It had always been easy for Brittany to get lost in Santana. In her skin, in her eyes, in her touch.
Falling in love and lust with Santana was like being intoxicated, a kiss could make her loopy, a stroke of her hand could make her stumble, reducing Brittany into some kind of drunk and dizzy mess. It was wonderful.
It was everything and more. Passion was one thing that had never been lacking between them, but within the past couple of months things had taken a more intense turn. There was something thrilling about the way Santana seemed to be desperate for Brittany day and night, night and day. And Brittany, well, she was all too eager.
In the beginning anyway.
In the beginning it was fun, hot even. When Santana proposed a random lunch time quickie in the middle of the day, of course Brittany was more than happy and willing to drop everything and play hooky from class to give her girlfriend what she needed. When Santana wanted to get some at a dinner party at Rachel's place, Brittany was the one who found the master bedroom and pulled Santana in. When Santana tossed and turned in bed, distraught over an assignment for one of her classes, turned to Brittany, needing something to calm her nerves, well, Brittany did the only thing she could. She gave herself to Santana.
That was what she had always done. It's what always had felt natural and right and real. Whether it was fun and playful or quick and hot, getting off together was never simply about getting off, it was deeper than that. It was love. Intimacy. The ultimate means of communication. It was the language their bodies spoke as they slid against each other.
But over a period of time Brittany also couldn't help but notice that little by little the connection and the heat that had always existed between them felt like it was dimming. It was like something else was taking its place. Something that felt, well, hollow.
Brittany had begun to notice a recent pattern of things. She had realized that when the subject of school or the future came up Santana would change the subject and become suddenly amorous, almost as if she were trying to distract Brittany from asking any questions about her courses. Other times it was obvious that her intense and sudden need to take Brittany off to bed was due to her stress and frustration that she would bring home from her classes.
In those instances it was always rushed and a little sloppy, though Santana was never not tender and always, always careful. Even when it was chaos it was still Santana afterall.
But.
Before when they were together and Santana looked into her eyes, Brittany could always tell that in her deep and dreamy gaze, Santana was searching for Brittany. For that connection, for that spiritual and emotional thread connecting their hearts. Now though, every time Santana looked into her eyes in bed it almost seemed like Santana was searching for something else entirely.
Some kind of answer or release.
However by the end of their lovemaking when Santana moved away Brittany could always tell that whatever it was Santana had been searching for she had failed to find. Before New York and all of the pressures of adulthood happened to them it had been different. Once upon a time Santana used to stare into her eyes like Brittany was the most perfect, most precious thing to ever exist. Once upon a time Santana would insist on holding her and on being held. Once upon a time Santana would spend hours afterwards, tracing invisible shapes on Brittany's skin in a sort of wonderment. Her fingertips would explore Brittany's shoulder blades and arms and sides and every time it felt like Santana was completely and utterly captivated.
It was different now though. Now Brittany would usually just get a simple peck on the cheek or lips before Santana turned away and fell asleep.
It was the loneliest feeling Brittany thought, being six inches away from the love of her life but feeling like they were painfully, desperately drifting apart.
She still wasn't sure how she was going to bring it up. How would she even go about starting that conversation. ''Honey, I think we're having too much sex and it's starting to worry me''. Yeah she didn't see that going down very well. And even though she knew something somewhere was wrong and that Santana being so sexually needy was surely a sign of something, Brittany still could never bring herself to say no.
How could she. She was Brittany and Santana was Santana.
Of course as steamy as it was, it was getting to the point where Brittany could barely keep up and there had even been one or two occasions where things got a little out of hand and someone got hurt. It was usually something small and insignificant like a bruised elbow or a pulled muscle, until the event that is.
The event being what would become known as The Bathroom Sink Incident.
All of the loft's fixtures were creaky, decades old things that rattled and shuddered at the slightest of things. There was always something or other on the fritz or falling apart that required a special touch, like the window that would stick unless you smacked the frame in just the right spot or the toilet handle you had to jiggle a specific way or else the water would run. When you lived in a semi dilapidated building you had to learn to walk and move around the space in a very delicate way. Of course when you were in the heat of the moment it was probably hard for anyone to remember that. At least it was for Santana and Brittany one early morning when they found themselves going at it on the old antique porcelain sink in the bathroom.
They had woken up to get ready for their day and together had taken a very steamy shower, when they stepped out all refreshed and relaxed they decided that instead of wrapping themselves up in towels they would have a little fun. A little fun up on top of the ancient rickety sink.
Santana had wanted it and who was Brittany to deny her girlfriend. She had nudged Santana up, helping her plant her ass on the small sink, almost but not quite sitting her inside of it. They were both still wet and slippery and well, caught up in each other.
Apparently they had been going at it a little too hard for the rickety fixture which had, after one very passionate move from Brittany, came unattached from the wall sending both Santana and Brittany to the ground to land in a messy pile. The porcelain sink had broken and shattered into huge shards beneath them which would've been only mildly irritating had one of the pipes behind it not somehow burst open at the same time, spewing water at them with force. They screamed and shrieked and after a flurry of activity where they both managed to throw some clothes on, they called someone from building maintenance to come turn the water off. The bathroom floor was a mess of broken porcelain and puddles of water - repairing all of it would be costly and time consuming.
The worst damage wasn't to the floor or the wall of the bathroom though. Oh no. The worst damage was sadly and unfortunately to Santana's ass.
While they had been going at it, Santana had been the one seated on the sink with Brittany between her legs. When it all came crumbling down it seemed Santana had the bad luck of landing on a sharp shard of shattered porcelain which resulted in a minor but embarrassing cut to her right butt cheek.
Later that evening when Kurt came home to the disarray and a weeping Santana who was laying on her stomach - ass up - on the couch, he was a little confused when he was informed on how it all went down.
''What do you mean you went to the hospital and got stitches on your ass?'' he asked Santana after she had relayed the events of the day to him.
She punched a pillow beneath her. ''I mean I went to the hospital and got stitches on my ass - how else can you interpret that?''
He smirked to himself as he went about setting his shoulder bag and coat down in a chair. ''I knew it, you know.''
''Knew what?'' Santana barked in irritation.
''That one day you and Brittany would do something to warrant an appearance on TLC's Sex Sent Me To The ER,'' he teased.
Santana squinted and seethed in his direction but made no effort to get up off of her stomach. ''If I wasn't in severe pain right now you'd be getting bitchslapped.''
He clicked his tongue and softened in sympathy. ''How bad is it? Like how many stitches did it require?''
''Two!''
''That's it?''
''Shut up!'' she hollered as tears threatened to spill down her face. ''My ass is disfigured, this is no joking matter, Kurt!''
''Oh come on you have to admit, this is a little funny.''
''My glorious ass is marred for life.''
''It sounds like it's barely anything.''
''You clearly don't understand my trauma.''
''I'm back and I got you something to help with the soreness,'' Brittany announced herself as she walked through the loft doors with a brown grocery bag in hand. She tossed it into the freezer in the kitchen and then made her way over to join them with a single frozen bag of peas which she placed carefully on Santana's injured bottom. ''How's my brave little patient?''
Santana sniffled in response. Kurt rolled his eyes. She could be such a toddler when she was sick or hurt.
''Well,'' he sighed, ''since you two are playing nurse and patient I guess I'll get dinner started for us.''
With that Kurt left them to it. Brittany went to sit on the edge of the couch, placing herself near Santana's bottom half so she could apply some light pressure to the bag of peas.
''You know since he mentioned it…'' Santana started, suddenly less teary, ''we've never done nurse-patient before so-''
''Yeah I don't think so, young lady,'' Brittany shut that idea down with a chuckle. ''No strenuous activity for you for the next couple of days. I don't want you to risk it. Those stitches are in a really tender area.''
''You think my butt is tender huh?''
''Stop.''
''I have you know I was going to ask you to kiss my owie, but I don't think I will anymore,'' Santana playfully sassed.
''Are you in any pain?'' Brittany sidestepped Santana's flirting and petted her dark hair.
