was told by the artist that it had something to do with pride and the intimacy of the political agenda to the personal sphere, but let's be real—it looks more like a sex circus featuring Andy Warhol and Samantha Jones," Kurt huffs out.

"At least it's got a meaning," Rachel says, glancing timidly at a painting of the purple dick again. "Without it, it just seems trashy and…"

"Ridiculous?" Santana asks. The emphasis makes Kurt raise an eyebrow and Rachel furrow her brow. "Sorry for trying to put a little fun into this cocks-only orgy. If I knew it was going to be a dickfest, I would've worn my strap-on for good measure."

/

Kurt's mouth opens as his Adam's apple bobs. "Santana…" he clears his throat, shaking his head and purposefully not looking at Rachel next to him, "Please. We both know your ensemble would not support such a bold accent."

Taking note of Rachel's aghast expression, Santana gives her a quick wink before turning her attention fully to Kurt. "Really?" she asks, raising her eyebrows, "Because I's pretty sure I's can get away with whatever the hells I wants to get away with." Smirking, she allows her mouth to be covered by her wineglass.

"I don't doubt that you have that expectation about yourself," Kurt rolls his eyes, suddenly reaching over and grabbing a glass of what is probably champagne from a passing waiter; offering it to Rachel, he barely reacts when she immediately shakes her head, eyes flitting to Santana's, "But that isn't taking into account how your… Shall we say, action would be received by your audience."

Surveying the crowd of mainly flaming RuPauls, Santana snickers. "Lady Hummel," she reaches out, snagging his arm and lacing it through hers, barely remembering not to pat him with her hand full of wine, "Look at these queens. Frankly, I'd be surprised if they didn't want to have a contest of comparison."

"Santana."

Rachel's voice is high and almost squeaky, so full of mortification that it automatically makes Santana want to press her luck even more. "What?" she asks, making sure to keep a hold on Kurt even as she turns her attention onto the other girl in their group - hell, practically the only other girl in the whole damn place, "Or, wait, I'm sorry, am I leaving you out?"

Rachel's mouth clacks shut.

"I get it. You want a private show - "

"As I was saying," Rachel suddenly throws out, practically yelling over her, "If this show does, indeed, have a meaning, no matter how… Uhm… Ineffectually presented it is…"

It's obvious she's searching for a change of topic, and, for once, Santana decides she'll allow it. Poor little virginal Rachel. It's almost sad. Knocking back the rest of her wine, deciding it would do no harm to have another one - or two - Santana waves at the same waiter she's already stolen two drinks from. "Fiiiiine," she sighs after replacing her empty glass with some champagne, "Let's pretend this isn't just filthy smut."

/

"I don't know why Rachel is acting as though this is a new scene for her," Kurt mumbles, waving his hand as to brush Santana off. Santana can see Rachel glaring at Kurt out of the corner of her eye as he continues. "I remember Finn telling me about a little party your fathers hosted about a year ago…"

Santana snorts, choking slightly. "I'm a little offended that Finn was invited to this little soiree and I was left to fiddle with my fake schlong all by myself."

The heat rises to Rachel's face. "Finn was not there! And I… Holed myself up in my room." She folds her arms over her chest protectively. "And the image of you and… And that–" her voice lowers to a whisper, "–Fake penis is just–"

"–The reason why you holed yourself up in your room in the first place?" The words fumble out of her mouth before Santana realizes it, and although she knows she should stop making Rachel completely uncomfortable, she's instantly pleased with her insinuation when she sees Rachel's stunned and perhaps slightly horrified reaction.

"No!" is all that Rachel can bring herself to utter. She runs her fingers through her hair, fidgeting, and Santana can tell she's looking for another way out of this dreadfully embarrassing conversation.

Kurt doesn't notice–or pretends not to. He ignores Santana's latest remark, and continues with his story. "Finn admitted to me that you, my dear Rachel, may have bought an item or three at this little shindig." He raises an eyebrow at the petite girl, and says, "And I don't blame you; I hear he was quite the minuteman."

Rachel groans, her cheeks flushing even further. She looks around the room anxiously, and then holds her wrist up. "Oh my gosh, look at the time!"

"And where exactly am I looking, Rachel?" Kurt says, chuckling. "At the beautiful Michael Kors diamond-studded titanium wristwatch on your arm? Oh, wait–no–that would be my arm; yours is bare. Are you trying to look like a hag? No jewelry? And what's with the shaved arm? Should I be worried that it'll be your head, next, Sinead?"

Santana takes another sip of champagne, feeling slightly buzzed, and interrupts. "It really is a shame, you know; that ex of yours was no Andy Hardy. He came, he came, and the case of 'where's the clit?' was never resolved."

"I think it's about time we go to that party, Kurt!" Rachel squeals, her voice pitchy, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

"Excuses, excuses." Kurt points to the glass dildo nearby. "Was that one of your purchases?"

Rachel pouts, and Santana finishes off her drink and grins, "I think it's time Charlotte and I hit the ladies room, bitches!" Shewatches Rachel visibly gulp and cackles, dragging Rachel behind her.

/

Rachel's wrist is small in her hand, and Santana does her best not to focus on that fact. She's betting, by the way the crowd has been in the past half hour, that the bathroom will be practically a graveyard, and as soon as she pushes the door open, she ignores Rachel's protest that there's no reason she needs to visit the 'powder room' anytime soon. "Barbra, chill," she gives the smaller girl, pushing her farther into the bathroom when she hesitates near the door as soon as Santana lets go of her wrist, "Or did you want to continue hearing the Lady Gay talk about your toy collection - which, I might add, I am beyond curious about."

Staring up at her, eyes wide and dark and suddenly blinking when she realizes what Santana means, Rachel's cheeks darken. Her hands sliding up along her arms as she moves to the side of the bathroom as Santana turns to squint into the mirror, making sure her makeup is still flawless, it's the obvious the girl wants to say something by the way her mouth opens and closes.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Yes, Berry?" she asks, meeting her gaze through the mirror, "Spit it out."

