A/N: When I started this fic over a year ago, it was extremely hard to find a intersexuality (or girl!peen as people refer to it now) fic. It was something rarely found in glee fanfiction. When I set to writing this... I hadn't expected to gain so many followers. I hadn't expected it to garner positive reception and I didn't think this fic would help create a fanbase. Stealing Sunshine is my baby. It was my first serious attempt at writing something well rounded and original, something I hadn't seen before taken seriously.
That being said, I apologize for the wait. A lot of people have been looking forward to an update. I would never walk away from this fic, just because it means so much to me. But, the more I write, the more I realize that I need for things to be written how I see them- by my standards. This chapter wasn't up to par with where I wanted it to be. It's been written and rewritten, tweaked and replotted; it's been scrapped and restarted. Because no matter what I wrote... it wasn't good enough for me. And although I'm anal and nit picky, I have finally produced something that I feel okay enough with to share.
To all of you who enjoy reading this, to everyone that favorited or followed, to those of you who found my tumblr and sent me kind words of encouragement, and especially to those of you who have taken the time out to actually review- Thank You. Each review, follow or like has helped push me further to my goal of finishing this fic.
With that being said, the pressure is mounting. I am very close to the end, and I really want things to go over smoothly. There are only three chapters left of this fic. I am going to be writing a sequel, which I've decided to split from this fic. The sequel will be entitled "Braving Thunderstorms", and it deals with what happens in the aftermath of Stealing Sunshine. I am so happy that you guys have stayed with me along the ride, and I hope to see many of you continue to do so. I hope that this fic continues to be taken seriously, as was my original intent, and I hope that when it's over, we can all agree that it was a great ride. Thank you all for sticking with me.
Also… I apologize in advance for the disgusting amount of sap in this chapter… but the end is near and so is the angst. So, here is some fluff and some smut and some foreshadowing… what comes next is a doozy. This chapter is dedicated to Lauren, my beta. For talking me out of deleting my progress too many times to count. For letting me bounce around ideas, and for being honest with me about my choices. Without her, this would have been picked over for forever. So for Lauren:
Chapter 23
She hates waking up in dreams. Dropping into slumber so aware that what she is seeing isn't real. She knew that this wasn't real, because the light coming through her window was too bright, a luminescent grey in the colorless flow of her shaded bedroom. She couldn't tell what type of dream this was. There was an air around her that she couldn't place. She wasn't afraid; this wasn't a nightmare. She just…existed here, for now. She pulled back her charcoal sheets, and let her feet touch the ash carpet.
Something was off.
She felt…different. She twirled quickly around the room, making sure she was alone. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was there that hadn't been at another time. She reached for the door—her hand pausing mid motion, the doorknob that used to be there dramatically gone; smooth paint and untouched wood stared back at her. This was just a dream, no need to panic. She would wake up soon, and hopefully it wouldn't feel like forever until she did. She let her hand fall back to her side. She walked over to her window, and she let her hand drift into the glowing dew emitting from wherever outside was. She watched her hand disappear, and pulled it in when she could feel nothing but fog. She guessed she was stuck here, in her bedroom.
She walked over to her closet; glad that the handle was still attached as she pulled it open. The hangers inside were bare, all of her bins empty on the floor and shelves above her. At that moment, she realized she was nude. Nude with nothing to wear. She looked down. And she discovered what was missing. She moved quickly in front of the mirror hung on her open closet door and she cupped herself. What had been there when she fell asleep wasn't now. She moved her hand from the silky flesh and she admired herself in the mirror. She had a vagina. That, and nothing else. She explored herself experimentally, trying to make sense of her seemingly new body. She searched until she found every fold of skin, she touched and pulled and rubbed the skin between her fingertips. It felt like skin. Just skin. But…but it looked so beautiful to her; so normal. She moved a chair in front of the mirror and she uncovered every part of herself. Santana… the girl; only a girl. She had to breathe. She was losing grip with her surroundings, trying to hold on to this dream… trying not to slip into the obscurity she knew was wakefulness.
She closed her eyes, and she inhaled.