''Pain? Not really? Discomfort? Sorta yeah but the frozen peas feel kinda nice.''
''I feel so bad.''
''What? Why? It was an accident.''
''I know but still. I hate seeing you like this,'' Brittany sighed. ''All hurt and helpless.''
''It's not so bad. I mean I'll live to twerk again,'' Santana laughed.
Brittany had to smile at that. ''Well thank god for that.''
X
The Bathroom Sink Incident was Brittany's wake up call if you will.
Like, yes, in the end it was only a very minor accident and while it was totally embarrassing Santana was fine after a few days, but still. It made Brittany realize it was definitely time to do something drastic.
''I need you to teach me to have bad sex.''
''Say again?''
Brittany and Rachel were having lunch together outside on a bistro patio. Since both of them were at NYADA and Brittany had taken Rachel under her wing as far as dance they had taken to having lunch occasionally, just the two of them.
Over the course of the last few months they had gotten closer. Rachel saw a fuller, more complex Brittany, and Brittany saw a more humble, more vulnerable Rachel. They had turned into friends without even realizing it. Brittany had met some truly wonderful new people since moving to New York but when it came to this sensitive issue, she thought Rachel was the perfect person to confide in.
Who would know more about bad sex than Rachel Barbra Berry?
''I need you to tell me how to have bad sex,'' Brittany repeated herself.
''Why is that?''
''Because,'' Brittany stressed as she continued to crunch loudly on her salad. ''I'm awesome at sex. It's like, my burden or whatever. I need someone who has bad sex to give me tips on how to be bad at it too.''
Rachel squinted, lost and slightly defensive as she sat across from her ''First of all, how do you know I'm bad at sex?''
''You just have that vibe.''
''For your information, my new beau and I do quite well beneath the sheets.'' Rachel reminded her of her boyfriend. He was a dark and dashing actor, a latin heartthrob in the making. Like Rachel, he was all about theatricality but on the other side of it he also knew when it was time to relax, to turn it off and enjoy the scenery. Rachel's life had always been rigid and structured but her new guy had made her appreciate how freeing it was to let loose, to eat and laugh and dance for the fun of it. Unlike Finn, Rachel's new guy had rhythm that translated to the bedroom as well, Rachel had confided to Brittany plenty of times.
''Well sure,'' Brittany continued. ''But you did have bad sex with Finn, right? Like a lot of boring missionary position probably.''
Rachel was not amused. ''It wasn't all bad!''
''Sure.''
''And anyway, why would you even want to know how to have bad sex?''
Brittany paused her chewing and set her utensil down as she suddenly became antsy in her seat, squirming under Rachel's gaze. ''Well...let's just say Santana and I are going through something.''
Rachel laughed inwardly. ''Mm, Kurt might have filled me in on a little something about you and her having an amorous mishap during sexual congress.''
''Congress? This has nothing to do with the legislative branch of the government, Rachel, okay, Santana got hurt while we were screwing.''
''Right, of course.''
''It was nothing, but like it could've been worse. I just think, maybe if I wasn't as good at sex as I am Santana might stop wanting it as much lately. Maybe it wouldn't be on her mind all the time. Maybe if it wasn't on her mind all the time she and I could like, I dunno, talk for a change.''
As if sensing something was seriously troubling her friend, Rachel pressed forward. ''Are you okay?''
''What? Yeah.'' Brittany said, faintly.
''You and Santana aren't like…''
''Breaking up?'' Brittany finished Rachel's thought. ''No. Totally not.''
''Then what's going on? Really.''
''If I tell you can you promise to keep it to yourself? Like, you can't even tell Kurt.''
Rachel sombered up and nodded with vigor, eager to be confided in. ''Cross my heart. You can tell me.''
''Santana and I have been, it's been, it's like...I feel like all she and I ever do is have sex.''
Rachel tried to smile and make light. ''Isn't that like your thing though, you and her and sex.''
Brittany raised a shoulder. ''I mean, yes and no. Sex has always been a part of our relationship but contrary to what everyone assumed about us in high school, it's never been the entire basis of it. It's not all we were or are. We're not rabbits. We're in love.''
''So what's the issue exactly?''
''Sex. It's like all she ever seems to think about or want to do,'' Brittany admitted with defeat in her voice. ''When she wakes up or goes to bed, or especially if she has some big assignment or test in class. I'd be okay with it if I felt like it was about me but it's not, most of the time I feel like...I don't know. Like I'm just some kind of stress relief toy.''
''Interesting. What other changes have you noticed?''
''She's stressed all the time. Mostly about her classes and making her parents proud. She's always getting so worked up and frustrated over them but when I ask her to tell me about it she clams up. She just tells me not to worry about it and kisses me, and then kissing turns into cuddles and cuddles turn into rubbing and rubbing turns into-''
''You can stop there, I get it.''
Brittany exhaled and put a hand to her head in frustration. ''I get that she has a lot on her plate, I can't even begin to understand the pressure she's under with all of her super important classes but I feel like she can be directly on the other side of the bed but not completely there with me, you know?''
Rachel delicately dabbed at the edges of her mouth with her napkin before dropping it in her lap. ''I never understood why Santana decided to give up on her dream to pursue law. She's not as trained as I am but I've always thought she had what it took to make it as a performer.''
''She says being a lawyer is what she has to do.''
''But is it what she wants to do?''
''Probably not but every time Kurt and I try to bring it up she shuts down.''
''Well I have a wild hunch if you'd like to hear it?''
Brittany shrugged. It's not like she had anything to lose by hearing Rachel out.
''Is it possible that without any creative outlet Santana has turned to...well, lovemaking, as a means of expression?''
''I'm not sure what you're getting at.''
''Think of it like this,'' Rachel continued on gently. ''Santana has all of this creativity and drive bubbling up inside of her, only she doesn't have anywhere to put it or direct it because she's not singing or dancing or expressing herself in the way she most needs to. She's forcing herself to go to classes that don't stimulate her so she can work towards a career that doesn't set her soul on fire. In turn she has all of this energy and passion because she's not allowing herself to perform so she puts it to use in the only other way she knows how...in bed, with you.''
''Which explains why having sex is all she ever wants to do,'' Brittany caught on. ''Because it's the only outlet she's letting herself have anymore.''
''Exactly!''
''This makes sense. Like in a really weird twisted Santana kind of way.''
''So what are you going to do about it?''
''I don't know. What do you think I should do?''
''I don't know if I can answer that,'' said Rachel. ''If it is the case I can understand Santana to a degree. I don't know what I would do if I wasn't allowing myself to perform anymore. It'd be devastating.''
Brittany deflated in her seat. ''Yeah.''
''Are you happy? I mean, are you fulfilled with all of this extra...lovemaking?'' Rachel was careful with her words.
''Sometimes. Most of the time.'' Brittany bit her lip and contemplated. ''Santana's really good if you know what I mean. Especially when she-''
Rachel held up a hand to silence her. ''I really don't need you to finish the rest of that sentence.''
''But how can I be fulfilled if Santana isn't fulfilled? If she was fulfilled I don't think she would be using sex as a distraction. It used to be a way for us to express ourselves and feel closer and now, not so much.''
''Then you might want to consider talking to her about it.''
''And if she shuts it down like she always does?''
''Don't let her. Let her know that you're there to be her girlfriend and partner, not to be her squeaky toy when she needs stress relief. You deserve more than that and so does your relationship.''
''I don't know.''
''Think about it like this, Brittany, would you rather have a slightly awkward conversation with her now...or a profoundly more unhappy one five years down the line because you didn't address the issue when you first had the chance to? She's obviously not happy with where she is in life and sex may be a nice little band aid that takes her mind off of it for awhile but how long can that really sustain her? Or you for that matter.''
''Santana's just so sensitive.''
''As all truly great artists are,'' Rachel noted. ''Which is why the world needs her to follow her dreams instead of trying to fulfill everyone else's expectations.''
''This is not going to be fun,'' Brittany said, just thinking about sitting Santana down for a serious conversation about this gave her butterflies. ''But you're right. I just need to sit her down and talk it out.''