Rachel sighs. "You're really uncomfortable here, aren't you?"

A loud bark leaves Santana's mouth before she can stop it, and she turns around, shifting her weight onto the sink via her hip. "'Scuze me? No. Shirley Temple. You'd have to be the one uncomfortable for this world to make any sense." Like, what?

Rachel's hand is waving in the air. "I just." The girl takes a deep breath. "I mean. Lesbian?"

Santana squints at her. "Okay…" she starts, "Either you're suffering from a stroke, or you're speaking in tongues. Dammit, spit it out already."

It legit seems like Rachel's in the process of swallowing her tongue. Her arms are crossed protectively in front of her stomach, as if she's already in the habit of protecting a baby, and Santana can't deny it's kind of creepy. That had to be evolutionary, or some such crap. Fuck, she is far too tipsy for this.

When she looks up again after shaking her head, Rachel is suddenly in front of her, and it takes all of Santana's Lima Heights Adjacent cool to stop herself from jumping. Her forehead furrowing, Rachel's reaching for Santana's arm, and, for some reason, Santana lets her make contact.

"I just…" When Rachel sighs, her whole body practically deflates, fingers curling into her palm on the sleeve of Santana's blouse. Her eyes flit up, meeting Santana's, "I'm not comfortable here." Her smile is small.

"Right, and you wanted to use me as an excuse even with your past adventures, huh?" Pursing her lips, Santana rolls her eyes again before she lifts her hands, curling them around Rachel's waist. Ignoring just how small it really is, she waits until Rachel faces her fully. "Berry. Rachel. I can't believe I'm saying this, but there's nothing wrong with telling, well, more like insisting to Kurt you want to hurry up and head to the NYADA party."

"Wha - oh. Right."

Santana frowns. "You are still going to that party, right?" she practically demands, not sure if it's because she knows she needs the time to herself in the apartment more or because she's trying to foster more independence in the other girl so she can continue to give herself more time. Though, fuck, what would Rachel have to do if she wouldn't be drinking? Wasn't that the whole point of parties like that?

Gritting her teeth, Santana tries to ignore that train of thought. She needs the apartment to herself. She does. Alone time. Brittany naked thoughts and Rachel - oh god. Santana growls imperceptibly in her throat. No. No Rachel thoughts. She just needs this because.

/

"Uhm, yeah, I guess," Rachel mumbles, looking down at her feet.

Santana's eyes flit to Rachel's hand, which is yet again cradling her might-be-preggers stomach, and she can't help but sigh at the sight in front of her. She wonders when she became such a fucking pansy. She decides not to give into the girl, if only on principle.

"Look, I know it's been a long night, Babs, but I think you and Judy need a night to yourselves." Santana brings a finger to Rachel's chin to lift her head up slightly. "Go sing a duet, or have a Pitch Perfect-esque show-off where Kurt ends up bawling because you're just that awesome, Berry." Santana drops her finger and smiles at her, adding, "Worse comes to worst, I pick you up early and we'll go get some vegan dessert afterwards, okay?"

Though she offers, Santana internally reprimands herself; with her luck, Rachel would be calling while one hand was down her pants, jerking off to the image of Brittany in her sexy Catwoman suit from two Halloweens ago.

But Rachel smiles broadly, giving Santana a gentle, easy hug, and Santana can't help but be pleased she made an effort.

Twirling her finger in her brown locks, Rachel turns back to look at the mirror and decides to add another coat of her clear gloss.

Santana simply stands back and watches closely, eyeing Rachel's lips with interest and–though she'd hate to admit it–attraction. It's neither here, nor there, however, because Rachel smacks her lips and tosses the tiny tube back into her purse before she has a chance to truly fantasize–which is all for the better, Santana thinks.

"I guess I'll tell Kurt I'm ready to go, then," Rachel says, a little more cheerful than she was only minutes before. "Do you think he'll really be okay leaving?"

Santana smirks, locking arms with Rachel as they begin to strut towards the door. "I don't care how many hundreds of dicks he's surrounded by, he'll always choose you over them."

Rachel turns pink, and then chuckles, realizing the double meaning.

When they join Adam and Kurt again, Rachel exchanges Santana's arm for her friend's slightly bulkier, paler one. Leaning into his side, she looks up and says, "Time for the NYADA party, isn't it? I think I'm ready to go." Kurt nods, and then Rachel turns to look at Adam. "Are you coming?"

Adam shrugs and shakes his head 'no'. "Not really my scene, to be honest. But you two have fun." He smiles wholeheartedly, and Santana almost gags at his kindness.

"See you later, Santana," Rachel mumbles, waving her hand quickly, and Kurt lifts a hand, bidding his roommate farewell.

"Go find yourselves some nice cocks of your own, ladies," she says, winking. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she calls out as they roll their eyes and turn to leave.

Santana swears she hears Kurt yell back a reply of, "I have Adam–and last time I checked, 'cocks' are not on your list of things to do!"

/

A smooth, pleased smile on his face, Adam rocks back and forth on his heels. Looking at Santana, he raises his eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, Santana doesn't hold back her smirk as she whacks his arm. "Well?" she verbalizes for him, "Yeah, shut it."

Pushing her hair behind her shoulders and straightening, peering back over the crowd to see if any other helpless lesbian or bisexual or questioning girl is there that she can conscript into a satisfying quickie in the empty bathroom, she tries to ignore the nagging loss of a hug that hadn't happened. It's fine. It's not like she and Rachel hug every time they say hello or goodbye to each other. In fact, it would be an anomaly if it happened. So she should just ignore it and continue…

There.

Zeroing in on the sinfully attractive redhead laughing across the room, Santana takes a couple of seconds to make sure this won't be another mistaken bad lighting moment.

Adam's presence moves closer to her side. "Santana."