When she opened them again, she was different. She was back to what she was before. She touched herself, somewhat sad at the memory of what she could have been. She stood from the chair she'd been sitting in, and she looked away from her mirror. A girl. She could be a girl. But that girl in the mirror… what she had was just skin. She had a pretty package with no feeling, an anatomically correct doll. She stood in front of her mirror. She palmed her breasts in her hand, and she let the other fall to her penis. She gripped it; she felt it. This was what she was. It was what she would always be. She turned away from the mirror, torn between the two people she saw in her reflection. Her closet was full. There were dresses on her hangers, and jeans folded in the bins on the bottom and top shelf. Nothing was there that hadn't been there before.
She could be a girl. She would. She always had been.
She woke up tense, her body coiled tight as she sprung awake in her bed with the appearance of the sun. She'd been waiting for today, impatiently. Morning was colder than usual; today, it confined her to her bed. She wiped her dreams from her eyes. She hid from the grey peeking through her open window because it was too early to be awake; and she tucked herself under her blankets when the breeze blew in. At least the day was here; at least the wait was over. At least she wasn't dreaming. Today was the day. She was ready… but she was edgy.
She pulled herself from her brisk sheets and walked to her window to shut it. She showered and shaved quickly (because she has to do that regularly now), and washed away the grime from her run the night before. She made her way to the kitchen. Anxiety ate her appetite when she made herself breakfast and she lounged in sweats for the majority of the morning.
Her parents were gone. They left the night before, happy to have the weekend to themselves off doing things parents do in lieu of children. She let the day pass with impatience, finding nothing to occupy the time that seemed to stretch on to oblivion. Four o'clock came just when she was convinced that she'd lost her mind. She showered again, making work of cleaning every inch of yesterday from her body. Today was the day; Valentine's Day. It shouldn't have felt like such a big deal. But it was their first together; she felt like today had to be important. She needed to show Rachel how committed she was to her, to their relationship. And it was the day she was going to tell Rachel her surgery decision. She was excited, she was worried, and she was terrified.
She wore slacks. Grey, thick slacks that would keep her warm without tights. She wore a red fitted sweater, and her winter trench coat. She curled her hair and shook the curls loose before tugging on a hat. She grabbed Rachel's gift and tucked it in her inside coat pocket, and then she made her way to her car. She had big plans today. Plans she made in spite of the holiday; plans that only happened to coincide with Valentine's Day. Plans she couldn't really believe she was going through with. She hated that she was nervous; but no other emotion seemed fitting. There were a lot of solid, bold decisions she would be making today- she was ready... but still, she was nervous. It was the perfect day for grand gestures, and it was time for Rachel to see how serious she was about her; about them.
She knew that Rachel didn't expect a traditional Valentine's Day. It made her feel like she didn't have a standard to live up to. She wasn't the type to smother Rachel with cheesy gifts and chocolates; she wasn't the type to expect something in return for a single day of acknowledgement and good behavior. She has been showing Rachel how much she loves her every day since she slept with Brittany. She knew how much she cared for the girl the moment she saw the anger and disappointment in her eyes. She never wanted for Rachel to feel that way again... especially because of something she did.
That's why today wasn't important because it was Valentine's Day. The holiday meant nothing to her. It was important because she wanted Rachel to know how ready she was. She wanted to never see that look in Rachel's eyes again. Today was important because she had the chance to set the standard, to wipe the slate clean of everyone else's expectations and indiscretions. Today was the day that would change everything.
She left the house quarter to six, and she headed to the overcrowded flower shop. She bought Rachel a tulip, because roses were overrated, and she made her way to Rachel's with a smile on her face.
Today was the day.
000 0000 00
She hates secrets. She hates them because she can't stop thinking about them once someone tells her one. She hates keeping secrets. It's hard to keep something inside when she's bursting at the seams with the burden of knowing something no one else does. Information she shouldn't have seems to ebb and ache inside her until she blurts it out, a rush of too many words too fast; usually to the wrong audience. Needless to say, she rarely has any secrets of her own.
