A/N The long awaited update is here! In case it isn't clear, I've skipped ahead in time slightly. And also, I just want to put a slight warning out there; a section of this chapter might be uncomfortable for some of you to read but that's kind of the effect I was going for. Hopefully, though I've cushioned it with enough light-hearted material. Without any further ramblings, I give you chapter seven!
Out of Kindness
Chapter Seven
Despite the talk they had about physical boundaries, Santana and Brittany continued their morning ritual with one another. Charlie would leave for work and, day after day Brittany would sneak into Santana's bed, but not before she'd showered herself clean of her boyfriend's lingering scent and sweat on her skin. It was as though she had to cleanse herself of one love before presenting herself to another. The two of them would snuggle and become immersed in the comfort of the closeness, but each morning their bodies would drift that little bit closer than the morning before. It was as though the blood running through their veins held magnetic properties, drawing each to the other. Once skin landed upon skin, it couldn't be retracted away, only intensified until the two of them lay flush against each other in a tangle of limbs, hair and perfectly concocted scent mingling around them.
They breathed in the comfort, morning after morning, drawing the moment out for as long as possible until one or both of them had to give in to responsibilities and tear themselves away. This morning it was Santana who made the first move to leave, peeling herself from Brittany's embrace.
"No." Brittany said firmly as she held her tightly, making Santana chuckle.
"I have to get up, Britt. I have a shoot this morning."
"Take a shorter shower and stay with me for five minutes longer…please?"
"Okaaay," Santana drawled out in an exhale, trying to mask her happiness at the feeling of being wanted, even if it were just in a platonic way.
Brittany hummed in appreciation of Santana's acquiesce while burying her face in her friend's neck.
"I love our morning snuggles, San. I'll never get tired of this, I swear!" Brittany let out an enthused mumble of words into Santana's skin before she placed a playful peck there with her lips. "What shoot do you have today?"
"An up-and-coming designer's bringing in some new season samples and a couple of models. It's just a really simple, studio shoot." Santana wrapped her arms snuggly around Brittany as she spoke. "But I like those, I get to play around with lighting and experiment with angles and aperture settings."
"I know it'll turn out brilliant, because you're so amazingly talented"
"And you're so amazingly biased!"
"Will you show me the photos tonight? I love seeing your work."
"Yeah, Britty, I'll show you. I'll even let you watch me edit them if you like. Not many people are privileged enough to see that part of the process."
Brittany hummed in content and trailed her fingertips lightly down Santana's arm and back up again, creating goose bumps on olive skin. Santana jolted at the sensations and inhaled sharply. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down into the bright blue eyes of her friend. She opened her mouth slightly and closed it a second later, her lips forming a tight, thin line as though she wanted to say something but thought better of it.
"What is it?" Brittany asked, raking her eyes tentatively over Santana's face.
"Nothing, I just…I have to get up, Britt." She surrendered a small smile in apology and removed herself completely from the blonde's embrace before exiting the bedroom.
Santana had taken an extra long shower that morning in order to try and quell the feelings that were creeping through her system. As such, getting to the studio had been a total rush and upon arriving, she instantly busied herself with setting up her equipment.
The studio was abuzz with people moving around her and getting organized for the shoot. There were make-up artist and hair stylists fussing over compliant models, runners being ordered here and there, setting up props for the shoot. Santana was lost in her own thoughts, taking in the ambience of the room and deciding on lighting and camera angles. A familiar face caught her eye and four long strides had her standing directly behind him.
"Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn't Ladyface," she said with a trademark smirk adorning her face.
He turned around, giving her a once-over before returning the smirk.
"Look at that," he spoke, "you don't even have to speak of the devil and the devil appears."
"What are you doing here, Kurt?" Santana asked with a small, yet friendly smile.
"My designs are featured in today's shoot. What about you? Are you one of the P.R. people from the magazine or something?"
Santana shot him a surprised look, with one eyebrow raised and her face tilted to the side.