Rachel nodded supportively. ''It's the mature, responsible thing to do.''
''But if it doesn't work then you totally have to give me bad sex tips.''
''For the last time I'm not bad at sex!''
X
''Kuuuuuuurt….Kuuuuuuuurt….I need you...hellllllp! Kuuuuuuurt!''
With Brittany out and about with Rachel, Kurt was left to tend to Santana in the loft.
Her injury was minor but Santana - ever the cry baby - was taking every opportunity to milk it for all its worth. She was basically acting as if she had just had major life threatening surgery and needed everyone to wait hand and foot on her. Brittany tended to coddle her during that kind of behavior, Kurt on the other hand was a tad less patient.
Kurt walked away from the lunch he was making towards Santana who was laying on the couch, ass up.
''What do you need?'' he asked monotonously.
''The remote control,'' Santana said almost pathetically. ''It fell off the couch.''
Kurt looked at the floor and indeed the TV remote had fallen from Santana's grasp onto the rug. It was a mere six inches away from her grasp and yet she looked as if it pained her to reach for it.
''Get it for me,'' she requested faintly as if she were ill.
''You got a cut on your ass, Santana, you don't have cancer.''
''You know what? I don't need your judgement or your tone. Now more importantly is my lunch ready?''
Kurt fluttered his eyelashes in comical annoyance. ''I'd be done with it if you weren't calling me every two seconds.''
''Cut the crusts off my sandwich or I won't eat it.''
''You'll eat what I serve you,'' he said like a firm mother would.
''Brittany cuts the crusts off.''
''Well I'm not Brittany. She may find this endearing but I don't. You're a big girl, you can eat your crusts - what are you doing?''
''I'm texting Brittany and telling her you refuse to cut off my crusts in my time of great need.''
''How long are you going to milk this cut on your ass?''
''For as long as possible. Maybe after some quality pity sex from Britt.''
He laughed as he stalked back into the kitchen and returned to her with two plates in hand, one for her and one for him. He served her lunch first before getting comfortable in a nearby chair.
She smiled and looked truly grateful. ''Thanks.''
''You're welcome.''
They sat, or rather Kurt sat and Santana laid on her belly as they dug into their food. They went through several mouthfuls before either of them attempted to speak.
''So I hope this incident of yours,'' Kurt began and made a general wave to Santana's blemished booty. ''Has made you think about being more cautious when it comes to having sex in locations other than your bedroom.''
''Psh.''
''I'm just saying when your sex life causes bodily injury as well as damage to property I think it's time you prioritize,'' he suggested. ''Also it would be nice if I could go a week without the two of you are doing your business in our community space.''
''Uhhhhhhhh me thinks you're just jealous because you haven't gotten any since you and that Warbler carcass broke up.''
''To tell you the truth it wasn't like I was getting a ton of physical intimacy before we broke up. Blaine was all the way in Lima and I was here, I had conditioned myself to go without. I guess it's a blessing now that celibacy is my only option.''
''Celibacy isn't your only option you know? You should get out there and have some fun.''
''I don't think I'm ready for that.''
''I'm not talking about a relationship. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, that's what they say right. Get yourself a boy toy and have a fling.''
''I'm not opposed to exploring that possibility but I'm not there yet. I'm using this experience to learn about myself and try new things. I was even thinking about taking up a hobby.''
''Hobbies are for people who aren't having orgasms. I can't imagine having to go without.''
''Well you're lucky. Unfortunately we all can't have your sex life.''
''What can I say? I'm blessed...and I have amazing tits.''
''Well will you and your amazing whatevers,'' Kurt paused for a moment and gestured to her ample chest area. ''Be joining me next weekend? There's a huge Vogue event that I'm working and Isabelle Wright told me I could invite a couple of friends along. For the price of babysitting a celebrity you get to wear and keep a gown from Vogue's legendary vault.''
''Next weekend huh?''
''Yeah, you and Brittany should come with, you can get all glammed up, it'll be fun.''
''While that's tempting I think Britt and I might enjoy having the loft to ourselves for the night instead.''
Kurt furrowed his brows. ''Sure, but don't you think Brittany might get a kick out of an elegant night out on the town. Show her some romance.''
''Hummel I show her plenty of romance. I romance the shit out of her.''
''Gross.''
X
''Excuse me, hello, hi, ummm I was wondering if you could tell me which kind of guitar would be good for a beginner?''
Several days later Kurt stood alone and out of his element in the middle of his neighborhood music shop. He felt more than a little intimidated as he turned in place, eyeing the instruments all around him.
This was something he had egged himself into doing. He had set out that day with one goal and one goal only, to purchase his very first guitar.
His break up with Blaine had been painful but in another way he had begun to see it as a relief. They were both holding themselves back and now that he was free Kurt wanted to explore and learn more about himself.
One of the things the breakup made him want to do was express himself, specifically in song. The thing of it was though, he couldn't find the right song, he couldn't find a song that perfectly conveyed his thoughts and feelings about the end of his relationship. Nothing could articulate his hurt the way he needed it to. So he decided if the perfect song to help him cope with all of his hurt didn't exist then he would write one instead and after he wrote one he wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear it the way he heard it in his head and the way he heard it in his head was on guitar. Unfortunately, he didn't play guitar and all of the guitar players he did know were miles and miles away back in Lima. After a couple of weeks wrestling with the idea he came to the conclusion that his only choice was to start learning. If he wanted to hear his song played on the guitar then he was going to push himself to go out and learn how to play it himself.
So without telling Brittany or Santana he had ventured out for the afternoon to see about buying a starter guitar.
The second he stepped into the guitar shop he was tempted to walk right back out but something was telling him that this was something he had to do for himself. Even if it didn't work out and he was no good at the instrument he at least had to try. His song deserved that.
The first person he spotted was a young guy, probably only a couple years older than Kurt if that. The man was sitting on an amp and jamming on what looked to be a very expensive guitar. He had full, lush hair, a couple of piercings and was sporting some perfectly manicured facial hair. Kurt had approached him for assistance but was met with a peculiar looking smile in return.
''Uhhhh I don't work here,'' the man laughed and halted his playing to look up at Kurt.
''Oh,'' Kurt squeaked. ''I'm sorry, I just assumed you did.''
''And why is that?'' the man asked.
''Your cooler than cool rocker aesthetic.'' Kurt gestured to the man and his trendy rocker threads. ''You look like the kind of person who would work in a place like this.''
The man playfully squinted in his direction. ''I hope that's a compliment.''
''It is.''
The stranger set the guitar that was resting in his lap onto a stand and then stood up to extend his hand to Kurt, introducing himself. ''I'm Elliott.''
''Kurt,'' Kurt said and eagerly accepted the handshake.
''You know I don't exactly work here but if you need an opinion on a good starter guitar I'd be happy to give you my two cents for what they're worth.''
Kurt looked around the shop which felt eerily deserted. There didn't appear to be any other patrons and he only spotted one actual shop employee who appeared to be more interested in his phone than in tending to any potential customers.
''Why not,'' Kurt said.
Elliott grinned and clapped his hands together once, he looked excited at the prospect of spending someone's else's money. He had an almost childlike giddiness about him that Kurt couldn't help but think was cute.
For the next half hour Elliott took it upon himself to give Kurt a little tour of the place, showing him to the more expensive, more professional gear, the warm cozy acoustic room and then eventually to the more moderately priced guitars. As he went he noted how each instrument was different and how each guitar had a soul and its own unique sound. It really depended on what you wanted to get out of a guitar that determined what model was most appropriate he advised Kurt. He spoke with an enthusiasm that was infectious. By the end of the tour Kurt had become a little more confident about his decision to take up the six string. Something about Elliott's smile and encouragement made the task seem less scary.
''So is this what you do in your free time?'' Kurt asked later on. Elliott had talked him into sitting down and testing out a handful of guitars. ''Hang around the guitar store to talk to boys?''