It's hard not interacting with Santana at school. It's getting harder keeping them a secret. Often, she has to stop herself from greeting her in the hallways, or sitting with her at lunch. Sometimes she lets her feet move her to the field after school to watch her at Cheerios practice. She turns back when she realizes that she can't sit in the bleachers and be Santana's cheerleader. She is starting to hate the handicapable bathroom they meet in, or the empty classrooms they use to steal kisses without scrutiny. It used to be thrilling; running around with her. It used to be exhilarating that they could keep such a secret from people. It isn't anymore. Especially when she remembers that staying a secret was her idea in the first place.
She's usually the secret in her relationships. Either the secret or the fool. But things were different with Santana. What she had with Santana was real. What they had together was... special. She'd gotten to know so much about Santana in the short time they'd been dating. Santana wasn't a girl struggling with her sexuality. She was a girl fighting with her intersexuality. She understood why Santana didn't want anyone to know about her condition. Santana didn't want people to judge her and talk about her behind her back. She didn't want people to make assumptions over something she had no control over. She respects Santana's decision to keep it quiet.
That reason alone has been keeping her from forcing the next step. Because they were still a secret; because she'd been the one to make it that way at first. She didn't want to make Santana choose, even though it was getting harder to stay under everyone else's radar. Even though she was bursting at the seams with her secret; with her joy. She didn't want to ruin the stability Santana had maintained through everything. She hated keeping secrets, especially this one... but she kept it nonetheless.
It had been hard keeping her secret from Santana too- about what they were doing tonight. She'd been bubbling on the brim of telling ever since they'd agreed on doing both of their plans. Saturday was here now, and she was sitting beside Santana quietly, thinking about everything that lead up to this moment; all the things that brought them here.
"Rachel...we're here."
She'd zoned out. She couldn't look out of the window, the blindfold Santana had her wearing was obstructing her view. Santana hadn't spoken too much during the drive, and in an absence of conversation and sight her mind had drifted off.
When she tugged down the blindfold, they were parked outside of the ice skating rink. If it were any other day, ice skating wouldn't be such a big deal. They'd been here a few times since her birthday; since she received Santana's virginity. The rink was on the edge of town, and aside from hockey games and seasonal rentals, most people didn't frequent the place. It was somewhere they could usually be themselves without worrying about people asking too many questions. But tonight was different. Tonight was the Couple's skate. Almost everyone at McKinely would be there; everyone would see them there together. She was ecstatic, and happy tears sprang instantly to her eyes when she looked over at her squirming girlfriend- who was gripping the steering wheel in anticipation of her reaction.
"This is okay...right?"
Santana looked nervous. Like she was revving up for a big competition, and she knew that she could very well lose. She pulled Santana's hand away from the steering wheel and laced their fingers together. She nodded. Of course it was okay. There were happy tears in her eyes. She knew that this wasn't easy for Santana. She really did. But if Santana wasn't ready for this...she wouldn't have brought them here.
"Okay, then. Let's skate."
000 0000 000
He brought Quinn to the couples skate. So what if she was dating that chump Sam, he didn't have to do much convincing to get her on his arm. Yea, she cheated—but so what, he was back on top, and that's all that mattered. He felt like Finn Hudson again. Sam had dislocated his shoulder, and he was quarterback again and everything should have been great. But it wasn't. Something still bothered him. He hadn't told anyone about Rachel and Santana. He had to think about it first. Something about them being together… it just made him angry. What he hated most was that it was Santana. Rachel liking girls used to be kind of hot, back when Rachel was his girl and that kind of stuff would only ever happen in his fantasies. But now it just really pissed him off.
But he had Quinn now, so it shouldn't have mattered. He wasn't just a glee loser anymore… and it should be a lot easier to forget about Rachel. But it wasn't. He thought he would have longer to get over it… but he was wrong about that too. Rachel and Santana had come, as a couple, to ice skate. He could feel the tips of his ears burning as he heard the whispers, everyone around him stopping to make a scene about the newest couple at McKinely high. And Rachel and Santana were rubbing it in, acting like no one was staring; like this wasn't the biggest joke he'd ever seen. They were just holding hands and whispering between themselves, lacing up their stupid skates and messing up his entire date.
