Hello again people : ) I did have most of this written a few days ago, but I've repeatedly been tweaking it. Still not 100% happy but if I keep reading it and tweaking it, then I'll lose my mojo, so I thought I'd better just post it so that I don't burn my inspiration out. Thanks for the reviews and all of the love! I really appreciate it.
To TheThreadWontCut, lmfao!
To Nayalove, i like the idea of them stealing some money and all running off together. I may just end the story like that lol.
To Pati1993, thanks for the love. I actually don't think i'm that good of a writer. Sometimes I write, or describe things, in a really convoluted way, and then i'll read another story, where the author has managed to describe the exact same thing in a simpler more precise way, without losing any impact. But thank you for the compliment :D
I had no idea how long it had taken to get to Twenty-Fifth Street; I just knew that we were now there - and boy did I know that I was no longer amongst the elite.
The street was sloped quite steeply, making the row of cars that were parked ahead, in the near distance, seem like they were falling off the face of the earth. Old newspaper pages, discarded candy wrappers, and polluted grit blew around the pavement. Crumbling houses, which were either boarded up or plagued with broken windows, lined either side of the road. The place, quite simply, was a dump, and the actual shelter itself followed such the trend.
"This place is uninhabitable," I murmured aloud, staring out of the windshield at the drab scenery.
"Not everybody's as fortunate as we are," Brittany said, looking across at me with eyes that were glazed with something I couldn't quite decipher. She blinked and then nodded at my head. "Take those off, and when you get into the kitchen, you're going to wash your hands before you touch anything."
I'd rather enjoyed having Brittany's musky honey scent surround me whilst driving. It was a scent that was just as enthralling as the woman behind it. There had been fleeting moments when I would forget that I was wearing her underwear on my head, and then I would breath, and the aroma would ghost over my taste buds and frolic in my nostrils. I didn't want that to end.
"You mean to tell me that I don't get to wear these inside?" I attempted to tease.
Brittany snapped her fingers one good loud time. "Panties! Take them off!"
I drew in one last inconspicuous whiff of the pink lace material, before dragging them off and making to stuff them into my bra through the sleeveless arm of my dress.
"Who said you were keeping them? Hand them over, and whilst you're at it, show me that you have the perfume with you."
With a petulant huff I put the panties in Brittany's lap, and then flattened my fingers to my right breast, the outline of the small vial that was living in my bra protruding with prominence.
"Good. Now when we get out of the car, stay close behind me."
"Somebody's probably gonna try to steal my God damn car," I grumbled, glancing around the street with disgust.
Brittany popped open the passenger door and stepped out. "Well then you'll just buy a new one. Quick! Out of the car." She hurried me along with another two snaps of those fingers.
I was actually going to do this.
I was actually going to set foot inside of a homeless shelter for the sake of some pussy.
At this point I couldn't really label my compliance as anything other than whipped.
Opening my own door and stepping out, I felt the urge to grab a handful of my dress and stifle the material over my nose and mouth. I was reluctant to breathe the air for fear that it would do damage to my insides. The place was a dump with a capital D.
I followed close behind Brittany's strides with my arms fastened across my chest in one final act of defiance.
She led me through the shelter's initial double doors and immediately turned a right corner, which took us into a wide hallway with stark cream walls. There was the chrome shimmer of an elevator door to the left. It was about the most glamorous thing in this dump, and even that had multiple scribblings of 'Enzo was heeree!' on it.
I puffed loose a sigh and dragged my feet, which caused Brittany to throw a somewhat stern look over her shoulder, before she led me past a wall that boasted paintings which looked like children had created them.
Her feet maneuvered the floors with undeniable certainty, leading me to believe that she knew perfectly well where she was going.
It caused me to question just how much time she'd spent in this place.
There was a man, dressed in white slacks and a navy blue T-shirt, just coming out of the door directly ahead. His greyish-green eyes flickered up at the piddling of mine and Brittany's footsteps.
"Oh, heeey Britt," he smiled, broad and familiar, as he stepped forward and encircled Brittany within his arms.
"Hey Taylon," she chirped, rubbing her hand up and down his back a few times, before parting out of the embrace. "You look hot in navy blue," she winked, sexy as anything.
