A/N: Surprise. I wrote this a while back for fun and was gonna keep it to myself. It only feels fitting I post this on the 10th anniversary of Quinntana Sex Day. Reviews are very appreciated. Enjoy!
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It starts with a look. An appreciative one that sweeps down Santana's tight, crimson dress and signature designer pumps. It lingers on her self-proclaimed rambunctious twins. Then trails her feminine curves, deliberately pausing at her ass. Santana's ears are warm by the time Quinn's eyes connect back up to her own.
She swallows and brushes the look off. Tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She leans back against the makeshift bar and takes a sip of the cheap champagne from the bartender. The alcohol fizzles down her throat and she exhales a sigh of relief. Through her peripheral, Quinn does the same and mirrors her stance.
They're talking and scanning the floor full of their former New Directions members and other middle-aged randos. Nothing they say is beyond the surface level of small talk and gossip. Some topics are safe, some wary, but none of them uncomfortable. Even though mentioning her bubbly ex-girlfriend dancing with Guppy Lips Ken Doll leaves a bitter taste in Santana's mouth. She's too busy avoiding Quinn's glazed eyes staring at her profile to agonize over what Brittany does anymore.
They clink their glasses and cheers to being the only flawless ones in this room full of love-sick fools. They get more alcohol into their system and suddenly Santana feels warm and chatty. It's a distraction from the sourness she gets from seeing Brittany on Sam's arm. It's also a lull from her existential crisis about being back in Lima so soon after dropping out of Louisville and uprooting her life to Bushwick.
Quinn's company is more welcomed than Santana likes to admit.
They alternate between haphazard swaying to disco hits, giggling at nothing at all, and playing with each other's jewelry. At one point, Santana removes her gaudy gold necklace and puts it around Quinn's neck instead. She leans in to sweep her friend's shoulder-length blonde hair over the accessory and catches a whiff of fruity vanilla. Santana gets an urge to press her nose into the source of the scent before she realizes how close their faces are. Quinn turns her head and they make eye contact. A dopey grin stretches across Quinn's pretty face. Santana's mesmerized for the briefest of moments. Then she leans back. Looks away to fix her bracelet which has slipped up her arm.
Then it happens again. Those conspicuous hazel eyes admire her for a moment longer than what's deemed a friendly appraisal. Santana's not a fool. She knows when she's on the receiving end of a heated look of arousal. She just didn't expect it to come from Quinn. Her oldest friend—and the first girl she's ever crushed on, if she's being honest.
The song ends and Finn and Rachel hijack the stage. Before Santana can comment about choir room flashbacks, Quinn's hand slips into hers and is pulling her toward the center of the dancefloor.
Santana doesn't protest. It feels nice. To feel like she belongs somewhere. With someone.
Inevitably, everyone pairs up for the Bob Seger number Finnocence and Berry chose. Tina's arms loop around Mike's neck, Sam curls an arm around Brittany's waist, and Kurt and Blaine stick together as if they've never broken up before. Even Artie rolls happily alongside Ms. Pillsbury's niece.
Being in such an intimate setting with Quinn should feel awkward, but it doesn't. Instead, Santana feels a jitter of nervousness when Quinn's body presses into her own and their arms wrap around each other. They sway to the romantic music and the entire time, Santana tries to remain as still as possible as Quinn takes the lead. Butterflies are rolling in Santana's stomach and she's afraid she might chase them away by breathing too loud. The alcohol. It's seeping into her veins and doing strange things.
"I've never slow danced with a girl before." Quinn's voice is thoughtful, sweet like honey against Santana's ear. Santana pulls back just enough for their eyes to meet. A coy smile appears on Quinn's face. "I like it."
Quinn's eyes are lighter than usual. Sparkling green. Fucking butterflies. Instead of replying, Santana returns an amused, questioning look before pressing their cheeks together again. They continue to sway, closer than before.
It's exhilarating. Intoxicating. It's the only time Santana wishes Rachel and Finn would keep their mouths open so the song doesn't have to end.
Somewhere between the last verse and chorus, Quinn sings the words softly against her ear. Santana finds herself singing back.
The piano draws the song to a close and before Santana knows it, Quinn murmurs something and is pulling her out of the ballroom. They're giggling and bumping into each other as they stumble in the direction of the suites. The entire way there, they're touching in some capacity and it feels like they're walking on clouds. To unsuspecting strangers, it must look like two besties retreating after a fun girl's night. The alcohol in Santana's system almost agrees—if not for the pair of pillowy soft lips landing on her own as soon as they're inside Quinn's hotel room.
Santana sucks a gasp and Quinn's lips freeze against hers. Then they rip away. Quinn's eyes are wide, boring into Santana's, her expression is unreadable. Quinn bites her lower lip as if she's about to apologize and Santana's inhibition snaps. She surges forward and connects their mouths again.
It's rough, and electrifying, and Santana can't get enough. They're blindly moving into the room and she pushes Quinn onto the bed, falling on top of her. Their tongues are heady and wild, mouths nipping and sucking, until they're desperate and panting.
The room blistering hot. Quinn is wiggling to remove her sequin jacket from under her. Santana's hands fumble to help her, but she's too selfish to break the kiss to actually do it properly. Finally, Quinn's legs hook around Santana's hips, and in a swift motion, she flips them and straddles Santana. She throws her jacket behind her and Santana takes the opportunity to attach her lips to the newly exposed skin of Quinn's neck and collarbone.