He tries to play it cool. He pulls Quinn a little closer and he tries his best to act surprised. Rachel spots New Directions and they glide over hand and hand. It makes him sick in that "he's going to barf but he's so disgusted that he totally can't" kind of way. Everyone is crowded around the rails. Artie and his date were sipping hot chocolate on the "safe", carpeted part of the rink. He and Quinn, Mercedes and Kurt and Mike and Tina were standing in front of them. No one was skating yet; most of the kids there were just standing on their blades, talking.
He can't skate. He was as uncoordinated at it as he was at dancing, but he realized that he did a great job at balancing on the blades if he wasn't moving. He'd only come because most of McKinely would be there. He was the quarterback, and that made him like the figure head at the school or something... so he showed up, and with the prettiest girl on his arm. But Santana and Rachel shouldn't have been there. They were committing social suicide, and that should have made him feel better about what was happening, but he still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his gut when they finally skated up to the group.
"Oh hell to the no! This is Valentine's Day you guys, not April Fools! I mean, Berry's not my friend or anything, but Santana—that's just plain cruel."
Kurt's head swiveled in this weird, gay way (but not in that offensive gay way, because he's never seen anyone's head swivel around like that and he really doesn't think normal dudes can do that), and "mmmhmmm'd" as Tina just pointed at the couple. He's really starting to get angry, but before he can say something to Rachel, Quinn is pulling away from him and snatching Santana a few feet away from the crowd. Rachel is just there, standing in front of everyone. It's honestly one of the only times he's ever seen Rachel quiet for longer than a few minutes.
"Have you g-guys been d-d-dating long?"
Tina is standing next to Mike, who doesn't really look like he knows how he should take this.
"It's been a while now. We just didn't want everyone to know until we were ready."
He can hear Quinn off to his left, shouting in a loud whisper about "hobbit hopping" and the social order. She's right— Rachel and Santana dating might totally explode the hierarchy. But as he looks around, he notices that most of the other kids were already finished staring, and a few of them had already started skating. Quinn's loud whisper is getting louder, and she is doing this growling, huffing combo that has him confused. There is an awkward silence between New Directions and Rachel, and everyone standing around the rails is finding an excuse to avoid the topic. He tugs on Rachel's arm without letting go of the rail and he wobbles slightly away from the group so he can talk to her in private. She hesitates only for a minute before looking over to Santana. With a sigh she skates over to him; with so much more skill than he could ever come up with. He tries to stop the anger from coming out with his voice when he speaks.
"Rachel, why are you doing this? I mean, you can be gay or whatever...but Santana? I get that you're experimenting and stuff. And, like, I knew you were desperate after we broke up, but I didn't think you would stoop that low. Are you doing this just to get back at me?"
Rachel rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. He would do the same, but that would involve finding balance without gripping the rail he is standing beside. She shakes her head for a few minutes before setting her face. He knows that face. It means that she is about to raise her voice and talk down to him.
"Finn Hudson! How dare you? You have no right to question the validity of my sexuality or my choice in a partner. Just because you still have hurt feelings over what happened between us, you have no right to ridicule my relationship. Am I sore that you went back to Quinn? No. I'm happy that you've moved on. Santana and I are together, and it has nothing to do with you!"
Her voice ends a lot louder than when she began talking, and a few people are turning to look at the commotion. He can't let her get the best of him, especially not when everyone was watching.
"Oh come on, Rachel. Of course this is about me. You made a mistake and now you want me back and you knew because it was Santana that I would notice. Good job, Rachel. Looks like you got my attention. Even though I don't want you back."
She looks angry. You don't understand how she manages to stomp her foot so hard with ice skates on, but she does— and whatever, you're totally not scared.
"I don't know what I ever saw in you, Finn. And I definitely don't want you back. I'm sure I never will. Thanks for letting me know that I made the right choice in Santana. At least she has dignity and class that you will never have."
She goes to turn away and he is pissed. He couldn't have stopped the words from coming out of his mouth if he tried.
"You know what, Rachel? You're dumb to think she even cares about you. She's just using you. She's just a slut who thinks getting into your pants is a game. But hey, it's the only reason I ever dated you in the first place. Maybe Santana will have better luck."