I watched astutely, completely fascinated with seeing her interact with another person.
Taylon bowed his head at the compliment and grinned as if he thought he shouldn't, before waving it off to the side in partial blush. "Thanks."
"So how are things?"
"This place has been crazy! Linda's been sick, so I've…" Taylon's motor-mouth halted the moment that his eyes skated through the air and settled on me, his face morphing into a battle between frown and hesitant smile.
Brittany stepped aside a little bit, affording her friend a better view.
"Santana Lopez," he gushed, placing a startled hand to his chest. "How, how nice of you to stop by here." With a smile that looked as though it would begin to ache after a while, he slowly shook his head whilst he regarded my presence, blinking over and over again as if refusing to believe his own eyes.
Brittany suddenly slid her strong arm around my shoulders and cuddled me into her, tight and possessive. "Yeah, she's gonna be a sweetie and help out in the kitchen today," she told him, smiling almost mocking satisfaction at the side of my face.
It was difficult to react with her breath tickling my cheek and her scent flooring my senses.
Still pleasantly awed, Taylon jutted his thumb to his right and chirped, "well I'm just on my way to the kitchen area too. We can walk together."
I smiled, jaunting my fist through the air with mock enthusiasm.
As we sauntered down the hallways, I noticed a stocky black man crouching down to the floor, sweeping crumbs into a dustpan. There was something interesting about him; his face wore the story of a hard life.
"Oh, that's just Carl," Taylon suddenly piped up, having noticed me staring. "Chores are always on the agenda in a shelter this size. There's no such thing as too much help – which prompts me to ask you, Santana. What encouraged your decision to come here?"
"I lost a bet," I respond flatly.
His feet slowed, and all of the glee that had punctuated his features seconds ago gradually began to drain from his face.
"I'm kidding," I said, just as flatly.
Brittany threw me a look of stern admonishment, not caring to contradict the light and friendly image that Taylon appeared to hold of her. "It's not a joke if I'm not laughing," she said, her eyes narrowed in a cutting glare.
I felt impetuous now that Brittany and I had company, so I shrugged, "yeah, well I thought it was funny."
"It wasn't. I suggest you put a cap on that smart mouth of yours from here on out," she finalized.
Our exchange inspired an awkward chuckle from Taylon. In partial frown, he scratched the side of his head and resumed an even-paced gait ahead of us.
Brittany placed her hand to my lower back and pushed me along after him, her warden-like stride following closely behind mine. "Behave, or we're gonna have a big problem," she told my ear.
The warm breathy threat caused me to clench my thighs.
"Hey Santana," Taylon began, slowing to fall into step beside me, "do you, uhh, mind if I get a photo of you helping out in the kitchen? The Daily Chronicle newspaper is writing an article about Mission of Hope..." He suddenly sighed. "I guess what I'm really asking is: can I take your photo and have them use it to go alongside the article? I think it'll really inspire others to come and help out."
Still seemingly displeased with my previous behavior, Brittany gave me cold eyes when I glanced at her, and in that moment I filed away this entire situation as one of the most peculiar situations that I had ever been in.
"Santana?" Taylon hesitantly asked, "would that be ok, or would you prefer that I -"
"Uhh yeah, sure," I agreed, if only to shut him up.
Besides, having my name in print for something noble had to be good for my public image, right?
The three of us soon reached the kitchen area. It was a rough-and-ready affair of off-white tiled walls, some cracked and others stained, and despite the food smelling ok, I couldn't believe that people actually ate out of this place. But whatever. At least I didn't have to.
"I'll just go get my camera," Taylon said, scurrying off through some brown tattered double doors, doors that appeared to lead out to a dining room.
Just like Brittany had instructed, I approached the small silver sink over in the corner and twisted the faucet on. The water gushed freezing cold over my fingers, but everything warmed up when a body pressed hard into my back.
Assertive pale hands reached across mine and hovered beneath the automatic hand wash dispenser.
My eyes momentarily fluttered at the feeling of having my ass cushioned snug in Brittany's warm hips. It was a perfect fit, and from the firm pressure that she was applying, I was certain that she would know how to fuck me - the way that I liked to be fucked - with a strap-on.
