Part I: Rachel
There had been too many days in Rachel's life where she had been the laughing stock. All through her school years, college and now this. The point in her life where she was meant to be established, respected enough to not be treated like dirt.
She didn't understand why at every turn she met resistance. Her ideas were good. Really good. So, if they wanted to laugh her out of the room again, she resolved, after a lengthy pep talk with Kurt this morning, that they could say goodbye to her altogether.
"If we slow the step by a fifth of a second, we could draw out the storm effect. Maybe bring the harsher, white lights in on Kelsey's point to-"
She turns her attention from the projected plans on the wall to the table of creative directors she's been working with for weeks now. It was a new production, requiring new ideas. Ask anybody, she was full of them. But every time she ventured to express her vision they'd all share either an eye roll or a smirk. Sometimes she even wonders why they hired her if they weren't going to utilise her experience and talent. The stage was her life. And life is what she knew she could bring to it if they gave her a goddamn chance.
For a moment she thinks they are going to realise that and agree for once, but then it happens.
All it takes is one quirk of an eyebrow from Cassidy and the rest fell into form.
"Rachel, that won't work." Tone placating, condescending.
"But-"
"But nothing," Cassidy interrupts. "We don't think it will work."
"We haven't even talked about it," Rachel implores, glancing to the rest of the table who looked either thoroughly disinterested or slightly amused.
"And we never will."
Tightening her notes to her chest, Rachel passes her gaze over the table of faces once more, a hot wash of embarrassment seeping into her pores.
How could she be so wrong for something she loved so much?
No. This isn't what she and Kurt spoke about. She was meant to do this.
Right?
"Well," she chokes, "this doesn't seem to be working." She stands a little taller. "I quit."
"You what?" Cassidy sputters through a disbelieving laugh.
Rachel's cheeks began to burn, her throat tightening with every second.
"I can't do this anymore," she just about gets out as she snatches up her bag and makes a hasty exit. The low murmur of voices and a snarky, "God, it's like a bad breakup," reaches her ears just before the door closes behind her.
The tears are running down her cheeks before she even gets the chance to leave the building and they stay there until she's four drinks deep at the closest bar she could find. She never really drank but she knew this was one way to stop feeling so lousy. Or so she thought. Her dreams were still dying and it definitely still hurt. Although, she supposes those feelings had begun to feel a little softer around the edges than they did an hour ago. So, she decides right then and there, half on, half off her bar stool, to keep going until she passes out or pukes.
"Are you sure you don't want a water?" The bartender asks, boredom lacing his words.
She shakes her head silently, eyes glazed as she watches herself in the mirror behind the bar. Her face feels tight from the dried tears, eyes puffy, darker from the ruined makeup.
How was she going to fix this?
Dropping her gaze, she taps her glass as signal for another.
How was she going to afford her half of the rent?
The beginnings of stuttered breath and a fresh batch of tears are suddenly halted by the sound of whimpering on the other end of the bar.
"Not another one," the bartender groans under his breath as he sets her drink down in front of her.
Through the bar's mirror, she meets eyes with an impossibly beautiful woman. Her watery eyes almost a reflection of Rachel's own.
"What are you looking at?" She snaps, making Rachel's eyes widen in alarm.
"Nothing," she stammers.
"Nothing?" By her reaction, Rachel would have thought she'd just pushed a very dear relative of hers into the road. "Is that all I am?"
"What? No!"
"I can't believe this," the woman sobs.
Urged into action, Rachel slips off her stool to make her way towards the seemingly distraught woman with dark hair and even darker eyes.
"I'm sorry," she tries, holding out her drink as a peace offering.
The other woman uncovered her face, which she'd since hidden behind her hands, and regarded Rachel before eyeing the drink suspiciously.
"Are you trying to drug me?"
"I would never do something like that," Rachel insists, sincerely concerned she was giving off some kind of vibe. "See," she continued as she took a huge gulp of her drink, only to finish it in her panic.
The other woman stares blankly at her as she holds the glass towards her.
When she doesn't take it Rachel's brow furrow in question.
"What is it?"
"It's empty," the other woman says, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned.
"Oh," Rachel replies dumbly.
"You're funny."
"I am?" Now Rachel was confused.
"Yes."
The blushing was far too much and a little mortifying, but Rachel accepted the fact it was happening all the same.
"Thanks."
Eyes softening as they scanned her face, the other woman kicked the stool out beside her. "Join me, funny girl."
Gasping at the nickname, Rachel was quick to spin towards the stranger as soon as she settled in her seat.
"Funny Girl?"
"That's what I said."
"I love Funny Girl!"