"Hmm?" Narrowing her eyes, Santana taps her fingernails against her champagne glass.

A smile curls around Kurt's boyfriend's words, "That's Charlene. Don't worry. She's gay and looking." An infuriating smile easily crosses his face. "Want me to introduce you?"

Santana shakes her head, only to find herself agreeing a second later. It's not that she needs the help; it'll just make it easier to get to the tasty payoff…

One she's been sorely lacking in.

—

Charlene is hot and sexy and interested and responding in exactly the perfect way. She's fit and barely taller than Santana, skinny in that dancer way, and her lips promise hours of pleasure. Her hand has been hot on Santana's arm for ten minutes now, her voice pretty and laugh not annoying as they make their way around the art show for Santana's first in-depth time, and Santana knows for a fact that if she just says one word, smiles that smile, they'd be in the bathroom or in a cab heading back to the loft lickety-split. It should be easy. It's not like she's a prude and she's certainly no stranger to casual sex, and it's obvious Charlene isn't either.

The words are practically on the tip of Santana's tongue, the fire a second away from erupting within her lady loins. It should be so easy.

But it's not.

For some infuriating reason, Rachel and her sweet innocent look of confusion keeps on playing in front of Santana's eyes. No matter how many fake phalluses she looks at, it's Rachel's dark gaze that looks back at her. No matter how many suggestive words Charlene whispers to her, it's Rachel's innocent comments that echo in Santana ears, the faint memory of Brittany swirling behind a second later. Though that's not unusual, the inclusion of Rachel is, and the end result is that it's not comfortable.

Finally, unable to find anymore reasons she can put off dragging this sinfully sexy woman around the show, Santana stops them in front of the same glass dildo she'd been with Rachel and Kurt. "Okay," she forces a smile, lowering her voice and meeting Charlene's bright green eyes, "I think we both know what's going on. And as exciting this exhibit is, I'm thinkin' it's a bit… Counterproductive to me sayin' I'm attracted to you."

Charlene's lips curl up. "That's good," she laughs lightly, moving her hands to Santana's hips, teasingly dragging her thumbs up and down, "And bad. I guess." She shakes her head, teeth white as she grins, leaning in, voice lowering as well, "But, I can assure you, you won't be disappointed because the feeling is very mutual."

"Good." Agreeing, Santana lets an alluring smirk play with the corners of her mouth. It's almost too easy how this is a sure thing. Almost… Off putting.

Which is ridiculous, Santana chastises herself. This whole reluctance thing? Ridiculous. Charlene is hot and ready to go and practically - is exactly what Santana needs.

So Santana steps forward.

/

Santana laces her fingers with Charlene's, reminding her almost immediately of how she held Rachel's wrist just minutes before. It's different, though, this time around. Rachel's hand was smaller, and Santana's grasp was less intimate, less sensual. She can feel Charlene's thumb gently stroking her own, and it's… Nice. Really nice. But nothing else. She waits to feel a shiver of delight down her spine, or perhaps a spark of desire in the pit of her stomach; all she ends up feeling, though, is the desire to bolt.

Of course, she doesn't. She walks to the subway with Charlene's soft, bony hand clasped in hers, not entirely sure of herself or the situation she's put herself in. When they get to the subway, she pulls away, but only so that she can wrap her arm around Charlene's waist and whisper delicately in her ear, "I'm not too far from here; just a few subway stops." Santana wonders why she doesn't add something dirtier, something seductive and tempting, but she decides to make up for it by sliding three fingers into the waistband of her jeans. Charlene's skin is smooth and… Nice.

Santana pulls her fingers back and she's thankful that the subway is close enough that she can begin to fiddle with her purse and pull out her MetroCard and do something productive. Charlene does the same, and when Santana looks up at her, she winks and a smile plays at her lips–it's almost overwhelming, how unfazed she feels.

She puts on a smirk, takes her hand, and bounces down the stairs. At the bottom, she pulls Charlene close, pressing herself against the girl, and licks her lips with a certain confidence that sends noticeable goosebumps down Charlene's arms. Santana places a chaste kiss on Charlene's lips, then mumbles throatily, "That's not the only place I want my mouth right now." The line is cheap, and not Santana's best, but it's the best she can muster up in the moment.

The subway is nearly empty, which means Charlene is more than happy to nuzzle Santana's neck, nibbling and sucking gently, uttering words that Santana's usually the one saying. Not to be outdone, Santana moves her hand beneath the girl's shirt, feeling the expanse of her stomach, inching upward dangerously. She can hear a breathy moan escape Charlene's mouth, but Santana doesn't feel the lust that usually overpowers her.

When they stumble off of the subway and up to the apartment, her hand is in Charlene's back pocket like some sort of teenager, and it's already nothing like her other hookups. She tries to inspire a little more excitement on her end, walking backwards into her apartment, Charlene's lips attached to hers, their tongues brushing. Santana pushes her onto the couch, and then straddles her, grinding her hips against Charlene's and cupping her breast while planting open mouthed kisses on her neck. Charlene tangles her fingers in Santana's hair and Santana wants to feel something, but what it feels like is forced.

She pulls back to study Charlene's face, just for a moment. Her skin is pink, her eyes are dark with lust, and her nose is just a little too perfect.

"What?" Charlene murmurs. But when Santana begins to respond, her phone vibrates against her hip bone.

/

Doing her best to ignore it, figuring it's a text from a drunken Puck or someone as so not important at this moment, Santana leans forward again, heading past where Charlene's eyes can follow her. Opening her mouth, she's just about to latch back onto the already reddening neck, palms once again heading to slip under Charlene's shirt when her phone vibrates again.

"You're vibrating," Charlene laughs huskily. Her fingers grip Santana's hair, a hand sliding down her shoulder. "Is that a special talent or…?"