With the small glob of transparent hand wash that fell to her palm, she abruptly snatched my hands up into her own, sensuously lathering the sweet-smelling soap around every nook-and-cranny of caramel and vanilla flesh in sight.
She must have been amazing in bed. She was ridiculously thorough and, in my experience, a thorough lover always made for an amazing one.
After she'd rinsed off our hands and turned the faucet off, Brittany stepped away from me and tugged two adjoining strips of kitchen roll from the reel sitting on the work counter.
Just then five other volunteers filtered inside, each one sporting an apron and blue latex gloves. A few of their gazes lingered in my direction as they breezed by to carry out their intended tasks, recognition swirling in their stares. But after a couple of seconds, they didn't really seem to care that they were in my presence, each one of them continuing to make trips to and from the dining room, blasé.
"Have you seen the amount of people queuing up out there?" one of them – a passing flustered-faced woman – called over at Brittany.
"I'm never surprised anymore," Brittany answered her, as she methodically rubbed the thin kitchen roll around her dripping hands, finger by finger.
A moment later she pressed her foot to a green bin's pedal, and tossed the used crumpled paper away, before tearing off two more sheets and handing them to me. "Be quick," she added.
I took them and dragged them around my hands, whilst watching Brittany breeze from one cupboard to the next. Her strides were so strong - even the small ones. I found myself really attracted to that. I'd never been attracted to anybody's walk before.
Was that even a thing?
She finally settled at a partially open draw. "Come here," she said firmly, beckoning me over without once affording me her gaze.
Just as Brittany had moments ago, I pressed my foot to the bin's pedal and dropped my damp ball of scrunched up kitchen roll into its dark mouth. My hands still tingled from where her soft fingertips had lathered them with soap, the both of them swaying at my sides with my gait towards her.
"You're going to take these knives and forks," she instructed, pointing into the draw, "and go lay the tables out there." She nodded towards the doors that I knew led out to the dining room.
I sighed.
From what I'd seen and heard, there were a lot of strays just beyond that door. This was the first time, since the Eden debacle, that I'd really been out in public without wearing some sort of disguise but, even so, I was in a homeless shelter right? It wasn't like the strays out there had the spare money to pick up celebrity gossip magazines, was it?
Brittany suddenly reached up, pulling open the door to the cupboard just above her head. She poked her hand around inside with a focused squint of those complex cat-like eyes, and when her elongated arm retreated, a blue net was dangling before my eyes. "Here," she said, whilst dusting down the counter of a few crumbs. "Make sure that all of your hair is tucked inside."
I deadpanned. "A hairnet? Are you kidding me?"
Brittany stopped dusting and looked me square in the face. "Put it on," she said with sinister calm.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the hairnet. "I cannot actually believe that I'm doing this," I grumbled, shaking the net out. "All I ever wanted was to book an appointment with you, or maybe go on a date or -"
"You aren't even disciplined enough to lay a few tables for the homeless," Brittany interrupted, unimpressed. "What makes you think that I'd go on a date with you?"
"Whatever," I spat, an irritated quickness to my tone. I was sick of her challenging my character. I could be all of the things that she'd listed in my car earlier - and then some!
"Whatever is right, princess."
In one swift disgruntled motion, I tugged the hairnet down over my head, feeling like that big burly lunch lady; every school had one.
Brittany grabbed a fistful of my dress and jerked me even closer to her, tucking my loose hairs up into the net. "Smile," she encouraged, though I didn't feel that she was giving me a choice. "Those people out there have enough to distress over without worrying about your sour face too."
She pulled away and stood before me with a raised eyebrow and taught pink lips, waiting for my sullen face to crack.
I sighed, and then forced my facial muscles into an unnatural smile that fell about a nanosecond later.
"If you offend anyone, you'll be punished. Be kind and respectful at all times, or you and I are gonna have a problem."
She didn't even know those bums out there, but it seemed really important to her that I be kind to them. I truly didn't get it. What had those people ever done besides leach off of society?
Whatever though. I could be kind if it meant that Brittany would fuck me, or if it meant that I got to keep those pink lace panties.