Brows furrowed, the other woman stared at her for a second before realisation set in. "Oh. I see. You're one of those."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Stifling a sniffle, the woman gave her other smile. "A theatre freak. Or is it just musicals?"
Any joy at having made some kind of connection with this woman was soon impaled, cremated, and then buried six feet under for good measure.
"What did I say?" She asks, confused as Rachel chooses to ignore her to ask for another. "Hey, c'mon."
"No, please. Insult me again. It's just what I need."
"Lighten up," she says, as though Rachel's not getting the joke. But Rachel doesn't budge. "It's not necessarily a bad thing," and continues to not budge despite the sudden change of tune. "And anyway, I meant it in a good way," the other woman tries once more, slapping Rachel's hand away as she tried to pay for her drink. "Let me."
Secretly pleased that she just had her drink paid for by a gorgeous woman, Rachel pushes down the desire to smile and maybe even blush again to hold her frown in place.
"Oh, so how does that work?"
"There are so many good types of freak. Okay," she began, counting out on her fingers as she listed, "clean freak, always handy. Theatre freak," she pauses, pointing her two fingers right at Rachel, "a little intense but in your case, in a sexy way." Rachel baulked. "And let's not forget the best of them all, the sex freak." The accompanying chuckle that concluded the woman's list made Rachel feel some type of way.
"I'd prefer enthusiast," she mumbles.
"Sex enthusiast? If you say so."
"No-"
"Do you want to do shots?"
Rachel agrees because, well, she's already drunk. She's also enjoying this new company she's found despite the questionable compliment.
"I've never done tequila shots before," Rachel admits, albeit a little sheepishly.
"Really?" Rachel nods in response. "Well, it's my honour to introduce them to you," the other woman says, hand to her heart.
With the glasses placed before them, along with two slices of lime and a salt shaker, Rachel watches attentively as the other woman licks the spot between her thumb and forefinger, dabbing a sprinkle of salt on the wet patch of skin before nodding to Rachel to do the same.
"And what you wanna do after that is lick it, slam it, suck it."
"Lick it, slam it, suck it," Rachel repeats.
The other woman hummed in agreement, a hint of a smile and a squint to her eye as she counted them down.
The burn was almost too much, but she powered through, laughing as she cleared her throat.
"What do you think?"
"Strong," Rachel rasps, teasing an accompanying laugh out of the woman sitting beside her.
"Right? Puts hair on your chest."
"Is that so?"
"Oh, for sure. I'd show you, but I think flashing might get me barred." Rachel couldn't help but laugh at that, although the following, "Maybe later though," and wink made it catch in her throat.
Ordering another, despite her better judgement, Rachel tried to compose herself. There was something so effortlessly alluring about the woman before her, it was seriously enviable but she couldn't help but be thankful to be on the receiving end of all of her charms.
"Here," she says, sliding a shot towards her, trying her best not to get too flustered over the half-smile the woman gives as she walks her fingers over the top of the bar to take the glass with a thanks and subtle bite to her lip.
A few more shots later, Rachel asks if the woman wants to move to a booth to get comfortable. And maybe, just maybe, the selfish part of Rachel wanted the woman all to herself. Her attention, her conversation, her jokes and smile.
The woman agrees and they bump into each other lightly as they both unsteadily leave their perches on the bar stools. They meet eyes and laugh before the woman gestures for Rachel to lead, her hand falling to the small of her back as she follows. The heat from her palm seeps through fabric and into Rachel's skin, passing straight through and settling low, where there is already a building heat.
"I like this material," she says as her fingers fall from their spot as Rachel moves to sit down. "It's very," she pauses to ponder her next word, a glint to her eye as she decides on, "soft."
Rachel knows she must be missing something, maybe it's what she's not saying rather than what she does, either way, she smiles. "I agree. It is…" she gives the woman a quizzical look, "soft."
Red lips split into a grin and a light laugh follows.
"I have a way with words, can't you tell?"
"Such a way," Rachel hums, patting the spot next to her as invitation which the woman takes up, sitting thigh to thigh without so much of a bat of an eye.
The conversation, whilst flirty, remains safe. There's no mention of work or why she was crying in a bar on her own and she's quite happy to keep it like that. Why ruin a good thing?
"So," the woman throws out casually, although Rachel suspects it's anything but, "do you have anybody waiting for you at home?"
Home.
"Oh!"
Kurt.
"Oh?"
"I have a roommate. I need to text him, actually."
They huddle close as Rachel pulls out her phone, only for her to realise a moment later that she cannot get her fingers to function quite like she wants them to. For all her attempts, her inability to type out a text message persists, leaving them both cackling amongst themselves.