Elliott handed Kurt an instrument cable to plug into a nearby amp. ''Uhhhh no,'' he laughed awkwardly. ''For your information I hang around the guitar shop because I have no life thank you very much. That and it's the only way I can jam out on that Gretsch over there.'' He threw a thumb into the direction of a shiny white and gold thing. ''I can't really afford it but I try to visit it at least once a week.''
Kurt whistled as he zeroed in on the price tag of the instrument. ''Yikes.''
''Yeah. I'm a struggling student at the moment.''
''Same.''
''So what made you want to take up the guitar?''
Kurt gave him a weak half shrug. ''Well to make a really long story short, a bad breakup left my heart in pieces. I've been sorting through some things in my head recently. It sounds silly and cheesy but I've also been writing songs.''
''That's not silly at all.''
''I'm not really ready to share them with the world yet so I wanted to learn to play on my own so I can at least hear them for myself.''
''I get that. Writing can be therapeutic. Playing can be too."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely,'' Elliott affirmed. ''I like to think of the guitar as a piece of armor. When I go out into the world I put it in front of me and I find myself feeling a little braver. It's like if I'm standing behind it...I can do anything."
''I never thought of it like that.''
Elliot smiled warmly. ''With a guitar in front of you, you can survive anything.''
A couple of hours later and with some assistance from Elliott Kurt was the proud owner of a surf green Telecaster. They had played around with a few different ones but the Tele was the one kept going back to. There was just something about the cut of the body and the lines that pleased Kurt aesthetically, it also played really well and gave him the bright, crisp sound he was looking for.
''Thank you for your help.'' Kurt said later on as he zipped his new purchase up into a soft case.
''My pleasure,'' Elliott seemed delighted.
They shared a quite loaded moment as they looked into each other's eyes.
''I like your guyliner,'' Kurt blurted out.
Elliott laughed. ''I like your neckerchief.''
''I hope I'm not being too forward but would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?''
''I'd love that,'' Elliott accepted the invitation eagerly, and then his face froze for a second. ''Wait, by getting coffee together you just mean getting coffee right?''
''I mean, we can have tea if you'd prefer.''
''No I mean, coffee isn't some codeword for hooking up, is it?''
''Oh god no,'' Kurt yelped.
Elliott began to speak in an almost apologetic rush. ''Not that I don't find you attractive, you clearly are, but I'm in a strange place right now. I'm just trying to put all of my energy into my music and work right now.''
''I'm in the exact same place,'' Kurt said, relieved himself that they were getting this out of the way early on so that there were no misunderstandings. ''That's not what this is about. I just want to buy you a coffee to express my gratitude for all of your guitar knowledge. You have no idea how helpful it was to let me pick your brain. Besides the truth is I could stand to make some new friends.''
''Yeah?'' Elliott lit up.
''I don't have many. Between school and trying to work on my music I haven't really made any cool ones.''
''You think I'm cool?''
''Probably the coolest person I've ever met.''
''For what it's worth I think you're pretty cool too''
''So, friends then?''
''Absolutely, friends,'' Elliott agreed.
Over the course of the next week and a half Kurt met with Elliot several more times. There were coffee dates and tea dates and movie dates and bookstore dates. They traded life stories as well as hair care routines. Normal guy stuff.
As much as he loved Santana and Brittany it really did feel nice to go out and about with a male friend. Elliott was new and exciting. There was no weirdness or tension either, they really did get along very well. The artist in Kurt saw and appreciated the artist in Elliott yet at the same time there was a lively contrast between them. Kurt was broadway and Elliott was rock and roll. As friends they shouldn't have made any sense but they did and it was comforting settling into a new and thrilling friendship with someone just as passionate and driven as he was.
Since Brittany and Santana hadn't expressed interest in attending he ended up extending an invitation to Elliott for the benefit party Vogue was throwing a little over a week away. Elliott was hesitant in the beginning because he wasn't sure if it was his scene but with some encouragement Kurt had convinced him. The promise of a really nice suit courtesy of Vogue helped seal the deal. It was a date. Or well, a friend date anyway.
But while Kurt was basking in his new friendship feels Santana was getting some other kind of vibe off of him.
''You did it, didn't you?'' Santana asked on the night of the event.
They were both in the bathroom. Santana was brushing her teeth and getting ready for a relaxing night in while Kurt was primping himself in the mirror for a night out. Thankfully the sink had been replaced with another one, they were all pretty sure their landlord had found it in a dumpster but at least it worked. Kurt banned Santana from putting her ass anywhere near it.
Kurt had been styling his hair when she asked. ''Excuse me?''
''Sexuals, you had some,'' she said knowingly.
''What?''
''D, you got some didn't you?''
''Uhhhhh, no,'' he laughed rapidly, it was like he was half robot, half chipmunk. ''What makes you say that?''
''I have a gift. My psychic mexican third eye is telling me you got some.''
''Puh-cuh-noooooo. I haven't.''
''Why are you're denying it, you should be proud! I hope you bottomed your little heart out.''
''Okay why do you always just assume I'm a bottom?''
''You have bottom energy. And anyway why do you always just assume my tendency to infer that you're a bottom is an insult? I would never. Bottom shaming really needs to end. Untwist your panties and give me details. Was he hot? Who was it? One of your NYADA classmates or one of those flakes at Vogue?''
''If you must know, neither.''
''Ohhhh,'' she sang. ''You got yourself some strange, did ya?''
''Also no. I haven't had sex but I have met someone.''
''I knew it.''
''A friend,'' he said, raising his voice slightly. ''Just a friend. His name's Elliott and it's strictly platonic.''
Santana frowned. There was nothing juicy or titillating about this. ''Platonic? So he's ugly then?''
''Actually no, he's really hot.''
''And you guys haven't banged? What kind of gays are you?''
''Normal ones. Not everything has to be about sex, Santana. Some people can have fulfilling relationships without it.''
''Whatever. So when can I meet him?''
''Not any time soon. I really like hanging out with him and I don't need you scaring him off.''
''Oh come on.''
Brittany walked in at this point to join Santana in her nightly before bedtime rituals.
''Brittany, will you kindly tell your girlfriend to mind her own business?'' Kurt asked.
Santana scoffed. ''Brittany, will you kindly tell Kurt to stop being a pent up granny?''
Brittany responded by rolling her eyes at both of them. ''Do I have to send the two of you into a time out? Because I will.''
''Whatever,'' Kurt said. ''My new friend Elliott is coming to pick me up tonight for the Vogue event. He'll probably only be here for like two seconds but please be on your best behavior.''
''You act like we're zoo animals,'' Santana said and spit out a mouthful of toothpaste foam, only half of which made it into the sink.
''Judging from the sounds that come from your bedroom at night, you sure sound like it,'' Kurt teased before dashing out of the bathroom.
In the end later that evening when Elliott did show up at the loft Santana was only mildly embarrassing.
Brittany and Santana had been the ones to open the door for him. They had given him the once over, eyeing him up as if they were Kurt's over protective parents. He twitched nervously under their stares.
''I expect him home by midnight and if he's not I will be alerting the local authorities,'' Santana warned, half jokingly.
''She's kidding,'' Brittany added, trying to put Kurt's new friend at ease. ''Mostly.''
''Will you two please not frighten my friend?'' Kurt hollered through laughter as he walked out dressed to the nines.
''They're fine,'' Elliott assured him. ''I like your roommates. I wish mine cared about me enough to interrogate everyone I invited over. Introduce us.''
''Right. Elliott,'' Kurt began with a wave of his hand. ''This is the devil herself, Santana, and her better half, Brittany. Ladies this is Elliott.''
Elliott extended his hand, allowing both of them to shake it. ''It's a pleasure to meet you. Kurt's told me so much about you two and don't worry, I'll make sure he gets home safe and sound.''
''Mom, dad,'' Kurt addressed his roommates. ''I'll be home late, don't wait up.''
With that Kurt gave Elliot a pat on the back and began leading him out of the loft.
''Your ass is grounded young man,'' Santana shouted at Kurt's retreating form.