Snatching the tray of cutlery from the draw, I headed for the brown double doors, pushing through them with quite a bit of difficulty due to how stiff they were.
Once in the dining room, my eyes darted past a long line of queuing strays towards an elderly woman. She was sat quietly on one of many chairs that leaned against the wall. Her vacant stare into thin air personified the stereotypical image that I'd always associated with the homeless.
There were men too – your typical matted-haired, rough-skinned, bloodshot-red-eyed hobos.
I walked past a group of them to get to the nearest table, totally expecting to be subjected to perverted comments and leers, but most were either just stood or sat there staring into space, like they were watching a screen that the rest of us weren't privy to.
That, in and of itself, made me want to flee.
Rounding the table, I collected one knife and fork at a time, and placed them per seat. Somebody had already laid out the spoons, thank God.
There was a Hispanic woman sat at the next table I came to, her arms cradling a small whimpering boy, her knee attempting to bounce comfort into him.
"Shh mijo, food will be here soon," she reassured the boy, who had his entire face hidden in her neck.
She glanced up at me with dreary yellowing eyes, and I instantly stopped staring, somehow feeling like an intruder.
"Uhh, sorry," I offered, bending my face to a placating smile as I moved around her to set the table.
The energy of hopelessness and despair was so thick, that images of me taking one of the knives from my tray and going at my wrist with it, flickered in my head.
Feeling extremely uncomfortable, I laid the other six tables as fast as I could, hoping to leave as fast as possible. This was no place for me.
I was getting ready to head back to the kitchen area, when I caught sight of a girl just pulling up a seat at the first table that I'd laid.
"Sugar?" I muttered to myself.
Surely that girl was not Sugar Motta.
Surely.
I redirected my step, my frown growing with every nearing stride.
"Sugar?" I tentatively asked, now stood over the girl.
When she looked up at me through sunken brown eyes and a face as drawn as curtains, I gasped, "what the fuck are you doing here?"
Sugar pulled the tattered brown shawl that lay over her shoulders around her thin body, and bowed her head in shame.
I hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but I was floored by the sight of her. The last time I saw Sugar Motta, she was dressed in an all-black Prada blazer and skirt at her parent's funeral. She had arrived in a limo and left in one.
Now she was waiting around in this dump for strangers to bring her rubbery lasagna?
Like a zombie, I lowered to the seat beside hers, noting that her once shiny hair was now almost stagnant with secreted scalp oils. "What happened?" I probed, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. "Last thing I heard, you moved to Spain."
"I couldn't run the business alone," she replied quietly, keeping her head bowed through a nasty cough. She rubbed her thin hand up and down her chest, coughing one more time before swallowing deeply. "After my parent's died, everything fell apart. Those who claimed to want to help screwed me over and…" She shrugged, attempting to lighten everything with a lackluster chuckle. "Here I am. Nobody gives a crap about you when your bank account's full of zeros."
Before I could respond, Sugar's stomach lurched and gurgled thunderously, snapping my lips shut.
Was she really that hungry?
"Sugar, I-I don't know what to… say," I stammered out, lifting a hand to run it through my hair – only to feel the wiry material of the hairnet.
Sugar finally looked up into my face, though not with the confidence that I used to know her for. "What are you doing here anyway, Santana? Did you do something that landed you community service?"
Despite the situation, I couldn't help but crack a small smile at her dig. "I was never that bad."
"You totally were, and if I had the money I'd bet that you're still as bad."
I gestured over my shoulder at the brown double doors. "A friend, uhh, forced me to come help out here."
"I'm guessing she's a fifty on a hot scale of one to ten then," Sugar quipped, with all of the enthusiasm that she could muster under the circumstances.
"What scale? The scale ran away because of how intimidated it was when presented with her beauty."
Our back and forth reminded me of old times, except it wasn't like old times, because when I left, Sugar would remain here, in this dump.
It was depressing as hell - especially when I considered the fact that I could just as easily be in a similar situation if my parents were to die.
"I probably know your friend if she's a regular volunteer," said Sugar, the implied 'because I've been coming here for a while,' ringing loud and clear between us.
I sighed heavily. "Her name's Brittany."