"I'm the photographer," she said, receiving an equally surprised expression from the young man. "Wait…you're the designer? What happened to your big Broadway dream?"
"Oh, let's not go there!" Kurt said amusedly. "Let's just say I found my calling in the world of fashion. And what about you, Santana? I didn't know that you ever had an interest in photography. I must say, I'm a little surprised at this turn of events."
"Well, it was just kind of a hobby of mine when I was younger, and then I kind of…found myself, so to speak, in college and decided to pursue it. It's worked out so far."
"I can only hope it has. Just quietly, this shoot's kind of a big deal for me," he said in a hushed tone. "It'll help launch my label in a big way so, I'd just about sell my soul to the devil for this to go well. Or to you, if that works." Kurt bounced on the balls of his feet as he spoke excitedly.
"Look, Kurt, I don't really go by the name Satan Lopez anymore. Nobody's called me that since high school actually, so I'm not sure I have any pull with that particular deity. I can, however promise an amazing shoot," Santana said sincerely and with confidence.
"Ooooh, thanks Santana!" He practically squealed in response. "I have to go and prep the models, will we get a chance to talk later? I'd love to catch up with you."
"Yeah," she shot him a genuine smile "Do you want to maybe get a coffee when the shoot's done?"
"Love to! 'Kay, gotta run!" Kurt turned on his heel and walked away in the opposite direction.
Santana watched him walk away with an almost indiscernible smile adorning her face. She slid her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans, raised her shoulders and glanced around the studio in a pensive manner. She wondered what game the universe was playing with her. Why, after all these years, was there a sudden reemergence of people who had played a big part in the past she had tried effortlessly to bury?
The music was crackling in distortion, the way it did at every one of these parties when the sound dial was turned up too loud for the cheap speakers to maintain any quality of sound. However, the ready supply of alcohol provided a fuzzy, cushioning effect to the senses, making the sound not only bearable, but enjoyable.
Kurt had one arm crossed over his mid-section, the other crooked at the elbow, resting in his fist. In his other hand he grasped a red solo cup, the rim of which he was absentmindedly running back and forth across his bottom lip. He stood leaning against the wall on the back deck; one foot firmly planted on the ground, the other was bent at the knee, crossed at the ankles, as he rolled the toe of his boot back and forth across the floor below. He held a blank expression on his face, not even attempting to feign amusement as he observed the scene playing out before him.
A few small groups of inebriated teenagers, his fellow classmates, danced on the makeshift dance floor in the grassy yard. Actually, Kurt thought the word dancing would be a rather generous term. He stood and watched as they rubbed up against one another, stumbled over their own feet and spun out of control. With his lips curled and eyes narrowed, he held a look of utter distaste as he observed one group in particular.
It could almost be likened to a circle of boys passing a joint between themselves. Only, instead of a joint, it was a girl. Santana was surrounded by four or five boys, each of them with wandering hands sliding over her 'like lizards on a window pane', Kurt thought. Her eyes were so glassed over and unfocused that Kurt assumed her unable to even recall her own name due to sheer intoxication. He watched them handle her like preschoolers bickering over a favorite toy. They were planting sloppy kisses down her neck and locking lips with her whenever her mouth passed their faces; driving their tongues deep into her mouth, as she was rendered useless in any feeble attempt to stop them.
It wasn't anything out of the ordinary; in fact, it was quite the regular weekend occurrence. However, the certainty of the situation never made it any easier to watch. And it was beyond his control to ever do anything about it. If he intervened, he risked getting his own ass kicked by the lusting jocks who were more than ready to move in on their pray. The most he could ever do was be there to gather the pieces of Santana that he knew, through careful observation, were sure to shatter at any moment.
The buzzing of his phone in his pocket wrenched his attention away from the situation playing out before him. In the few moments it took to retrieve his phone, read and reply to the text it displayed, the scene had drastically changed when he looked back up. Santana was gone, and so too were one, maybe two, of her prizewinners. The remaining few stood around guffawing at each other, slapping palms in a gesture of congratulations to one another.