Quinn lets out a loud moan and tangles one hand in Santana's hair. Her other hand is searching for the zipper on Santana's dress. Santana's busy kissing and sucking on Quinn's throat, but she mimics the action and undoes Quinn's zipper first. The fabric of Quinn's dress peels off of Quinn's shoulders and is pooled at her waist by the time Quinn clumsily unzips Santana.
Santana smirks against the underside of Quinn's jaw. She feels the muscles there tense before her head is suddenly being yanked back. Quinn's eyes are dark and her lips are parted. Pink and swollen. She's fisting Santana's hair by her scalp. Santana hisses, but it doesn't actually hurt. The opposite actually.
"Shut up," Quinn mutters. She crashes their lips together again, muffling any chance for Santana to respond.
They wrestle while ripping the rest of their clothes off. The garments scatter around the room until they're left completely naked. Santana finds victory on top and she pulls back to look at Quinn with a hint of satisfaction. Quinn's hips are pinned against her own. They can feel each other's wetness. Santana hesitates because the sight of Quinn fanned out beneath her is wildly captivating. One of Quinn's hands sneaks down and grabs Santana's ass. Hard.
"What are you waiting for?" Quinn husks, grinding up ever so slightly. It's infuriating. Tantalizing. It feels too damn good.
Santana grits through her teeth, "Just wanted to make sure you haven't been scared away yet, Little Miss Yalie."
The grinding movement stops. Quinn's eyes soften and Santana sees emotion flicker across them. They stare at each other for a long moment. Nothing between their bare bodies. Every bit of Santana that was begging for friction before, simmers and goosebumps rise on her skin. Then, Quinn pulls her down by her neck until their noses are touching. "I'm sure."
Santana swallows and reciprocates with a small nod. Then, she kisses Quinn again. This time deliberate and meaningful. She feels Quinn's body relax under hers.
Her hand trails down Quinn's body, mapping and scratching along every inch of soft ivory skin. Making Quinn shudder every time she touches a sensitive spot. Finally, Santana reaches her destination. Quinn whimpers into her mouth as she traces her core. A warm rush fills Santana's stomach at the vulnerable position Quinn is allowing herself to be in. At how much trust Quinn is handing her in this moment. The arrogance that came from dominating her earlier is long gone. Santana feels special for being the one Quinn chose to take to bed tonight. Privileged even.
Santana props herself up with her elbow and watches Quinn's face as she circles her clit, but never entering her. Teasing her. She savors the groans and whimpers that slip out of Quinn's mouth. It's not until Quinn's eyes flutter open to meet hers that Santana pushes inside.
She commits to memory how fucking ethereal Quinn looks beneath her. Her blonde hair splayed stunningly on the plush bamboo sheets. The small gasps escaping her pretty lips when Santana bottoms out.
She builds the pace gradually. Pumping into Quinn slow and steady as her lips meet every bit of her soft, milky skin. Quinn's walls draw her deep inside. She feels each moan and whimper vibrate between them. Every bit of Quinn feels incredible. It's fucking addicting.
She revels in every little sound as she picks up the pace. Pressing and flicking the spot that inevitably sends Quinn falling apart beneath her. Quinn's shaking and clutching at her back as the air suspends. Santana bites down on Quinn's neck, finding her own release when their wet centers collide. Quinn moans even louder.
Their highs prolong each other's until Santana fully collapses onto Quinn. Panting and buzzing into the pillow under Quinn's head. The only sounds now are them catching their breaths. The air is hotter than ever before in the hotel room. Despite every muscle in her body disputing the movement, Santana rolls off. Grabbing a sheet, wrapping it around her chest as she moves toward the foot of the king bed.
They're looking at each other. The tiny smiles on their faces straddling between coy and smug. Their eye contact doesn't break as Quinn reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand and takes a sip.
Santana's openly smirking at how relaxed Quinn looks. She's undeterred when Quinn insinuates it was only a college experiment and one-time thing for her. To make Quinn Fabray unravel is an accomplishment in itself. So Santana brushes her words off. Quinn's a good actress, but Santana's not at all fooled by the way she made Quinn tremble beneath her moments ago.
So, she casually proposes a second round. Quinn sets down the water bottle with a smiling gleam in her eyes. Then, without another word, she's moving toward her. In that beguiling Quinn Fabray fashion. Santana's smirk only grows.
At the end of the night, Santana is more sober than she likes to admit. Quinn retreats from between her legs after their two-time thing, their limbs exerted to the point they can't do much more than tangle them together.
Santana's breathing starts to even and her eyes shut against her own will. She feels a featherlight pressure on her lips and then her cheek. The bed shifts as Quinn rolls off her and even in her sated state, Santana refuses to let her drift far. She reaches and tugs until Quinn's body is tucked against her side and she's holding her close.
Sleep starts to claim Santana's consciousness while Quinn's fingers play with her own under the covers. She squeezes and feels a gentle squeeze back. The faint smell of vanilla and sex surrounds her senses. A small, languid smile tugs on her lips. Santana allows herself to fall asleep with that smile on her face because the room is dark.
It's the best sleep she's had in months.
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