"Ohh," Sugar wearily drawled, patting her chest a couple of times, "you mean the quirky tall blonde with the unique blue eyes? She's such a sweetheart; you picked well, for a change."
For a moment, I sat there wondering whether or not I would ever get to, face-to-face, meet the Brittany who blew raspberries, or the Brittany who hugged herself against the cold, or the Brittany who would sit and talk to me about Molly and those fucked up Fabray's. I wanted to meet that person. Like, I really wanted to. It was crazy.
Nevertheless, I nodded and airily responded, "yeah, the quirky tall blonde with the unique blue eyes."
Sugar suddenly glanced towards the kitchen area. "Is the food nearly ready?" she asked, trying not to sound like she was starving, but her voice was thin and full of desperation's croak.
That was depressing as hell too.
I couldn't take it, so I opted for the easy getaway. "Uhh, I'll just go – I'll go hurry them along."
"Thanks Santana," Sugar tryingly chirped.
I pushed through those brown double doors to find Brittany and two others dishing portions of rice – amongst other hot foods – into large silver containers.
She now wore a hairnet, an apron, and gloves too.
"Leave the tray on the side," she instructed, somehow sensing my return.
With pleasure, I slung the tray in my hand onto the work counter, hoping never to come across it in life ever again.
"I don't know how often you come here and…" I gestured around frantically, "do all of this, but how on earth do you have the wherewithal to keep coming back? It's like a God damn funeral out there." My voice flickered in and out of strength on that last word, but I fiercely bullied myself into holding it together.
I couldn't cry.
I was Santana Lopez; I didn't cry over some bullshit.
Brittany left the spoon standing up in the rice, and spoke something quiet to the two other volunteers, who then promptly left the room, but not before both issuing me sympathetic smiles.
I rolled my eyes away from Brittany's, chewing one side of my bottom lip as I peered into the bland pattern of the work counter, and willed the ache in my eyes away.
"Why are you upset Santana?"
I rolled my now blurring eyes back to hers and waved her off. "I'm not. I don't get upset – I get angry. I'm not upset."
Brittany folded her arms and blinked. "Don't lie to me. You suck at it, remember?"
I stared at her, not knowing how to take the change in her demeanor. I couldn't place it. She was still keeping me locked out of her emotions with that infuriating vacant expression, but her voice? Her voice was softer.
She covered the distance separating us, and fleetingly stroked her index finger down my nose, repeating, "why are you upset?"
Was it normal for such a chaste touch to send electrical currents tearing up and down your spine? So chaste, yet perhaps infinitely more intimate than the heated kisses we'd shared in the past.
I sighed, briefly rubbing my palm over my face. "I'm not upset. I just saw someone I used to know out there." Still floored by the fact that Sugar was homeless, I shook my head to myself. "I can't believe she's here. Maybe I should've offered to let her crash at my place, or something, or -"
"Thoughtfulness beautifies you," Brittany cut in, regarding me with what I could only describe as vague flickers of warmth. "Now that we've proven that you're capable of thoughtfulness, I expect to see more of it in the future."
Warmth beautifies you, I thought, and I'd love to see more of it from you in the future.
With her looking at me like she was, that weightless feeling triggered, like unseen hands had lifted my entire body, and it sort of made me feel invincible. "You have the most..." My unsuccessful quest for a word that would do her eyes justice prompted a frustrated growl out of me. "Ugh! They're just..."
Her one eyebrow simply rose in question.
If I'd thought it to be allowed, I would've snatched her neck in both hands and kissed her lips purple and blue.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Taylon suddenly appeared. He smiled as he approached, waving a camera through the air as if he wanted to remind me about the photo I'd promised, without seeming pest-like.
Brittany stepped away from me and went back to the rice.
I stared after her like a longing puppy.
"Santana," Taylon pestered, "could you look this way a second please?"
I tore my gaze away from Brittany, and settled it on the camera that was poised before Taylon's one eye.
With a quick click and a flash, he lowered the camera and gushed, "thank you so much."
I nodded.
Five minutes later, the other volunteers began to dish dinner up and serve it.
I remained in the kitchen, washing the few dishes that Taylon had sheepishly asked me to, whilst Brittany dried them off with a towel beside me.