It wasn't even that funny, but there's something about 'gey kjirt ttttjh' that really tickles them.
"Your roommate is going to think you've been kidnapped."
"He won't," Rachel giggled, one eye squinted shut as she tapped out a few more indecipherable words. "See," she held the screen up to the other woman as though she was faring any better.
"Perfect."
The mention of home had also inspired something else in that booze soaked sponge she called a brain of Rachel's. Home was quieter. Private. And had more alcohol.
A soft hand on her thigh had her running through her options.
"Do you want to come back to mine?"
"Right now?" A gentle squeeze.
"Yes."
Not so much as a pause is given before she receives an, "Okay," and a look that is enough to stoke the fire deep in her belly.
Stumbling out into the cold December evening, they clung to each other for warmth as they signalled down a taxi. Rachel wasn't quite sure what she was doing, what she was propositioning. She just knew she wanted to stay with this woman for as long as possible, in whichever way she could.
But before they climbed into the warmth of the vehicle, the other woman lightly pulled her back.
"What's your name?"
Oh. Names.
"Rachel." It feels like sharing a secret but she can't explain why. She swallows before asking, "What's yours?"
"Santana."
"Santana," she moaned as the other woman lowered her mouth between her legs, tongue brushing broad, achingly slow strokes that made her back arch and hand tighten its hold in dark tresses.
It all happened so fast.
They'd been talking, talking for what felt like so long. Before she knew it Santana's mouth, which she'd been watching intently, stopped moving. Dragging her eyes back up to meet the other woman's, she saw something there. Something she recognised and something she knew she felt herself.
"What were you saying?" She remembered asking.
Santana laughed lowly in response, edging closer to her on the couch. "It's a bit cold in here."
"Oh," Rachel jolted, looking around her empty apartment before locking onto the thermostat. Kurt must have turned it down before he left for the night. "I'm so sorry, I'll-"
"No, it's okay," Santana said, reaching out for Rachel as she went to stand. "We can just use this," she said, pulling the throw off the back of the couch to cover them both, "and good ol' fashioned body heat." The smile on her lips was dangerous.
A nervous giggle escaped her before quieting as she shuffled closer until thighs, arms, and eyes met.
"This is warmer."
"Yeah," Santana said softly, eyes dancing about her face as she took a small sip of the drink Rachel had offered her when they first arrived. "Want some?"
"Sure," Rachel agreed, despite having a drink of her own just to her left.
A brush of fingers, a clink of glass against her rings, the unsteady beating of her heart. Santana's lipstick had already stained the rim, distracting Rachel with thoughts of those lips that looked so… So.
Their eyes met once more as she tipped the glass back.
What would those lips feel like on hers?
"Kiss me."
Rachel almost choked on the burning liquid slipping down her throat.
"What?"
"I think you should kiss me."
"Oh my," she gasps, thighs quivering as she withheld the urge to close her legs.
She was already so close.
So close.
Her eyes flickered back down to the lips that had captivated the majority of her attention all night. The heat radiating off the body now melting into hers did nothing to help the sudden onset of butterflies in her chest.
She'd never kissed a woman before.
"You'd never done a tequila shot before tonight either," Santana smirked, eyes playful and gentle all at the same time.
She didn't realise she'd said it out loud. But she was glad she did, because it was the easiness of Santana's words, her voice, her everything that make Rachel's apprehension slip away. Just enough to give her the courage to ever so slowly lift her fingers to the other woman's jaw, lightly draw them up and along, until they slipped into gloriously soft hair.
Drawn closer, she felt warm breath dance across her lips, making her ever aware of how little distance there was between them.
She was doing this.
The thought made her feel delirious. Or maybe that was the alcohol.
A small laugh escaped her before she could help it.
"What's funny?" She more felt the words than heard them.
"This is crazy." Her words came out in an excited hush, pushing her forward to connect their mouths in a soft kiss that soon became heated.
From there the clothes seemed to slide off of her body, crumpled and forgotten on the floor. The slight chill in the apartment only registered when Santana's lips left a wet trail of kisses from her neck to her chest, the blanket they'd wrapped around them falling to her waist.
"Shall we," Rachel began, an involuntary sigh escaping her as Santana broke from where her mouth ghosted her breast. "Shall we move to my bedroom?"
Santana nodded, her dark eyes almost black in the dim lighting of the living room. "If that's what you want."
She doesn't even have to think.
She can't even think.
Whatever thoughts clamoured to the forefront of her brain barely got a hold before being beaten back by the dizzying sensation of Santana's tongue between her legs.