It's obvious she's teasing, and Santana suddenly starts to feel bad for her. Forcing a groan, she sits up and back, resting more on her heels than Charlene's knees. "Sorry," she grunts, smiling faintly as she digs into her pocket, "Depending, I can throw it away." Digging the phone out, she shoves her hair behind her shoulder before pushing her hand into the back of the couch, above Charlene's shoulder to keep herself balanced.

She doesn't know who she wants it to be. Part of her hopes it's Rachel or Kurt, meaning she'd have to bow out, while the other, more stubborn and forcibly oblivious part of her hopes it's someone she can blow off. No matter her annoying misgivings about this whole thing, sex is sex and would be good for something.

Mamí Lopez glares up at her.

Groaning for real, it's like a wash of cold water, and Santana rolls off and to the side of Charlene. "Sorry," she puts her hand on the girl's thigh, "Just a, gotta take - hello?"

"Santí! ¿Como estas?"

"Bien, Mamí. What is it?" Seriously? Now? Out of the corner of her eye, Santana can see Charlene doing her best not to make it obvious she's listening as she shifts, fingers opening and closing in her lap. If it isn't so awkward already, Santana would be laughing. Instead, she's wondering if this'll completely drain all the dregs of her libido still trying to stay involved.

"Hopefully I'm not bothering you, but do you remember where your Papí left his toolbox?"

A bark of laughter leaves Santana's mouth. "Really?" she practically matches Rachel's level of energy at any given time of day, "You're calling - you're honestly calling your so not butch daughter to ask her where the toolbox is? Are you - I bet you don't even know what time it is here, do you."

Charlene stifles a laugh, and Santana turns, meeting her eyes to share her look of disbelief. Oh yeah. This is sexy. Shaking her head, she sighs.

/

She's not sure what her mother says next, but she knows there's an apology in there somewhere, so she groans, "Okay, Mamí, I'm in the middle of something, can I call you tomorrow? I don't know where the toolbox is."

"Okay, Santí. You take care. I love you."

"Love you, too." When she hangs up, she sighs and rolls her eyes, then shoves the phone back in her pocket. "Sorry about that." And even though she's not sure she's even enjoying the sexy time she's created for herself, she means it.

Charlene smiles at her, and it's this small, genuine grin that turns her stomach just enough to make Santana want her, right here, right now, only for tonight. So Santana finds her way back on the girl's lap, her knees sinking into the couch cushions, the edges of her mouth curving upward. Her hips find their groove again, and Charlene places a hand on the back of Santana's neck and pulls her down to kiss her.

Santana can sense a smirk growing on Charlene's lips, and it riles Santana up more than she'd care to admit. She pulls her mouth away from Charlene's just long enough to mumble, "Bed. Now," then plants another kiss on the girl's lips and strips herself of her shirt, throwing the thin fabric to the floor without a second thought, before sliding off of Charlene and taking her hand, pulling her gently toward the bedroom. Charlene releases her hand only to shimmy out of her own blouse, and Santana's impressed. Her tits are bare for her to ogle, no bra to be seen.

Santana can't wait until the bedroom. Pulling Charlene flush against her, Santana kisses down her chest slowly, passionately, and palms her breast easily. When Charlene sighs to herself, practically inaudibly, Santana pauses only to unhook her own black lace bra. It's only when their jeans and panties are off that Santana realizes that they've left a trail of clothing from the couch all the way to the bedroom door. She gazes at the path, cringing slightly, thinking for a moment about Kurt and Rachel–Rachel–but then Charlene clears her throat and Santana turns around and suddenly her brain is void of any logical thought.

"Come here," Charlene says huskily, her legs parted, her pink thong hanging from her index finger. Santana's throat goes dry as she gazes at the girl laying so hungrily on her bed. In the brief second before she positions herself between the girl's legs, Santana can hear a phone vibrate against the wooden floor. It's a few feet away, and she knows it's Rachel. She knows in her gut that it's the girl that has taken a small place–a really small place, mind–in her heart. But she doesn't get it. She doesn't allow herself to get it. Instead, she steps out of her boy shorts and crawls onto the bed. She crawls onto the bed, between this stranger's open legs and doesn't think. She can't think.

If she stops to think, she'll stop altogether, and she deserves this.

She licks her lips and grasps Charlene's thighs and ignores her. She slides her tongue to meet Charlene's desire head on, and just gives in to the feeling of lust overwhelming her. The smells, the sounds–the taste of her skin and her sweat and her arousal–it surrounds her, it engulfs her, and she can't help but indulge.

/

Charlene is a practiced lover, responsive and delicious, full of moans and heat and not afraid to use her fingernails. She grips Santana's hair and neck and ears as she goes down on her, rolling her hips and making noises that makes it obvious she's very appreciative of what Santana's doing. It feeds Santana's ego, which in turn fans her libido.

Yes. This is exactly what she's been missing, hanging out with Miss Priss Virgin Mary One and Two: sex. Scratching an itch. Because if the way Charlene is reacting is descriptive of how she'll reciprocate, Santana's set.

God, she slowly licks up, swirling her tongue around the hard point of Charlene's clit, she missed this.

Charlene's trembling, chest heaving, the scrape of her fingernails sharp along Santana's skin. She's mewling, head twisting back and forth as she arches up, taught on her shoulders. "Oh," she gasps, "You're good at that."

Chuckling, Santana dips back down. Damn well better should be, she thinks, but doesn't verbalize it. Instead, with a quick glance up at Charlene's pleasure stained face, she pushes two fingers into her, curling them up. She tells herself she can't surely be hearing her phone vibrate on the floor from here, with what's overwhelming her senses and ears.

She has to convince herself she can't hear it, at least. An uncomfortable pit in her stomach she can't fully refute tells her it's so she'll be able to look Rachel in the eye when this is all said and done again. To force that away, she pushes herself up, swallowing a pert nipple.

God she loved women.