But for the sporadic interruptions from a few of the others, silence hissed dominantly around us, affording me the time to think.
Brittany had said that thoughtfulness beautified me, and then we'd had some sort of moment. I didn't know how to take it to be honest. I just knew that something - no matter how slight - had shifted between us; I could feel it.
"When you get done washing that cup, dry your hands, remove the hairnet, and go wait for me in your car."
"Uhh, O-Ok."
My feet retraced the straight-forward route to the exit and, before I knew it, I was sat in my Mercedes mulling over the day's events.
I sighed heavily.
I was going to need a glass of whiskey, or something, when I got home. That much was certain.
Shortly after, Brittany tugged open the passenger door and slipped in next to me, the entire car rocking slightly. "Drive to your place," she said.
"I can take you home if you tell me how to get there," I offered, hoping that the shift I'd sensed between us meant that she would let me in a little.
"Drive to your place," she reiterated, this time a little more firm.
I guess not, I thought, starting up the engine with a sigh.
The journey home seemed a lot shorter than the journey to the Mission of Hope shelter.
I slowed my car on my drive and powered down the engine, looking to my right at Brittany, who had just slipped her phone back into her jean's pocket.
In her own time she returned my gaze, confidently holding it without as much as a blink.
We sat there like that for what felt like a really long time, my eyes squinting and growing with my efforts to figure out who I was looking at.
"I want to go on a date," I blurted.
"As long as I don't have you under any instruction at the time, you're free to go on as many dates as you want."
I rolled my eyes, sighing out, "I mean with you. I wanna go on a date with... you."
Brittany scoffed out a fluttering chuckle and shook her head to herself, though she didn't comment.
"What? You touched my nose and said that I was beautiful," I promptly reminded her. "I don't see what the problem is."
"Classic case of people hearing what they want to hear," was all she responded, and I suspected that she wasn't even talking to me, but to herself.
Fuck, why was she making this so difficult?
My lungs emptied with a deep sigh. "This isn't about me trying to fuck you," I quietly confessed, opting to add no more in the hopes that she would just get how I felt, without me having to explain. "I'm sorry I was such a fucktard to you the night we met too. I wouldn't want anyone to talk to me like that, so... yeah, I'm sorry."
Brittany simply nodded, the lack of story in her eyes causing me to wonder whether or not my words were actually reaching her ears. The urge to get annoyed, and wave my hand before her face whilst yelling, 'Is anybody in there?' was strong.
I ended up throwing just one finger up instead. "Just one date, and if you hate it then you can whip the hell out of me, or force me to eat cow balls, or whatever." I shrugged.
"If I wanted to whip you, or force you to eat cow balls, I would, regardless," she let it be known, watching me with an intensity that I couldn't pick apart.
"But, that's not a straight up no then, right?"
"Not a yes either, smart-ass," she countered, unamused.
"Come on, I'll show you how thoughtful I can be in a date setting," I drawled, as though coaxing a child into a dentist's chair with the bribe of sweets later - not that a date with me was anything like a trip to the dentist.
Far from it.
Brittany would discover that if she just said yes.
Her lips parted, and hope fluttered broadly in my chest...
"You'll show me how thoughtful you can be in other ways."
I slowly leaned forward, my forehead thudding the steering wheel as I puffed out my cheeks with the release of a sigh. "You're stressing me out," I muttered.
The warm nearing hum of a car rippled over and through my senses just then. I leaned back and glanced up into the rear-view mirror, which was already holding all of Brittany's focus.
The small silver surface reflected an image of a never-ending black limousine parking up just behind.
I frowned.
"Are you expecting anybody?" Brittany asked, her eyes remaining fixed on the mirror through every word.
"No," I said, still deep in frown.
The only thing that I could think of was that Rachel had sent Larry to pick me up for something family related - but then she hadn't called or anything, so...
Suddenly the limousine's low hum ceased, its wheels rolling to a halt. The far back door popped open, and a pale female foot - heeled in a classic black stiletto - hit the pavement, before the other joined it.
"Shit," I murmured...
Once having slammed the limousine door closed, Quinn Fabray tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and peered anxiously at my front door.