Elliott and Kurt were laughing when they got into the elevator just outside of the loft's doors. Kurt pressed the button for the ground floor and got them moving.
''You look great by the way,'' Kurt said.
''You think?'' Elliott shuffled in place, looking slightly unsure of himself. ''I'm a little nervous. The ballet and the theater world, they're not my usual scene.''
''You'll be fine,'' Kurt said. ''Besides I'll be there with you. If you get a little lost or overwhelmed we can duck out for a few minutes. You're doing me a huge favor giving me a hand.''
''Are you kidding? A paid gig as a seat filler and I get to walk away with a sharp ass suit, I'm happy to help.''
''Well if there's ever a favor you need from me, don't hesitate to ask.''
Elliott bit his lip. ''Well, since you mentioned it, it's not quite a favor but there is something I want to ask you.''
''Anything.''
''Feel free to say no or whatever but about once a week I do this thing with my friends at my place. It's a bit of a tradition in our little group and I was hoping one of these nights you might want to join us?''
''What, for dinner?''
''Sort of, we order pizza, have a few drinks, watch Drag Race and basically act like idiots together,'' Elliott laughed. ''If the show isn't your thing it's no biggie-''
''Are you kidding? The show is my religion!'' Kurt's eyes widened in wonder. ''I'd love to hang out and watch with you some time...only…''
''Only?''
''That's something I usually do with Santana and Brittany, it's one of our things and I wouldn't want to ditch them.''
''Well bring them along, the more the merrier, who cares. Your friends can meet my friends, it'll be a blast.''
Kurt nodded in silence, taken with the idea and the invitation.
This, he thought, was a friendship that he could see growing and deepening. Elliott was cool and kind and exciting but most of all, he was simply inviting and just as open to connection and friendship as Kurt. It wasn't about hooking up and it wasn't about hopping into a new romance, it was about finding common ground and shared passions with someone new, someone who saw and knew him beyond the Blaine of it all.
Santana and Brittany were great and he was thankful for all they had done for him but at the same time he hated feeling like he was a baby bird with a broken wing. Something they had to fix, something that needed mending. But Elliott? Elliott saw him as whole, full, complete already.
Kurt felt fondness bloom in his chest. This is what he moved to New York for, to meet new, exciting and accepting people like this. His love for Brittany and Santana would always be there of course but this is what it was about, expanding one's circle. He had found his footing at NYADA and in the fashion world at Vogue but this was the first time he felt like he had found it outside in the real world.
A real friendship.
A new squirrel friend.
''I can't wait.''
X
''So is it still cute?''
''Let me check.''
Brittany and Santana were in bed on top of the sheets with not a stitch of clothing on between them. Due to Santana's accident she was slightly limited to certain positions for a temporary period of time which she seemed to enjoy because it meant she got to be on top more often. On this evening Brittany was beneath her with her legs spread a bit, just enough to make room for Santana to place herself between them as they kissed and warmed each other up, exploring with their hands and mouths. Brittany briefly pulled away with a pop to take a peek at Santana's exposed ass.
''Yep, it's still cute,'' Brittany laughed.
''Even with the little scar?'' Santana was a little self conscious that her butt wasn't as hot as it used to be before her little mishap.
''It's still perfect and sexy to me,'' Brittany said and playfully cupped the cheek that was unblemished to give it a squeeze.
''Are you saying that because it's true or are you saying that because you're my girlfriend and being supportive?'' Santana turned to look over her shoulder as if she could examine her own rear.
''Both. Baby, your tushy is still super mega cute. You have nothing to worry about.''
''Mmm.'' Santana seemed to be appeased with that and moved on, clearly she was more interested in the naked body underneath her. ''If you say so.''
''I do say so.''
Santana went to place a moist kiss onto Brittany's neck. The way Santana hummed against her skin made Brittany vibrate with want. Why did she have to be so good at that?
''So what were you thinking for tonight?'' Santana asked, mumbling against Brittany's skin, almost purring.
''Um. I dunno. Did-did you want to do anything special?''
''I mean, I've totally been fantasizing about going down on you like all day today so...'' Santana glanced down at Brittany's bottom half and bit her lip, ready and eager to get to business. Or more specifically to get into Brittany's business. But before she could Brittany halted her, placing a hand on Santana's shoulder, essentially keeping her in place.
''Actually there is something I want us to do tonight,'' she said.
''Is it that thing with the handcuffs?'' Santana asked.
''No.''
''The thing with the whipped cream?''
''No.''
''The thing with the blindfold?''
''No.''
''The thing with the balloons?''
''What thing with the balloons? Why would we have balloons in bed with us during sex?'' Brittany squinted, confused.
Santana grinned. ''Get into this, I read an article in Cosmo about it. See what you do is you blow it up and then put it-''
''Babe, why don't you tell me about that later,'' Brittany continued, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. ''I was sorta hoping we could talk?'' Brittany's voice went up at the end, unsure of how to broach the subject.
''We talk all the time.''
''We used to talk all the time,'' Brittany said gently. ''But I feel like we haven't had a really good big serious talk in awhile, you know?''
''Oh.''
''It's not that I don't want to fool around. I just think we've been drifting away, between school and work and all of these new obligations we have it's like...I don't know.''
Santana moved off of her and went to lay on her side of the bed. ''Okay. If you want to talk we can totally talk.''
''First, I need you to promise me something.''
''What?''
''I need you to give me your word that no matter what happens during the course of this conversation you won't like blow up and walk out.''
Santana let out a nervous laugh. ''Alright, now you have me worried. Is there something going on?''
''No...not really...maybe?''
''You know if there's something wrong I'm here.'' She reached across to run a thumb tenderly across Brittany's cheek. ''Whatever it is I'll fix it so we can spend our time together doing much more...interesting things.'' The hand on Brittany's face drifted down, tracing a ling along her neck, down between her breasts until it came to rest on her inner thigh which she squeezed.
With a sigh Brittany reached down to pull Santana's hand away from her.
''Are you okay?'' Santana asked when she realized that Brittany was no longer smiling.
''No. And yes. I'm not sure. Are you?''
''What does that mean?''
''Do you know how many times we had sex last week?''
Santana blinked unevenly. ''Uhhhhh, no.''
''Seventeen times. We had sex seventeen times last week.''
''Okay. I would say that was worthy of celebration but judging by the expression you're making this isn't a good thing?''
''We had sex seventeen times last week and do you know how many of those times you held me after?''
Santana's features twitched as she searched for an answer that clearly wasn't coming.
''Right.'' Brittany sat up against the pillows and headboard and pulled a sheet over herself.
''Wait a second here, are you mad at me?'' Santana was thoroughly lost. She didn't get what Brittany was getting at.
''What makes you think I'm mad at you?''
''You're just being a little weird. Wanting to talk and pulling away from me and asking rando questions.'' The sexy had been sucked out of the room and was now replaced with some strange stilted air between them.
''How come you never talk about school or your classes or why you want to be a lawyer?''
''What? What does that have to do with anything?''
''Can you answer my question?''
''Because.'' Santana answered with a shrug and a hint of combativeness in her tone. ''Just because, Brittany. We've been over this. Those courses, that career path...it's just what I have to do. It's the responsible thing. But that part of my life? It's not something I want to bring home with me. When class is over I want to leave it there. It has nothing to do with who I am here. I hate my curriculum, I don't give a shit about legal methods or the ins and outs of the constitution. The last thing I want to do at the end of the day is relay all of that to you.''
''You should though.''
''I should what?''
Brittany stood up and wrapped a robe around herself as she started walking in short, tight circles in their bedroom. Santana so wasn't getting it and Brittany was growing slightly flustered. How could her girlfriend not see the obvious. ''You should want to share what's supposed to be a huge, meaningful part of your life with me. I mean, when I come home from class I can't wait to talk to you about what happened that day. The good and the bad. Like the other day when I came home to tell you about how Rachel was stretching in front of me and totally farted in front of everyone in the room and how everyone in class now calls her Toot Toot. The good and the bad and everything in between, I always want to share about my day with you.''