It's getting more intense by the second. Charlene's cresting, getting hotter and wetter each passing moment, and it's all because of Santana. Her lower stomach is pulsing, tensing, hands grasping around pale thighs to keep the girl open. Maybe she's actually achieving this. Maybe she can - no, she is losing herself in this girl. She - Charlene shudders, comes undone with a high-pitched, tight whine, clamping down around Santana and sucking her in, crashing Santana's mouth to hers with a jerk of her hand and forcing Santana to splay out on top of her, covering her, pressure on where she needs it most - and with a gasp and a large juddering hunch of her hips into Charlene, groan and tensing core, she finally achieves what she's been trying to do. There's no way she can concentrate on her phone now.

In her last few moments of lucidity, she refuses to acknowledge the fact that she has to tell herself she's still doing the right thing.

—

/

When she wakes up, groggy and naked, it's nearly one in the morning. Santana momentarily forgets Charlene, forgets the pleasure she'd felt just hours before, and searches blindly for her phone. She stumbles out of bed, wrapping a sheet around her body, her legs a tad weak from sleep, and uses the moonlight shining into her bedroom to seek out her lifeline.

After a minute or two, she hears a buzz come from the living room, and dashes (as quickly as she can, given her current, rather sleepy state) to retrieve it. When she finally picks it up and turns it on, what she sees makes her stomach sink and her throat turn dry.

Eight missed calls. Twelve new text messages.

Before she hears them, before she reads them, she knows they're all from Rachel. Rachel, who's stuck at the NYADA party with Kurt. Rachel, who Santana promised to pick up and grab ice cream with. Rachel, who could be preggers… Rachel… The girl who was and is so much more than nice.

Santana calls Rachel back immediately. She hears it ring, and after a moment, she hears Rachel's angered, but somehow still soft voice. "I thought you were going to pick me up."

"I'll be there, Rach, just give me a few minutes, I'm on my way." The words are rushed, and Santana can barely keep herself from shaking. She hears Rachel hang up, and then bolts to her room to change. She throws on sweats and a pair of sneakers, her mind focused on Rachel, on how she's surely miserable, drinking a soda and pretending to be interested in the throngs of drunken girls and twinky guys and the lame ass Once soundtrack that Rachel only admitted she didn't like after intense prodding. Santana's thoughts are deluging her, ransacking her mind, and it's only when she's on the subway, watching a man grind up against one of poles, that she realizes she's nearly there.

It hurts her to think Rachel's hurting, and although she's rarely the sentimental type, Rachel's her friend and she knows she may have fucked up. Just a tad.

Maybe a little more than just a tad, she thinks.

Rachel's sitting outside the apartment building when Santana arrives. She looks… Well, angry. And cold. Her hands are wrapped around her upper arms, and Santana takes off her sweatshirt and hands it to her. Rachel doesn't meet her gaze, but accepts the article of clothing and shimmies into it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Santana barks, folding her arms over her chest. "You're by yourself on an empty street where the next up-and-coming Ted Bundy could kidnap you." As Santana hears the words stream out of her mouth, she knows they're harsh, but it's easier to get mad at Rachel than be mad at herself.

Rachel glares, standing up from the stoop. "Yeah? Well maybe you should've thought about that when you ignored my cries for help."

Santana watches Rachel huff off in the direction of the subway, and follows behind her, carefully keeping an eye on her, but giving her the space she needs before the all out brawl she expects to take place at some point tonight or tomorrow manifests.

In her head, she tries to justify it one more time. I needed that time to myself, she thinks, but even she knows it's a weak defense. She's no longer able to believe it, not without the post-coital daze she was in before, and not while Rachel walks in front of her, venomously kicking stray pebbles that are seemingly in her way.

/

Frowning, starting to feel the cold on her now that Rachel was wearing her sweater, Santana realizes she is walking around New York in nothing but a white tank top, and swearing under her breath, she brushes her hair over her shoulders before crossing her arms. Good thing it isn't anything that could get her arrested, but not that she'd ever let it get that far, anyway.

Shaking her head, looking back up to Rachel, she notices they're approaching the entrance to the subway. Not sure if the still tightly walking girl had noticed or already knew that, Santana groans and steps up her pace. "Berry. Hey." She isn't sure if the girl freezes or just jerks at her words, and Santana rolls her eyes; what now?

"Oh, Berry is it?" Rachel snaps as soon as Santana meets up with her, whirling around so fast Santana actually has to reach out to try and catch her because it looks like she's going to fall, but all that happens is Rachel whacks away her hands, stepping closer to hiss out as she searches Santana's eyes, wild and hard and hurt all at the same time, "Want to fall back into our original roles to distant yourself from your humongous screw up?" She then honest to god throws her hands up in the air in the most dramatic expression of fury in the history of Rachel Berry freak outs, and it erases all the effect her eyes may have started on Santana's state of mind. "Want to forget what you said - what you promised me you'd do?"

Okay. No. Now? Feeling her own anger start to curl in her stomach, Santana for once tries to push Snixx back into her very thinly restrained box. "Fine, Rachel," she manages to make Rachel's name a step up from the spat expletive it almost was. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, like you suddenly care about what I call you, yeah, Miss Only Place You Belong Is On A Stripper Pole, Santana," she continues, staring at the very angry, very almost scary small girl in front of her, tossing her head back in one of her practically patented Lima Heights Adjacent moves, "And right, yes, I fucked up. Newsflash, it's not like you're so perfect, either."

"Me?" Rachel blinks. Her mouth drops open. "This is suddenly about me?"

/

Does she really want to go there? Santana's not sure it's so smart to answer affirmatively, so she defers the question. "This is about the fact that everyone makes mistakes, Rachel. You're not fucking Mother Teresa, Jesus." Santana glares, but her facial expression softens slightly when she spits out, "And neither am I–I made a mistake." She swallows hard, and avoids looking at the girl in front of her. There's guilt and regret sitting on each of her shoulders, and she can't bear to see the disappointment plaguing Rachel's face.

She hears Defying Gravity blast from Rachel's pocket, and she watches as Rachel pulls her cell out. "This, Santana, is what you do when your phone rings. You pick. It. Up."