He honestly expected a slap. He expected Rachel to reach up and slap him hard on the cheek. He doesn't expect a punch to the side of his jaw, and he doesn't expect the impact to make him twirl in a full circle on his skates before he falls heavily to the floor. When the world stops spinning, he feels the weight sitting on top of him. He realizes that it's Santana, hitting him repeatedly while cursing in Spanish. She even gets in a few good shots before someone pulls her back, and Quinn is suddenly by his side, trying to help him up without falling herself.
When he finally stands, his nose is bleeding and there is blood gushing down his favorite bubble vest.
"You know what, screw this. Have fun with your lezzy girlfriend!"
Puck hits him this time. He doesn't even know when Puck got there, and the hit hurts worse than when Santana hit him. He reaches out to catch onto something (and yea, Quinn totally just moved out of the way of his flailing limbs, and yea he has to act like it doesn't hurt his feelings) and he skids and slides backwards; sure his eye will probably swell shut.
"Watch who you're talking to, Hudson. Show some respect to these ladies."
He crawls over to where Artie's chair is parked, and he hears the boy snicker before saying something that sounds a lot like "You got served". Quinn skates over to him by the time he manages to loosen his laces, and he tries to ignore the stares of all the kids at the skating rink. He was mad before, about everything that happened and how it happened. But as he grabs his shoes from the front desk, all he can think about is how he's going to get back at that bitch, Santana for ruining his reputation.
000 000 0000
Quinn had been giving her a lecture about how being gay was cool when it was with Brittany, and that she wouldn't allow her to date Rachel "Manhands" Berry. She'd called Quinn on the disrespect, and was two seconds away from pushing Quinn on her ass when she heard Finn yelling at her girl. She skated away from a gaping Quinn, who scoffed indignantly before following after her. When she caught wind of what he'd actually been saying to Rachel, she saw red. She had always hated everything about Finn Hudson, and that feeling had intensified ever since he'd started butting into her business.
Rachel had tugged her to the benches, and they got their shoes and went to the bathroom together. She reassured Rachel that she was fine, but Rachel had insisted on the moment of privacy. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins—finally hitting that douche felt like the greatest thing in the world.
"You shouldn't have hit him, you know. I could have handled it myself."
Rachel is thumbing her bruising knuckles. She is shuffling her weight from heel to heel, and she plays with Santana's fingers one by one. She is sitting on the sink inside the bathroom with Rachel between her legs making sure she didn't hurt herself when she smashed her fist into the side of Finn's face.
"Finnkenstein really tried to play my girl… hads to handle it."
Rachel smiled at her, loving the sap of her false bravado. Rachel cupped her hand over hers and kissed her on the cheek. Santana grew serious.
"Some Valentine's Day huh? We didn't even get to skate."
She looked away, and Rachel's fingers snapped her head straight—pressing her full lips lusciously against hers. She let her eyes close just as it ended, and let the slow smile spread on her face as she opened them again to a smirking Rachel.
"I don't condone violence…but it's nice to see someone stand up for me for once. Without hesitation."
She presses a kiss to her lips again, and she wraps her arms around Rachel's waist.
"I'm… I'm ready for this, Rachel. I'm serious."
Rachel smiled.
"I know you are... are you ready to blow this popsicle stand?"
Rachel reaches a hand out to her and she takes it, hopping off the counter and pulling on her hat. Her part of the date hadn't gone quite according to plan. She had expected some backlash. But tonight, there were no slushy machines in sight and she thought she would make it through at least one skate without being interrupted by a hockey jock or Neanderthal. She had even expected the glee club to call bullshit. But if nothing else came from this night...at least everyone knew now. She and Rachel were officially an out couple. She had made a commitment and she wasn't afraid of what people had to say about it. It felt great, even though she knew to expect hell at school on Monday.
They said their goodbyes to Puck, who'd come with a Cheerio she didn't have a name for. She followed Rachel to the parking lot, and hesitated opening Rachel's door. She took her hand instead, and led her over away from the cars parked on the lot. There was a quiet space right next to the rink, a brown dirty bench that looked way too sketchy to sit down on. They sat anyway, sweeping the tails of their coats under them, hoping that what looked like grime was just actually worn wood. She took a deep breath before reaching for the box in her coat pocket...she was suddenly nervous.