Santana wasn't taking this lying down. She bolted up as she felt the need to defend herself. ''That's so totally different.''
''How?''
''Because you're day is filled with dancing and excitement, you actually get to be creative all day Brittany. My classes? Totally not the same thing. Preparing for a career in law? It's hard boring tedious soul sucking work. I'm sitting at a desk for the majority of my day. Most days I just want to pull my hair it because I can't stand burying my nose in another book.''
''Then tell me that,'' Brittany urged. ''I want to know about it. Even the bad, boring, annoying stuff. Like, I would even settle for you complaining to me but you don't even give me that.''
''Because I don't want to bother you.''
''Don't you get it though, that's not bothering me. You telling me about your day and what you're feeling will never bother me. I just want to feel like I'm actually a part of your life because lately…'' she drifted off with a tired, disappointed huff.
''Lately what?''
Brittany exhaled and started to move her hands in front of her as if trying to wave away this conversation. Sure, she was the one who had started it but now she wasn't sure about where it was going.
''Tell me,'' Santana pressed her. ''Lately, what?''
''Lately...lately I feel like I'm just like one of those squeaky stress ball toys that people keep on their desks. The kind you just sort of have and play with and toss aside. You come home from class and I always feel this tension and frustration radiating off of you and you take it out with me. Not by being bitchy or whatever but like...seventeen times in a week Santana? That's not normal.''
''We've always had a lot of sex.''
''Seventeen times in one week isn't just a lot, it's excessive. Rachel told me that too much sex is indicitive of intimacy issues just as much as having too little sex and-''
''Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold up.'' Santana hopped out of bed, suddenly alert and ruffled by the idea that Brittany had went yapping to Rachel of all people about what went on between them. ''You talked to Rachel about something that was bothering you before you even bothered to talk to me?''
''We're friends, yes, and it's not exactly like you've been the most forthcoming.''
''Wow.'' Now Santana's guard went up as she pulled her own robe on, tying the sash up with aggravation. ''You know, you weren't exactly complaining about those seventeen times.''
Brittany scoffed and rolled her eyes. ''Obviously duh it's hot every time we're together, Santana. That's not the point I'm trying to make. I love having sex with you, that's not the issue.''
''Then what is the issue?''
''You're not happy,'' Brittany said pointedly. ''With your life, with school, with where you're going and you say you don't want to bring that home but you do. You might not verbally share that but I can feel all of that unhappiness radiating off of you and whether you've realized this or not you've used me as like a human band-aid.''
''A what?''
''A band aid,'' Brittany repeated firmly. ''I'm the thing you come home to and bury yourself in - no pun intended - in order to forget about school and family and all of these expectations you've placed on yourself. You don't sing anymore, you don't dance anymore, you don't express yourself anymore, at least not in any of the ways that I know make you feel alive. So you come home to me and you touch me because I'm the one thing that still makes you feel alive and I love that. I love that I make you feel alive, but...I can't be the only thing. You have all of this passion inside of you and I love that so much of that is directed at me, but it deserves to be put to use towards the things you love. If your classes are making you miserable, maybe that's a sign you need to rethink your future and figure out a different path to take. Because doing this with you, I mean...it works for us now, babe, but in five years, ten years? I don't want you to wake up one day and realize you didn't follow your dreams. Sex...us being together? That should be about us, about communication and connection, it shouldn't be this thing you numb yourself with because you hate the rest of your day. I deserve better than that...you deserve better than that.''
Santana looked taken aback for a moment. She almost looked on the verge of tears but instead of responding to any of that with anger or rage she turned and stormed into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly.
''You don't know what it's like,'' Santana said through the door.
''What, what is like?''
''Being a Lopez. It's different with you, Brittany, okay? You've always been this sweet, goofy free spirit type just like your parents…'' Santana emerged from the bathroom now fully dressed. She was stone faced as she brushed past Brittany and went to find a pair of shoes on the floor by their closet. ''But I'm different, my family is different. Being a Lopez is different. We have to be better, do better than everyone else. My parents want what's best for me and I can't be out there chasing some-some stupid singing pipedream when I've already let them down so much.''
''How? How have you let them down?''
''I'm a lesbian, Brittany. I already threw them a curveball and forced them to toss out all of these plans they had for me. I'm never going to have a husband or lead a picture perfect heterosexual existence and yeah, they've accepted me and love me, but the truth is all of their plans, all of their expectations...they went out the window when I sat them down and came out to them. I can't give them that so the least I could do is make sure all of their other expectations about my life pan out. I'm never going to bring a husband home or get knocked up and give them grandkids like they imagined, but what I can do is make sure I carry on some kind of-of-of Lopez legacy. I'm never going to be straight so the least I can do for them is be successful. I can't be a struggling artist and let them down so I've decided to work my ass off and make them proud and become a lawyer so they can at least have something...I just want there to be one part of me that makes them proud.''
''They are proud of you,'' Brittany said. ''And if you were to change your mind I'm sure they would be worried about you struggling to break out but I know your parents and they would be behind you no matter what.''
''That's the worst part though. I know they would, Brittany. They would make me have a million serious discussions about it but in the end if I told them I wanted to spend the rest of my life singing, they would tell me to go for it but the thing is I don't even want to put that weight on them.''
Realizing that Santana was fully dressed and riled up Brittany was confused. ''Why did you put clothes on?''
''I just….because.'' Santana started moving around the loft in search of her keys. ''You're right. About all of this, about me, about me not being happy, about using sex as a band aid or whatever and I'm sorry. You're the last person I would ever-ever want to hurt and I'm sorry if you're pissed at me.''
''I'm not pissed at you. I just want what's best for you. I want my girlfriend to be happy, I want our time together to be about us, not about you hiding how sad you are.''
''Yeah.''
''Where are you going?''
Santana sighed and raised her shoulders. ''I don't know.''
''Are you mad?'' Brittany asked.
''What? No, never. Britt, this isn't me storming out on you. I'm not angry with you, if anything I'm angry with myself because I didn't see that my unhappiness was making you unhappy-''
''I'm not unhappy though, I'm just worried.''
''Either way. I think I need to get out of the loft for a bit. At least for a couple of hours. I promise I'm not going to go off and do anything stupid.''
Brittany smiled and nodded. Santana needed to work her nervous, anxious energy over this matter out and Brittany understood that. That's just who Santana was, how she was. ''Yeah well. I'm the only stupid thing you're allowed to do.''
Even through her frustration Santana couldn't help the laugh that rolled out of her. ''You're not stupid. In fact you're one of the smartest people I know. Smarter than me anyway. You saw this...felt this...before I could even piece it together or put it into words.''
With a deep inhale Brittany walked over and wrapped her arms around Santana's neck. ''Take a walk, get some air, do what you need to do but come back home soon. You can brood in bed with me.''
Santana gave her a sad smile. ''I never meant to make you feel...unappreciated. Or like sex was all I was in this for. You're more than that to me.''
''I know I am.'' Brittany placed a kiss on Santana's forehead.
X
For the next hour Santana walked around aimlessly as she went through everything in her head and heart.
Yes sex had become her go to stress relief from everything else in life and she hadn't realized it had gotten to the point where it gave Brittany alarm. It made her feel horrible. If Brittany wasn't comfortable then Santana wasn't comfortable. Hurting or making Brittany worry was the last thing she wanted and she had tried so hard to shield her girlfriend from all of the misery that came with giving up her dreams. It didn't matter though because all of it had come out anyway.
And now where was she?
Not only was she still unhappy, she had in a roundabout way made Brittany unhappy. In this situation, it didn't seem like anyone was getting what they wanted or needed.
Why did adulting have to suck so much and so hard. She just wanted to sing, to stand on stage and under a spotlight, to feel and dwell in those perfect moments in between the music notes where her heart stilled and everything in the universe seemed to align and be at peace. But life was more complicated than that. There was no guarantee that chasing her dream would lead to any kind of success or financial stability. Chasing her dream was a risk and she wasn't sure she was strong or brave enough to go after it.