Roaming hands climb up past her thighs, pressing low on her belly. She lets her own hands meet them there on the soft plain of her stomach, threading fingers and tightening as she feels herself coming undone.
"Santana," said like a prayer, "please."
What she's asking for isn't exactly clear. All she knows for sure was that it is all too much and when Santana eventually stops, it will have never been enough.
Her climax hits her full force, the final wave in the storm to capsize the ship. Her lips part, but nothing escapes, anchored by the hands that still capture hers.
With ringing ears and shaky legs, she opens her eyes to find Santana watching her with a hooded gaze. Watching as her mouth never relents, licking, sucking, and making her whimper and twitch.
Only when Rachel pulls slightly on their connected hands does she lift her head, chin slick, lips pouted, gaze heavy yet unwavering.
Loosening a hand to caress the other woman's jaw, Rachel urges Santana up her body so that she can finally recapture her in a wet, heated kiss. Never had she tasted as good as she did on Santana's lips.
As their kiss slowed, Santana teases at her bottom lip with a pinch of her teeth, smile sharp as she leans back to look down at her.
"You taste good, huh?"
Suddenly bashful, Rachel nods, cheeks warming once more.
Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as she thought about saying what came to mind.
"What about you?" It was said quietly but felt loudly in the silent apartment. She could have sunk into the mattress for the embarrassment that overcame her.
"What about me?" Santana repeats, confused. But then her eyes brighten, smirk spreading across her face. Falling to lie beside Rachel, rather than above, she poses casually on her elbow as she asks, "Why don't you try for yourself?"
Santana looked down between their touching bodies before raking her gaze all the way back up to meet Rachel's, the coy smile deceiving, yet all the more alluring. It was an invitation if Rachel had ever seen one.
So, with a confidence she didn't have a minute ago, she edged her hand between them, heart skipping a beat as Santana gasped at her first touch. She was warm and wet as fingers easily slipped through slick heat with more intent than Santana must have expected by the way her body eagerly presses into them. Watching as Santana's eyes fluttered open, Rachel lifted her fingers to her mouth, hesitating a moment before taking them to her tongue.
It stirred something carnal in her, she wanted more.
And more she had.
It wasn't until she heard the groan of her apartment door and Kurt's voice, followed by another, come floating through did she realise she'd been getting her fill for hours now.
Stilled against Santana's panting mouth, Rachel listened for movement only to hear him laugh at something before moving into his room opposite hers.
"Your roommate?"
"Yeah," she replies, sinking into the body below her, now very aware of the tiredness in her bones.
Nimble fingers came to brush up along her back, creating patterns she no longer has the brain function to comprehend and lulling her into a deep and dreamless sleep.
She woke to a chill and sunlight streaming through her window, a headache brewing behind her eyes. It takes her a second to remember she hadn't come home alone last night, eyes screwed shut before braving the light once more to confirm that Santana had indeed left.
Unsurprised, but disappointed nonetheless, Rachel sighs as she reaches across the expanse of her bed, flashes of the night before playing out before her eyes. To think the only remnant of Santana was the scent of her on her sheets and aching warmth between her legs. The longer she was lost in the memories, the less bearable the ache became.
Rolling onto her back, she slid her hand south with thoughts of dark eyes, full lips, and silky words. Rachel didn't make a habit of lying in, but today she could make an exception.
Only when she finally decided to stretch out her sore muscles and have something to eat did she find Kurt in the kitchen sipping from her favourite mug.
"Good morning, sunshine," he chirps, something in his tone making her eye him warily.
"Morning," she smiled.
"Have fun last night?"
"I did," she replies, busying herself with making breakfast to hide the impending burn in her cheeks.
"I thought you might have. I folded your clothes and left them on the couch."
Shit. She'd forgotten.
Forgetting the breakfast, she turned to him, apology in her voice, "Nothing happened on the couch, Kurt. I swear."
He laughs lightly, "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're letting loose a little."
She smiled at that, leaning against the counter as she stood next to him. Holding out the mug to her, Kurt offered her a sip of his tea.
"No, thank you."
"Are you going to see her again?"
"I don't think so," she began and then suddenly realised, "Her?"
"Yeah, I saw her this morning. For your first rendezvous with a woman, I don't think you did half bad." She rolled her eyes and he laughed once more. "She was in a rush, left you this though," he continued, pushing an old takeout menu towards her.
In the top left corner, 'CALL ME' was written out with a number scrawled below.
"By the look on your face, I'll take that as a yes?"
"Maybe," she shrugged, folding the menu neatly before tucking it into her pocket.
Because what she really meant by that was hopefully.