Kurt rolled is eyes at the foolish behavior of the young men, as he took a small sip from the cup he still held in his palm before placing it down on the table next to him. He couldn't be certain where Santana had been taken, but judging by the direction toward which the others were pointing amusedly, he figured she could found down the side of the house.
Hesitating for a few moments, Kurt debated with himself whether or not go after them and coax her away before 'things' started to happen. If he moved fast enough, he might be able to stop it before it really began. On the other hand, if he were to interrupt, that action may hold detrimental consequences for himself. 'Screw it', he thought as he marched around the corner and stopped abruptly once his eyes landed upon the object of his pursuit. This was a completely new experience for Kurt, only having ever witnessed the lead up to, and the aftermath of this very act. Santana was pinned against the side wall with her legs in the air, placed either side of the boy's thrusting hips. Animalistic grunts tumbled from the boy's mouth as he moved vehemently inside of her at the pace of a jackrabbit, banging his pelvis into hers. There was another who stood adjacent to them with his pants around his ankles. This one had a firm grasp on Santana's wrist, forcing her hand to work up and down on himself.
The scene before him made Kurt's heart feel exceedingly heavy within his chest; especially so when Santana turned her head to the side and locked her gaze with Kurt's. Her eyes remained fixed on his and held a far more lucid expression than they had during her inebriated dance with the rest of them. Kurt recognized a tortured acceptance within those dark eyes; they exhibited defeat and were simultaneously pleading forgiveness for what Kurt was now witness to.
Almost in slow motion, the boy thrusting in and out of Santana turned his head slightly, perhaps to see what she was so fixated on. Once he sought out Kurt's figure in the darkness, the realization that there was an intruder to their party of three conjured a look of thunder to his face.
"Get the FUCK out o' here FAGGOT! This isn't a fucking private show. I swear to god I'll fucking kick your ass, little bitch!" He spat the words out in Kurt's direction; his ministrations never ceasing, only growing more fervent and fierce. One particularly hard thrust produced and almost inaudible yelp from Santana.
The next few seconds transpired in a sequential blur. Santana turned her head to the other side, away from Kurt, as a large stream of sour liquid flew from her mouth prompting her to cough and gag on the bile. When it hit the ground, it spattered on the two young men, urging the one thrusting inside her to suddenly withdraw as he practically dropped her to the floor.
"Urgh, w'the fuck, Santana!" He said as he stepped back, away from the mess.
"C'mon, dude. That's disgusting, let's go," the other one said, while attempting to pull up his pants.
They turned and walked away from Santana who was on her hands and knees coughing up the remains of her stomach acid, her panties still hanging from her left ankle. One of them charged Kurt's shoulder violently as they both disappeared around the corner without a second glance back.
Kurt moved forward to kneel beside Santana, collecting her loose strands of hair into a makeshift ponytail. With his free hand, he pulled her dress down over her thighs, attempting to cover her. He rubbed soothing circles on her back, remaining quiet, waiting for her breathing to even out.
When she regained composure somewhat, she fell back into him, throwing his balance off somewhat, but he quickly caught himself, and her in the process. She buried her face in his chest and he wrapped her in a tight embrace, trying to quell her uncontrollable shivering.
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Santana?" He sighed out, without expecting a response. When he heard muffled words escape her lips, he pulled back to look at her and asked her to repeat herself.
"I'm sorry you had to see that…and for what he called you." She spoke with her eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze. She picked herself up from Kurt's embrace and moved to stand on shaky feet, stumbling slightly. Kurt steadied her with his hands and, from his position on his knees, he was able to help her on with her underwear.
"Here," he said, stretching the leg of her panties out for her to step into.
She looked away in embarrassment, but placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying herself as he slid her undergarment up her legs.