Santana was pissed, at herself, at her situation, at her inability to stand tall in her decision. Walking countless blocks and fuming at it all she finally decided to take a break and get a drink before turning back to head home to Brittany. She wasn't really searching for anything except maybe a way to numb herself, which, substituting alcohol in place of sex probably wasn't a wise habit to form either but, she needed something at least just this once she told herself. This was how she found herself walking into a hole in the wall bar. Thankfully it was still buzzing with people and activity.
She saddled up to the bar and produced her fake ID to the bartender who shrugged and took her drink order. And that's when she heard it, a voice, deep yet raspy, come up from behind her.
''Well, well, well, what in the hell is your Muppet Baby ass doing up in here?''
Santana squinted. She recognized it from somewhere and yet couldn't quite place it, at least not until the owner of that voice came to slide into the stool next to her.
''You don't remember me do you?''
''Oh I remember you alright,'' Santana said with a raised eyebrow as she eyed this person up and down, from hair to heels and back and back again. ''I don't meet a ton of drag queens, at least not with the name Bob.''
Bob the drag queen smiled back at her, pleased to have made such an impression on her.
This was the same queen she had crossed paths with over a year ago near Time Square when the glee club had went to Nationals their junior year. Bob had been out and about doing a marriage equality demonstration which she, Kurt and Brittany had stumbled upon. From there they had struck up a conversation and ended up spending a few hours simply hanging out with Bob and someone called Cracker. Over food and laughter they had talked about life and general gay nonsense, as well as the community in New York and how to hustle to make it in the world.
It was a brief but memorable interaction and in truth, seeing as how glee club had totally bombed at Nationals, it really was the only meaningful thing she took away from her first visit to New York. It made her believe that if New York was a place where someone as big and loud and awesome as Bob could exist, maybe there was room enough for her there too. Meeting Bob and Cracker and their crew made her more hopeful and confident about finding her place in New York.
And now here she was, living in the city just like them, except all of her certainty, all of her confidence, all of her drive to follow her dreams, well all of that was gone and dead now.
Santana gave a faint smile in return. ''I'm surprised you remember me though.''
''To tell you the truth I mostly remember you because of your name. Santana would make an awesome drag name.''
''I'll keep that in mind just in case I need a backup career path.'' The bartender placed a drink in front of her and Santana picked it up and lifted it slightly towards Bob as if to toast. ''So I take it you perform in this dive?''
Bob eyed her and the drink and watched as she tossed it back. ''Not really, I had a show down the block. I just popped in because my friend Monet is performing here tonight.'' Bob made a gesture to the stage behind them where another queen was on the mic. ''What about you?''
''What about me?''
''Well, you're sitting here in front of me so I'm guessing you walked the walk about coming to New York after graduation. Gotta hand it to you, wasn't sure you had that in you but here you are, making it happen.''
''I don't know about that,'' Santana's expression went dark and she signalled the bartender for another drink.
''What's with this Debbie Downer face? Is it Monet's performance back there? I know it's sad. I told her she needs to cool it with wearing those damn crunchy pussycat wigs on stage-''
''No,'' Santana laughed. ''No. I'm just going through it.''
''Ahhhh,'' Bob hummed and made a face. ''Lady problems? You still with that blond piece?''
''She's not a piece, and yes. We're still together.''
The bartender placed Santana's second drink in front of her but before Santana could grab it Bob was curling a hand around it and pushing it off to the side, essentially sliding it in front of another bar patron who didn't question it and simply took it as an offer of a free drink.
''Hey,'' Santana grumbled. ''That was mine.''
''Yeah and if I recall correctly your ass is still underage. Why are you here trying to get white girl drunk?''
''You wouldn't understand.''
''So make me understand.''
''What, like you really want to know?''
''Bitch, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't. 'Sides…'' Bob and looked back over to the stage where Monet was still getting down in front of a small audience who were wooting and whooping about. ''Monet's doing her twenty minute Beyonce medley right now so lord knows I got some time to kill.''
Santana exhaled and turned sideways in her seat to face Bob. ''Fine, but if you're not gonna let me drink you best hook me up with something.''
Bob gave her a playful but snotty face and waved down a server. ''Get this greedy little booger a plate of wings and bring us some waters will you?'' Bob produced a waded bill and slid it into the hand of the server who nodded before going off to fetch the items.
And then like some kind of momma bear, Bob placed a hand on the back of Santana's neck, took ahold of her coat collar and began leading her away from the bar area towards some tables in a mostly empty corner of the establishment. He gestured for her to slide into a nearby booth where he slid in as well, occupying the opposite side. A few moments later a server arrived with a basket of some really sad looking hot wings and two glasses of water. He placed them between Bob and Santana and left them to their conversation.
''These look disgusting,'' Santana said, wrinkling up her nose in disgust.
Bob rolled his eyes and dug in. Even with long, elegant nails Bob went to town on the food. ''Yeah well they're free so eat up and talk. Tell me all about your conflama.''
''My what?''
''Your conflict and drama, conflama.''
''Right.'' With a sigh Santana picked up a pathetic looking chicken wing and went in on it, chewing unenthusiastically. ''Well…''
For the next half hour Bob sat and listened as she let it all out, messily eating and slurping at the sauce on her fingers.
She went through it all. How her initial plans had been to come to New York and work on making her dreams come true but the weight of expectations, the weight of being a Lopez, the weight of her possiby disappointing or bringing shame to her parents came crashing down on her. She spoke about how she had convinced herself that doing the responsible thing and having a 'real' career was the right thing to do. She told Bob all about how she just wanted to make everyone proud and how she knew that studying law was never going to make her happy but there was an end goal to it all, a steady, stable and respectable career. She would spend years working towards this goal and even though she knew it would be mentally and physically taxing there would at least be some worthwhile pay off in the end. Chasing a dream however? She could spend the next three, four, five years of her life working her tail off to try to make it as a performer but there was no guarantee, there was no promise at the end of it all. She could spend years chasing something that was never going to come she explained, and then what would she be left with? Nothing. She'd let down her parents, she'd let down Brittany, she'd let down herself, and that, Santana couldn't live with that. She couldn't live with failure.
She told Bob all of it, laying herself bare. What did she really have to lose here?
''I think I may have a simple solution for you then,'' Bob said once she finished her long and sad spiel.
''Which is?''
''You say you can't live with failure then my advice to you is just don't fail.''
''Wow, why didn't I think of that?''
''Hey I'm trying to encourage your ass here.'' Bob went to pull down at the top portion of his outfit. ''Look at this, you see this?'' Bob nodded down to his chest where there in the dim lighting of the bar Santana could just barely make out some ink. ''Read it.''
Santana squinted. ''I get up out of bed, I put on my clothes, cause I've got bills to pay.''
''Deeper Love. It's an Aretha song and everyone should listen to it on a daily basis. Point is, you're right, going after what you want is a risk but that just means you gotta work that much harder, hustle that much faster than anyone else to make it happen. Get up out of bed, put on your clothes cause you got bills to pay and make the world your bitch. If failure isn't an option for you then don't let it be one, point blank period. Nothing about any of this will be easy, I know it sure as hell ain't easy for me. Drag is barely paying my bills right now which means I work six days a week, sometimes two gigs a night. It's exhausting ass work but when it comes down to it I wouldn't wanna do anything else. Cause this, being on stage and making people laugh? That's what I was made to do. So you want to sing, right?''
Santana nodded wordlessly.
''So sing. Every chance you get, every coffee shop or dive bar or showcase or street corner, take every gig, every audition, every chance and if you even have one lick of talent what you put out there will come back to you cause that's what you're made to do.''
''That's all a lot easier said than done.''
''True. But look at it this way, there are two kinds of people in this world…'' Bob pointed a nail out towards the main area of the bar where one Monet X Change was strutting and dancing her ass off. ''People who have what it takes to be on stage and people who are meant to sit and fill up an audience. Ask yourself which one are you. If you're meant to do something then nothing you do in pursuit of it will ever be a waste or a sign of failure. You say you have some, what, family legacy to live up to? Stop worrying about following someone else's legacy and do what you gotta do to go out there and make your own.''