Santana scoffs and listens to Rachel's annoyed, "Hello, Kurt?"

The street around them is eerily quiet, and it makes it rather easy to hear the sounds of assholes making fools of themselves by singing a rather strange, a capella version of "Party Rock Anthem". Santana can't help but snort.

After a moment, it occurs to Santana that Kurt's the one belting the shitty song, and she figures Rachel's realized seconds later when she hangs up without another word. Kurt is rather notorious for his butt dials, Santana thinks. She remembers one time, when she overheard his rather breathy moans that she could only assume were sex sounds. She'd hung up before she could be completely sure, thank GOD.

She wishes she could mention it to Rachel with a smile and a chuckle, but Rachel begins to walk towards the subway again, as if nothing's just gone down on the corner of Motherfucking Hell and Why Didn't I Just Pick Her Up. She knows the fight is far from over, but she's rather content with the silence for now.

When they get into the subway car, there's one seat, and Santana lets Rachel take it (though she suspects Rachel would've put up a fight for it, had she not) because she does feel sorry, even if she's shit at showing it. Rachel gazes out the window across from them, and Santana watches her stare at the tiles, which are blurred from the speed of the car, clearly lost in the easy, monotonous motion of the train.

When they walk back to their place from the station, Rachel walks five feet ahead of her, and Santana lets her, because, just like before, the silence is sweeter than the cacophony of angry noises they had joined to compose before.

It's that silence she misses when they trudge back into their apartment. Rachel's keys hit the coffee table with a thud, and her own sneakers thud quite nicely against the wood floor when she kicks them off. These little noises, which seem to be nothing more than white noise, end up being, perhaps, Santana's worst nightmare. It's only when Rachel slams a cup down on their counter, that Charlene steps out of Santana's room and makes herself known.

"Mmm, babe, come back to bed," she mutters, dragging her feet as she saunters over to Santana. She's in nothing but a bed sheet–the same sheet Santana had wrapped herself in to call Rachel back.

Santana can't believe she forgot about Charlene. She wants to bury herself in the ground, or stick her head in the sand, like an ostrich, just like she saw on the Discovery Channel when she was a kid. She wants to escape, she wants to be anywhere but in the middle of this mess.

/

Santana hears the cup Rachel had just slammed down on the counter rattle as if Rachel's hand had jumped and taken it with it. No, well, Santana would bet that it was her whole body that jumped.

Fact was, she hadn't told Rachel there could have been the smallest chance that someone would be in their apartment. But of course, she thought, staring at Charlene with wide eyes, unable not to see how appealing and, yeah, well fucked she looked, she hadn't even noticed the girl when she'd woken up. Maybe somewhere in the back of her head she'd hoped the girl would have left, but obviously, that hadn't happened.

"Oh?" Charlene's husky, sleepy and sated voice sounds too loud in the silence of the apartment. Pausing at Santana's side, her hand warm and kind of familiar after their earlier activity on Santana's arm, the girl who felt too much like an interloper looked Rachel up and down. "Is she joining in?"

"What?" Rachel strangles out, sounding both close to tears and close to overloading again, "How, how dare you - "

Santana slaps her hand over Charlene's mouth. Fuck fuck fuck. It isn't clear who Rachel addressed that to, so it just feels hurtful. Better to get out of there, both of them, before the building storm in Rachel's body she can see again erupts.

Taking the corner of the bed sheet closest to her so she won't flash Rachel, Santana pulls Charlene back towards her room. She wants to demand to know why the girl is still there, really just wants to get her away from Rachel. "You," she hisses, almost unconsciously meeting Rachel's betrayed gaze from over Charlene's shoulder, "My room, now."

"Oh, I like the sound of that," Charlene purrs as soon as Santana pulls her hand away, shifting so she can thread her arms around Santana's neck and pull her into her even as she pushes forward. It's like she doesn't care Rachel's there or isn't aware of how awkward this whole thing was. Normally Santana would find that sexy as hell, knowing how god damn irresistible she is - like, duh, but this is just… Somehow, it's weird. Argument and her fuck-up aside, it's still…

"Oh, great, no shame. No shame," Rachel's voice rose, "And no wonder you didn't pick up the phone, huh? You, you're, I can't believe you!"

Anger had replaced all the hurt in Rachel's voice, and even though Santana knows how this looks, knows how it is, and very aware of Charlene's hot breath on her neck and body arching into her, mumbling, "Is this your girlfriend? No wonder you went after me," she still has no fucking clue what she should do at this moment. Her body, almost guiltily, is starting to respond to Charlene's presence, memories of their previous fuck sparking inside her. It's true she's still a little cold from her practically half-naked trek across town, and it's always been helpful for roiling emotions to get herself off. Which she knows Charlene can.

She certainly can't say she likes what Charlene's implying about Rachel, though.

But, Rachel, her girlfriend? That was something Santana really does not want to think about. Like, ever.

"Santana!"

Oh fuck. Of course Rachel had heard that. It's like she has ears like a bat.

Rachel's face is red, lower lip trembling as her jaw works in her mouth. Her eyes are big, dark, stricken, and one of the greatest betrayed expressions Santana has ever seen is swirling inside them. Her cup is now clutched in her hands, the sleeves of Santana's sweater almost but not quite covering the white of her clenched knuckles.

Fuck. "Rachel."

Shifting, now more awake, Charlene seems to have suddenly realized that there is actually something going on.

/

The three girls stand silently and Santana can feel the tension hovering between them. She eyes Rachel, staring at the way her fingers curl tightly, almost painfully, around the glass, how her eyebrows furrow and her forehead creases… And the seconds that pass by them feel more like minutes… Agonizing, soul-numbing minutes. She's a fucking asshole, and it takes all she has not to throw the ugly vase on the coffee table.

After a moment, Charlene clears her throat. "I think… I think I should get going."