"I'm nothing but a bitch to everyone. Why are you always so nice to me at times like this?" There was a hint of a slur in her voice; the lingering effects of the night's consumption of alcohol.
"Because you're better than this, Santana," he said with conviction, as he knelt back, looking up at her exhibiting a sincere expression on his face.
"But that's just it, Kurt," she said, forcefully wiping tear away from her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm not."
With that, Santana turned away from Kurt, walked the rest of the way up the side of the house, in the opposite direction of the party, and disappeared into the night. Kurt could only watch her leave, knowing that if he attempted to follow, she'd only roll her protective walls back up and turn on her bitchy façade to keep him away. He'd learnt from experience that if she's capable of walking out, let her go. She didn't want anyone to see what was underneath when the cracks in her armor began to appear. But, little did she realize, Kurt already could see. And so could anyone who cared enough to notice the lost, broken little girl hidden underneath the mask. Because, every mask still has holes for the wearer's eyes to see through, and to be seen in return.
"Really, thank-you Santana," Kurt said as he grasped a large coffee cup in his hands. The pair was sitting face to face at a small table in a local café. "I know I keep saying it, but that shoot was just amazing! I love your style. I like the way you just hang back most of the time and let a lot of the it play out naturally."
"Thanks, Kurt." Santana ducked her head slightly, blushing at the compliment. "I snapped a couple of you when you weren't looking, by the way."
"What?" He asked, eyes widening in wonder.
"At one point you were fussing over the models and the clothes. I just had to document it. We'll keep 'em for when you're the famous Kurt Hummel; fashion designer extraordinaire." Kurt looked at her bashfully, letting a small laugh tumble from his lips.
"Did you just giggle, Kurt? I didn't think it were possible, but I think you're actually more gay than you were in high school!" Santana teased.
"Oh Santana, ever still the master of wit I see. So, how long have you been working for Gleam anyway?" Kurt asked.
"Only a few weeks, actually. Before this I worked for a couple of different magazines in Seattle, and before that I was in Chicago, before that it was Boston. I went to college in Jacksonville but dropped out midway through sophomore year and moved to Miami to study photography at a school of arts there."
"Jacksonville, Florida?" Kurt asked in surprise.
"Unless there's another Jacksonville I'm unaware of…" she said sarcastically, throwing a smirk across the table.
"You sure like to move around a lot."
"Yeah, I guess I tend to get kind of antsy when I'm in one place for too long. In the past I've found it hard to feel settled, so when I pack up and go I never really get the sense that I'm leaving anything behind y'know." Santana looked down at her cup for a few moments before speaking again. "I don't have that feeling this time though. It's funny; I've only been here for a few weeks but I feel more at home than I have in a long time."
"Why is that do you think?" Kurt asked, looking at her pensively.
Santana looked up at him, opened her mouth to say something and closed it again. Kurt watched her, waiting for a response to his question.
"Do you…do you remember Brittany Peirce?" She asked finally, although hesitantly.
"Brittany…" Kurt cocked his head to the side, his eyes travelling upward in thought, as though searching his memories. "Oh, from middle school? You two were inseparable. What ever happened to her?"
"I'm living with her." Santana said, once again looking down and avoiding Kurt's gaze.
"Oh?"
"It's all a big coincidence really. I came here to stay with my friend from college, Charlie. When I got here I found her…she's Charlie's girlfriend."
"That's nice, Santana. It's no wonder you feel at home living with her. I remember the two of you were very close."
"We were closer than anyone realized, Kurt. While living with her is really…great, its also really confusing."
"What are you trying to say, Santana?"
"That I was in love with her back then and I don't know how to feel now." She glanced up with an apprehensive expression.
"You and Brittany?" Kurt's eyebrows were raised so far they almost reached his hairline. When Santana nodded at him, looking slightly amused, he spoke again. "I was never aware you were that way inclined."
"Why, because you saw me have crude sex with a few too many guys in high school?" Kurt's jaw flapped open and closed at the words, resembling a fish fighting for oxygen above the water's surface. "You know as well as I do that I never enjoyed being with any of them," she said, looking at him pointedly.