Santana bowed her head in acknowledgement. ''I get that and I know...I guess...I guess I'm just scared.''
''I feel you but hey, life can be a nasty loud mean intimidating bitch...but then so can I and I'm guessing so can you.''
Santana laughed at that. ''Yeah, yeah,'' she said, feeling a sense of comfort.
''Also we're gay so that de facto makes us more powerful anyways, am I right?''
''I can't believe I'm sitting here getting career advice from a drag queen.''
''If you ask me we're the best kind of people to get advice from and listen here, I wouldn't bullshit you just to bullshit you. I wouldn't encourage your ass if I didn't think you could do it.''
''Yeah well I don't know if I'd place any bets on me.''
''I would. You'll never know if you don't try. Walk with the confidence of a mediocre white man and go forth.''
Santana stared in silence for a long while, she was a little confused as to why this person, why this tall and fierce drag queen, this near perfect stranger, was taking time out their life to sit and listen to her bitch and moan.
''Why are you talking to me like this?'' she asked softly. ''I mean, not that I don't appreciate it because I do, it's just...you don't know me.''
''No, I don't, not really, but I know you're lost and who hasn't been there before,'' Bob said and then turned to teasing again.
''I'm still scared as hell but I think I get what you're saying and I think I know what it means I have to do.''
With Bob as her company Santana watched the rest of the show, allowing it to entertain and distract her, taking her away from her thoughts and worries. Bob said it was crunchy but Santana thought this Monet actually looked really great in a pussycat wig as she strutted all over the place.
Monet was pretty damn good and ultimately the show just reminded Santana of what she was missing. The thrill of the spotlight, the applause of the crowd, the ultimate, natural high that came from sharing a part of your heart and soul on stage like that. In some ways for Santana, you were sacrificing a part of yourself each time you performed, but it would always be worth it, because, she thought, each time you sacrificed something that part of yourself would come back to you, healed and renewed. Sometimes if you gave yourself over to song, the song would give you something in return and in that way singing was, apart from being with Brittany, the most fulfilling thing she'd ever known.
There in the bar though, it was like Monet was preaching something to her and her alone. This, here, entertaining the masses, the broken, the souls in need of relief and laughter and light, taking them away from their troubles and their pain and their worry, even if for only a night, this was her calling, what she was meant to do.
She didn't want to spend the rest of her life behind a desk or in an office or courtroom, pouring over policies and paperwork. Even if it was the safe choice, the respectable choice, the choice that would make her parents proud and happy. She wanted to honor them but more than that, she wanted to honor this thing inside of her, this passion for music and she couldn't do that by holding herself back anymore.
She had to follow her gut and her dreams because otherwise she would remain in this sad, stagnant place and that was no way to live.
''So where you headed from here?'' Bob asked much later.
The show had ended and together she had walked out of the front entrance to stand about on the sidewalk under the street lights. Santana was waiting for her Uber while Bob was waiting for Monet.
''Home,'' she answered. ''To the girlfriend.''
''Cute.''
''You?''
Bob shrugged. ''Probably back to my place with Monet to work on some outfits. Might pick up a pizza on the way there.''
''I guess this is goodbye then huh?''
''You're not gonna cry on me or anything are you?'' Bob smiled but held up a cautious hand. ''Cause this dress is dry clean only and I don't want your snot all over it.''
''Shut up,'' Santana laughed. ''And no I'm not gonna cry on you, get real. I just wanted to say thank you, that's all. For whatever tonight was.''
''Any time, well not any time exactly cause I might be doing a show but if you ever need another pep talk you can buy a meet and greet pass. I'd probably give you a discount.''
''Screw you. Anyways,'' she said with a hopeful twinkle in her eyes now that her confidence had been more or less restored. ''The next time we meet you'll probably be in my meet and greet line, not the other way around.''
''We'll see about that, you never know. I might just 'make it big' before you do.''
''Not that I doubt your talent but nah.''
''Then consider it a deal. You don't give up and I don't give up.'' Bob extended a hand which Santana shook in agreement.
''Deal.''
Bob then turned his head to yell back into the bar. ''Monet, hurry your ass up, I'm hungry as hell out here!''
''Alright, alright, I'm coming, damn,'' Monet hollered and came shuffling out, still in drag but carrying a duffle bag of street clothes. Monet smiled and eyed Santana up and down. ''Who's this?''
''Long story. Her name's Santana,'' said Bob.
''Oh!'' Monet exclaimed. ''That's an amazing drag name.''
''Right, that's what I said. Anyways, Santana, Monet, Monet, Santana.''
''Hey girl.'' Monet shook her hand. As dry and sarcastic as Bob was, Monet, on the other hand, seemed to be quite jovial and sweet. ''Nice to meet you.''
''Nice to meet you too,'' Santana said. ''I enjoyed your show, you were really great. Love the pussycat wig.''
''Ohhh, why thank you.'' Monet did a cute little head bob, showing off the hair.
A car pulled up then, right in front of them on the curb. Santana double checked the licence plate and then looked to both of the queens before her apologetically.
''This is me,'' she said, nodding at the vehicle. ''Gotta get home to the other half. But...I'll see you around?''
''Something tells me you will.'' Bob made to playfully shoo her away and into the waiting car. Santana laughed but did as Bob urged, getting in and buckling herself up into the backseat. She slid the window down a bit and Bob peeked down for one more parting moment. ''You know I kind of have this mentality that says everything works out in the end and if it's not working out, it's not the end. Never forget that you hear?''
''Yeah, yeah,'' Santana said. ''I hear.''
''Good, now go on get.''
''You're a jackass.''
''Thank you,'' quipped Bob who gave her a sly wink in return.
And with that her driver began to pull away from the curb leaving Bob and Monet behind. Even at a distance she could hear them begin a playfully bickering back and forth with each other which made her grin.
It was strange how life happened and where it could take you and who it could take you to. In a grody booth in a tiny bar across the way from a drag queen. It was strange how the universe worked and moved in order to bring you comfort and resolution when one needed it the most. For whatever reason on this day, on the night rather the universe felt compelled to have her cross ways with Bob to help set her back on her path.
The world didn't need Santana Lopez the lawyer, the world needed Santana Lopez, the performer and she couldn't keep denying it or herself. She needed to do something with her life that made her feel real and connected to herself.
It was on the drive back that she started making plans. If she was really going to do this and get real about the future she wanted she was going to have to make tough decisions and she was going to have to stand by them. It wasn't going to be easy and she could definitely foresee a lot of struggle ahead but Bob was right, nothing she did in the pursuit of her dream would be a failure or a waste. The only thing that would ever truly be a waste would be suppressing her talent and drive.
If she was going to make it, she needed to hustle fast and hard, if not for herself or Brittany or her parents, then at the very least for Bob. For some strange totally unknown reason she wanted to show him she could make it, that she could do it, not simply just to playfully shove it in his face but in an odd way she found a part of herself wanted to make him proud too.
And that's exactly what she was going to do.
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A/N: three things. one, i wrote Santana's injury over a month and a half ago and then as coincidence would have it, i actually did end up injuring my butt in relatively the same manner like roughly two weeks ago. i mean i didn't need stitches but i was on a piece of furniture that came crashing down to the ground, landing me straight up on my ass. so. yeah. two, Bob is one of my favorite queens ever and i could seriously listen to Monet and Bob argue all day long, they crack me up (that video where they make ramen noodles together and Bob is waving the packet of ramen in Monet's face for like 15 straight seconds = comedy gold) but i don't think i captured the essence of them here in their scene. again, RPF makes me uncomfortable but i view this differently. to me, i feel like this is them guest starring in an episode of Glee as themselves so i hoped i approached incorporating them in a respectful way. anyways yeah, please stan Bob and Monet. and three, according to google docs this chapter is 42 pages long so please, it would mean a lot to me if you would consider just leaving me a tiny review or bit of feedback. thanks.