(Insert bullshit explanation as to why I haven't written in 8 months here)
I don't very well like this chapter, but I haven't written in a while so there isn't much to be expected. However, the next one will contain all the smutty goodness your heart desires, so stay tuned. smooches.
((I still own nothing))
It had been about three months since the incident in her bedroom, and Santana hadn't spoken to Quinn once, outside of the usual snarky remarks that she couldn't very well stop from coming out of her mouth. Not that Quinn was making much of an effort to have a conversation with her "best friend."
Honestly Quinn didn't want to speak to Santana. She was terrified of what she was feeling inside, and she knew if she opened her stupid mouth it wouldn't be inside anymore. It would be outside for San to know, and she couldn't handle that. Even though Britt was with Artie now, everyone knew Santana was in love with her. It was obvious, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could never compete with Britt.
Santana was fighting very similar inner demons. Quinn had been on her mind day and night, frustrating her to the point of tears on several occasions. She was avoiding her like the plague, and even when she was with Britt she often found her mind drifting back to the head cheerleader, and Brittany was starting to notice.
So when Santana showed up to the same house party as Quinn it was purely by accident. Puck had handed out the invites to the entire cheerleading squad, and seeing as Quinn hadn't come out of the solitary confinement of her bedroom for the entirety of junior year so far, San figured she was safe. But the second she stepped into the over-populated frat house it was like she could feel the other girls' presence.
She fought off the urge to run and immediately pushed her way through the middle of the room and into the kitchen, ignoring the blonde she noticed sitting on the couch with some dopey looking college kid. She recognized a couple of the popular crew from Mckinley, but it was mostly older kids with mustaches and shit. She made her way to some guys playing beer pong on the patio and pledged not to leave the table until she was plastered.
Two hours later she found herself staring across the room at Q, who had moved from the couch to the dance floor with the guy she had been flirting with earlier. She knew she was glaring, and she knew Quinn had noticed because suddenly her dancing had gone from completely PG to X-rated, like something straight out of the porno's her brother kept hidden under his bed. And it was irritating the fuck out of her.
So of course, being drunk and being Santana, she couldn't just stand around and watch. Quinn wasn't attracted to this dude. She couldn't be. He was a BOY for Christ sakes; last time she had sex with one of those is sucked 9 months out of her life and practically forced her into bed with Latina to verify that she actually enjoyed sex. So what the fuck was she doing?
Quinn was across the room wondering the same thing. She felt the boy behind her grinding his boner into her ass and it made her want to vomit, but she put on the sexiest face possible. It was all for show. She'd come to get drunk and forget about the girl across the room, but Santana was making it close to impossible with the way she was staring at her. She had this look, this dark territorial look in her eyes, and the longer she stared the angrier she got. And it was turning Quinn on to no end.
Quinn was so caught up with staring back at Santana she almost forgot about the guy she was dancing on. That is, until he suddenly yanked her around and shoved his tongue down her throat, which really did almost make her vomit. Then as quickly as it started it was over, and the dude was on the floor holding his balls in his hands and groaning in pain.
"In case you haven't noticed, asshole, she's not into you." Santana was saying, kneeling down so she was face to face with the poor bastard. "If she was she wouldn't have been staring at me the whole night." Quinn stood frozen, watching the whole seen play out with her jaw practically touching the floor.
"Bitch." He grumbled as Santana grabbed Quinn's arm and yanked her out of the house. It took all the way until they got out the house and halfway to the car for Quinn to yank herself out of San's grip. "What the actual fuck?" She yelled, quite a bit late. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Oh come on Q, you know you weren't into him!" Santana yelled back.
"And what business of it is yours? Huh Santana?" She said crossing her arms. "You haven't talked to me in how long? Since when do you care what or WHO I do with my life?"
Santana just stared at Quinn, with no witty response coming to her mind. She felt the tear's welling in her eyes and turned on her heels, stomping towards her car.
"Oh no you don't." Quinn said, as Santana fumbled with her keys. "You're not driving."
"Yes the fuck I am." She grumbled.
"You're drunk." She yanked the keys from San's hand. "Just come over to my house for the night."
"Why Q? I thought we didn't care about each other. Isn't that what you just said?"
Quinn ignored her, practically dragging her to her own car on the other side of the street as the brunette cursed and screamed obscenities at her from behind.
Luckily Quinn had only drank half a beer and wasn't nearly as messed up as Santana. As soon as the Latina got in the car she burst into tears. Santana had always been a weepy drunk, but this was a whole new beast. She had her knees to her chest, hyperventilating and doing this screaming/wheezing thing that would have been more concerning if Quinn hadn't seen her like this a million times before.
Thankfully they were only about 20 minutes from Quinn's house. And thankfully by the time they got there San had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. Quinn helped her in, warning her to stay quiet in case her mother had come home early from her Christian singles retreat.
"Are you gonna puke?" Quinn asked as she dumped Santana into bed. She shook her head in response. "Well okay... let me get you some- oof" and just like that, the blonde found herself being yanked for the third time that night. She landed next to her friend on the soft mattress, and before she could react she was being climbed on top of.
Santana was all over her, kissing her hard and shoving her hands under the red sweater she was wearing. Before she could stop herself Quinn was kissing her back, tangling her fingers in dark hair and pulling San even closer. This was wrong, so fucking wrong. And Quinn couldn't seem to make herself care.
Quinn groaned as she felt her sweater being yanked off, shortly followed by her bra. Santana was kissing her way down the expanse of her pale neck, making sure to run her tongue over Quinn's prominent collar bones. The blonde shivered under her, gasping aloud when Santana's little pink tongue found its way to her puffy nipples. Santana tweaked one with her soft fingertips while sucking gently on the other.
Quinn was lost in sensory overload, feeling the wetness between her thighs soak her panties. She spread her legs, letting Santana's hips fall in between. San immediately responded to her, running the hand that wasn't occupied down between their heated bodies. She cupped Quinn's warm pussy through her tight jeans, feeling the hardened clit even through two layers of clothing. Quinn grinded herself into the Latinas insistent palm, practically begging to be fucked.
And then the guilt washed over her. Santana hadn't talked to her in over 3 months, and now she was trying to fuck her senseless. She didn't want her. She was drunk. And just like that she was shoving the girl off of her, stumbling out of the bed.
"What the fuck Q?" Santana asked, agitated.
"I can't…" Quinn answered, grabbing her sweater off the floor.
"You've never had a problem with it before." She responded snidely.
"You're DRUNK San! You're fucking trashed." Q said, throwing her arms up. "You haven't spoken to me in how long? I don't know what you want from me tonight, but I'm not giving it to you without and explanation."
"What the fuck do you want me to explain Q? Yeah, I'm drunk, and I want to fuck you. And seeing you with that guy made me so fucking mad. You're not his."
"Yeah, well, guess what San?" she responded, grabbing a pillow from off the bed and heading out the door. "I'm not yours either. I'll be on the couch if you need me."
Quinn slammed the door behind her, leaving Santana alone in her dark bedroom. "Coja mi vida." She groaned to herself. Santana was always the one leaving. She had never known what it felt like to be left.