"So you're a lesbian?" He hushed across the table, leaning in as though he were discussing a conspiracy.
"Yes. Very much out and proud these days."
"Oh!" Realization suddenly dawned on him. "And you're in love with Brittany?"
"Well that's just it; I don't know. I mean, I know I was when we were both still in Lima. I realized that when she left because I felt like I was going to fucking die without her. I spent years trying to bury those feelings because I gave up thinking I'd ever see her again. I just don't know how I'm supposed to feel now." Santana looked across the table at Kurt, widening her eyes slightly as though she had forgotten she had an audience to her monologue. "I'm sorry, I guess this has been building up inside of me for the past few weeks and now I'm spewing my verbal diarrhea all over your expensive lady blouse."
"That's okay, Santana," Kurt said with a wave of his hand. "I love a good gossip as much as the next gay man, so spill. Were you and Brittany together before or were you just friends?"
"We were friends, except we made out all the time. I don't think that either of us wanted to acknowledge what was going on. We just did it because it felt right, I guess. But, we never talked about it."
"So do you think she felt the same?" Kurt asked softly.
"It's possible."
"And what about now? Do you think she has feelings for you?"
"Urgh, it's so hard to tell. Part of me wants to say yes, but I think that's just because I want it to be true. But then the other part of me just plays off the things she does as just being Brittany."
"I need more information. How does she act around you?" Kurt was leaning both elbows on the table in front of him, looking at Santana with rapt attention.
"Well, she's so determined for us to be close again, the way we were before, to the point where she pushes it. For instance, pretty much every morning I wake up to Brittany in my bed. She sneaks in for morning snuggles after Charlie goes to work. She kissed me on the second day I was there because she said she wanted us to go back to normal!"
This caused Kurt to choke loudly on his coffee, trying desperately to regain composure through his gasps.
"You ok, there, Ladylips?" Santana deadpanned, unamusedly.
"Fine," He breathed out. "I'm fine. She kissed you?" Santana nodded. "And we're sitting here trying to figure out whether or not she has feelings for you, why?"
"Because it's Brittany! The girl has, like, no concept of physical boundaries. She just…goes with it." Santana threw her arms in the air in an exaggerated manner. "It's always been that way. One time when we were twelve she went and snuggled with Patches the hobo on his pile of newspaper because, and I quote, he looked like he needed a hug. I had to drag her away and hose her down. It took two bottles of lavender bodywash to get the smell off of her."
"That's an amusing story, Santana. But what's your point?"
"My point is, I'm not sure if Brittany is being affectionate with me because she has feelings for me or because…I don't know, I'm Patches and I need a hug. She's just doing what we did before she left, because that's her way of making us normal again."
"I see your point, but I'm not sure I agree with it. Someone in a committed relationship doesn't go around kissing and having morning snuggles with someone else just because they're trying to recreate a friendship from ten years ago." Kurt looked pointedly at Santana, narrowing his eyes slightly before bringing his cup to his lips to drain the last bit coffee. "I think you need an outsider's opinion. I want to see for myself how she acts around you. We should all do something together."
"Yeah, okay. Not that it'll help any because, as you just said, she's in a committed relationship with a good friend of mine."
"She adds as an afterthought," Kurt said through a smirk.
"Uh, shut it Porcelain, I'm serious."
"I know, but that's a whole new box of issues that I just don't have time to get into right now." He stood from his chair and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. "Dinner on the weekend? You, me, Brittany and the boyfriend?"
"Yeah," Santana said as she stood to face her friend. "Come to our place. Gimme your number and I'll text you the details once I've sorted it out with the other two."
The two of them swapped numbers and pleasantries, ending their interaction with a tight embrace, before walking away in opposite directions. Dinner on the weekend, Santana thought to herself, this will be interesting with Kurt the protagonist as my guest.