She looks between the two girls, her eyes wide with uncertainty, and then shuffles back to Santana's room. Santana can hear her getting her shit together, and she wishes she could fast-forward the process, because Rachel's glaring at her fiercely, unabashedly. It's infuriating, really, but she knows she deserves it, so she keeps her mouth shut and attempts to push away the urge to roll her eyes. It wouldn't help her case, to say the least.

Santana sees a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye, and turns to see Charlene, clad in only a bra and jeans, scamper towards the couch and retrieve her shirt.

Santana pinches the bridge of her nose. Fuck. What a fucking mess.

As Charlene slides her shirt on over her head, Santana swears she hears a low growl come from Rachel's direction. And then she realizes… Fucking shit. Rachel can see Charlene's fucking back, covered in scratches, in physical evidence that they did the nasty.

It's almost too theatrical for Santana to bear. She sneaks a glance at Rachel, whose fiery eyes are glued to Charlene, and she's just not sure how she can make it out of this situation alive, her friendship with Rachel still intact.

Charlene mouths the words, "I'm so, so sorry!" to Santana before she slips out and leaves the two girls alone.

Santana turns towards Rachel again, audibly sighing.

Rachel scoffs and, with the glass still attached to her hand, moves into the living room, looking a bit like a predator about to attack its' prey.

"What was it, Santana?" Rachel hollers, her tone somewhat amused. "What was it that made her so irresistible?" Rachel twists the cup in both of her hands as tears threaten to fall. "Was it the red hair? I bet it was the red hair."

Santana can feel the rage rising, and before she can stop herself, she fumes, "Actually, it was her tits that really did me in. Nice, perky handfuls. I just couldn't help myself."

She watches as Rachel glances down at her own breasts, though only for a second, then folds her arms over her chest protectively, her glass accessory still attached to her hand, resting on her upper arm. Guilt creeps up on Santana, inching its way from her stomach into her chest, but she ignores it, letting the fury control her.

"Well, good then," Rachel fumbles out, her eyes thinning, "I'm glad you ruined a friendship for a nice rack! If they were a couple of B cups–well, then I'd really feel sorry for you!"

/

"Ruined a - ruined a friendship?" That's it. Santana's seeing red. "Friendship?" she repeats, voice low and sharp as ice, cold, colder than she's heard it in a while since she'd left the halls of McKinley, taking a step forward to get both parts equal of a better look at Rachel and forcing her backwards with sheer fury. "Wouldn't we need a friendship before it could get ruined?"

Even with Rachel's immediate, instant gasp and tears to her eyes as she takes in what Santana's just said, Santana doesn't care. "So what the fucking hell if I wanted to get lucky? What - you can but I can't?" Still shouting, she slashes her hand up in the air, pointing at Rachel, "Oh, you're such - you threatened to kick me out and we're friends?"

—

—

—

(And one last bit that has ALWAYS stuck with me, years later: the insider knowledge that, Santana having run out of the loft without showering, and with giving Rachel her sweater… Rachel could smell her. Her and Charlene.)

(Tumblr tags: i did some editing, forgive me if i missed anything!, (and pooh on the italics causing spacing issues!), (i also wonder if you guys can tell which parts i alternated writing compared to what my co-author alternated writing :D), though a lil' warning, six year old statements/writing - almost seven year old statements/writing by now oy - within, and to my co-writer: i hope you're doing well :}, thanks for the memories and fun times)

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#334:

Santana never figured out what it was that made her look down. Pausing, frowning as she peered into the dark under the bush, she also didn't know what caused her to pull out her earbuds, but as she did so, a low, plaintive vocalization hit her ears. Then, as she shifted on her feet, glancing behind her, the low vocalization turned into a hopeful, scared yip. And, even as she cursed herself for being such a soft touch, Santana lowered and clicked her tongue, a soft, snuffling nose meeting the pads of her fingers.

Greeting the friendly bulldog, and growling under her breath as how anyone could leave the poor thing out in the rain, she curled her fingers along the pup's jaw, scritching along a soft ear, and laughed softly as the small body burrowed in close to her thighs. As she did, her fingers caught at a collar. And…

Fiyero. —–.

Her eyes widening as she recognized Rachel Berry's phone number, Santana cursed, glaring into the darkness beyond the dog's shoulder. Part of her warred with leaving the dog be. Make the hobbit suffer for letting her pet run away.

But the other part, the part that melted as soft brown eyes looked up at her, the small, stocky body pressing in close as the bulldog wiggled with the effort of wagging his tail, was already figuring out how close she was to the annoying girl's house.

And, her hands already curling aroung the soaked dog, lifting him into her arms and huffing as he eagerly started licking her chin, smelling of wet dog and everything Santana did not like, she started backtracking.

/

Santana had already let Fiyero down, keeping an eye on him as he eagerly snuffled the door to his home, whole body wagging and practically vibrating with excitement, when the door opened.

"Santana - ?" Rachel asked in surprise, eyes dropping and widening and crowding with tears as Fiyero excitedly announced his presence, quickly dropping to her knees and pulling the bulldog into her arms.

"Yeah. Keep better care of the roly-poly, Berry." Finishing her growl, Santana started to walk backwards.

But then, as she was just about the turn around and make her way back down the street, a small hand flashed out, an equally small, trim body stopping her. And, turning, her mouth opening as she prepared to snap, soft, warm lips brushed along her cheek.

"Thank you. Thank you," Rachel babbled as she stepped back, staring up at her, tears overflowing as she juggled to support Fiyero better into her arms again, eyes so dark and wet, "I -"

Santana's hand snapped up. "Stop. Do not mention it." Making a small detour to pet the bulldog's head, eyes softening, she stiffened as her eyes caught Rachel's again, and she stepped back.

Ignoring it as Fiyero yipped at her once again, she finished turning around and, walking away, pushed her earbuds quickly back into her ears.

/

Santana never figured out what it was that made her look down. But, hours later, sprawled on her bed as she thought about the lost dog and his particular owner, she couldn't say she wasn't glad she had, anyway.

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#335:

"Here, I got you this." Rachel bit her lower lip. "It's a hug." Her arms rising as she took a step forward, Santana's eyebrows rocketed up her forehead, her crossed arms tightening in front of her chest. Pausing right before she hugged her, Rachel smiled, "I'll be quick, but I'm sure it'll fit."

(Tumblr tags: inspired by another line from whatever that game i was playing is called, the dating one, heh)

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#336:

"But why didn't you tell me you were going to try out?" Rachel demands, almost pleading, her voice and glare full of mixing anger and betrayal.

Santana's lips thin, and she cocks her head. "Why didn't I tell you?"

"Yes!"

"Because, Rachel," Santana snaps, harsh and accusingly, giving a short laugh devoid of humor, "You would have told me not to."

(Tumblr tags: what i wrote shortly after the 'don't rain on my parade' fiasco i believe)

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#337:

So this was a "Day Planner Pezberry Plot Bunny" that I posted over a year ago - a section of notes and plot ideas that I wrote up. I haven't done anything with it since, so figured it would do well as a RPTOTD.

/

Santana sent off somewhere - Rachel rallies everyone to write - makes a schedule, but only she and Quinn, sorta, and Brittany, sorta (always asking when Santana's coming back) keep it up. Others peter off.

Rachel and Santana grow closer because of it (Santana's angry and disappointed but not shocked), but romance doesn't start until Santana comes back.

- What away for? Not too angsty - not like gay conversion camp, no! Medical? Health? Oh, maybe anger management/court mandated after setting a car on fire or something? Look up if can have outside contact - rules of stay. Actual letters, but can't be too far away so good contact time, and more than two weeks. Perhaps Santana's father/parents arranged for high quality intensive "rehab", concerned for his/their daughter. So month, one or two?

Sue annoyed and tells Santana she definitely has to re-audition/try out for Cheerios when she comes back, especially if she's lost her fire as the Cheerios' lieutenant. Schue also has to hunt for new member because Santana misses a performance - Rachel's annoyed by that but they bond over the general uselessness of the other gleeks. Rachel vents, Santana grouses.

- Santana sneaks out to visit Rachel for some reason in middle of night - hitched a ride back/to with lesbian truckers/blackmailed a ride from an orderly - Rachel: "Santana! You sold yourself?", Santana hits her, fist sharp and heavy. "Oh shut up. Turns out he's crazy for Cheerio stuff/something, so we swung by/will swing by my place to give him something - don't ask me what he wants to do with it/I needs to go to have time to hitch a ride back before getting caught." No kiss or overt romance, but Rachel's touched. Santana totally crawled through bedroom window after climbing up house, struggling with sound proof window and falling onto floor - Rachel having stood in the shadows with hairbrush raised for protection - Santana awkward as possible getting in.

Rachel's B-Day - Santana couldn't send anything from the center, but didn't want Rachel to have no one remember her B-Day that year, as the awesome friend she is. Rachel kisses her cheek, then goes, "Wait, you ARE going back, right? Santana, you HAVE to go back!" and Santana cuts her off by raising her hands, "Whoah, cut the chatter, Berry! I's goin'. The Rents won't pay me if I don't, etc. etc."

And dimples! Especially when cheek is kissed. :D

(Tumblr tags: 'yes i actually drew that face right side up in my day planner, also what is formatting?', perhaps i shall do something with this one day, for now set out in the wild for others to perhaps get inspired)

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#338:

After Sectionals, Santana made sure to corner Rachel in the bathroom, the only time and place to get her alone for an uninterrupted minute. Doubling the chance they wouldn't be bothered by locking the door behind her, uncaring of the confused and slightly fearful look Rachel gave her, Santana took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and turned to face Rachel fully. "You know," she started, settling her hand on her hip, "As awesome as it is you stood up for me about the set list, this changes nothing."

Rachel 'oh'ed, standing up straight. "Santana, I stood up for you because it was the right thing to do."

"Ohh. Riiiight." Rolling her eyes, Santana took another step forward, gratified when Rachel took an equal step back. "A completely altruistic action."

"Considering I gained nothing from telling you I believe you… Yes. I'd count it an altruistic action."

Rachel's chin was up, her expression determined.

Santana crossed her arms, a disbelieving glare taking over her features. "And you didn't expect anything to change within McKinley's halls? Bullshit. Admit it - you wanted a fucking Kumbaya moment."

Rachel's shoulders dropped. "Santana… I know the reality of my social stature. And the reality of how you are welcomed, and how you keep that power. No. I really don't expect anything to change. That's not why I believed you."

Santana scoffed heatedly, glare sharpening, and Rachel sighed, shaking her head, eyes meeting Santana's again. Her voice was quiet, resigned. "Though I won't say part of me doesn't hope that one day you, Brittany, and Quinn, will help lay to rest the animosity between the popular people and glee club. Seeing as…" Rachel inhaled, lips curling ironically, giving Santana pause before anger started to spike at her words, "You, yourselves, are part of the glee club and would surely benefit, too."

(Tumblr tags: a snippet of something that never became more)

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#339:

Shaking her head and sighing out an amused, "Oh my god, come here already!" Santana pulled Rachel onto her lap and into her arms, brushing smiling lips along Rachel's forehead as her arms curled tighter around her.

Giggling as she wrapped herself around the other girl's shoulders, Rachel pushed her chin up, searching for Santana's lips with hers. "Mmmwow…" she mumbled, breathing out, "You're really not what I expected."

"Yeah?" Santana smirked, then kissed her again. "Oh well, babe. So not sorry."

---

#340:

Just because Rachel had been in love with Finn, it didn't mean she couldn't find her new romantic future with Santana.

…It was just herself and Santana she had to convince first.

(Tumblr tags: i like this one because it suggests a lot of possibilities for stories for me)