"I gave you your first charm here, at this place. It feels only right that I keep with tradition."
She blows air out of her cheeks. She puts the box in Rachel's hand, and she averts her eyes as Rachel opens it, a bit worried that she may not like it.
"What's it stand for?"
The ribbon is gold. It's small enough to dangle from Rachel's charm bracelet without catching on anything, but it's still big enough to notice. She had a hard time picking this one out, trying not to get talked into anything cheesy like name necklaces and heart pendants. She'd even talked herself out of a pretty gold star- she'd save that for another occasion. This charm was important, and she wanted Rachel to know that every time she saw it.
"I want you to remember... how much you mean to me. Every time you look at it I want you to remember how much I love you."
Rachel's eyes tear up, and she reaches out a hand and puts it on top of hers.
"You mean a lot to me, Rachel. And I know I'm a bitch sometimes, and I get that I do stupid things. I even realize that I don't tell you that enough- how much you mean to me... and I just thought it be nice to have a reminder..."
Rachel stands before she finishes her sentence and she tugs her up. The hug Rachel envelops her in is tight, and they stand in front of the dirty bench for way too long that way.
"Who knew my girlfriend could be so sweet?"
She shrugs, putting on a scowl before answering.
"Tell anyone and I'll murder you."
They laughed, still holding each other loosely in front of the old bench, their knees bending inward and arms wrapped warmly around each other. The DJ inside the rink had decided to crank love songs to the max, and she could hear the slow song wafting through the double doors. Rachel began humming, her voice silky to Santana's ears. She felt her feet moving slowly, side to side, and Rachel rested her head on her shoulder and began whispering the lyrics. She kissed the top of Rachel's head before lacing their fingers together. The song ended and she twirled the shorter girl around and pulled Rachel back to her for a kiss. It was colder out, and Rachel pulled her away from the old bench by the rink and over to her parked car. After arguing momentarily about driving, she pulled out of the parking lot, happy that this part of the date wasn't a complete bust.
She had followed Rachel's directions precisely, and still, she didn't know where they were. The building was made of tan brick, and there were almost no windows in sight. The dome roof was the highest point on the building, and wherever they were, it appeared to be closed. Rachel had gotten out of the car, and walked up to a surly guy sitting in the security booth. Moments later Rachel waved her over, smiling and thanking the man named Hector as they walked past him. There were almost no lights on when they walked in, fluorescent bulbs casting enough light for them to follow the straight path to the end of the hallway and up three flights of stairs. The double doors at the top of the last step read "Observatory" in thick, capital letters, and Rachel pulled a key from her purse before smiling over her shoulder at her to unlock it.
She was clueless, obviously, but she pursed her lips and let Rachel lead her into the sphere shaped theater. There was an elevated stage up front, with a checkered patterned blanket and picnic basket on top of it. Rachel showed her to the blanket before disappearing into a room offset from where she was sitting. Moments later, the dome above her geared to life, and the sconces along the walls dimmed enough for her to see the constellations littered above her like road maps to dreams. Comets darted across the expanse of space, and she admired the depthless stretch of uninterrupted universe.
"I love coming here. Everything seems so small when you watch the stars. Hector lets me in most nights, and I put down a blanket and just...drift off into space."
Rachel sighs contently, opening the picnic basket and taking out Breadstix containers. She sat still, admiring the environment that swallowed the entire room.
"I've never brought anyone here before... do you like it?"
She nodded, breaking a breadstick with her teeth.
"Is the sky real? Or is it like CGI?"
Rachel laughs, pulling out plates and lighting two candles between them. There was no other light now, and the night sky glittered like diamonds over them, the silver speckling their faces.
"Yes it's real. I can point the telescope anywhere I like. But mostly I just watch the stars. If you watch the same ones long enough they start to change. Or sometimes you can see one that flickers out. Other times... you see one that might not have been there before. Some of them shoot across the sky and just get lost. It's...beautiful."
She is staring at Rachel, lost in the moment of awe. Her girlfriend. Her beautiful girlfriend who brought her to a picnic under the stars.
"Is that the reason you like it here?"
She looks at her in the dark, Rachel's intense gaze stares back, a smile quirks her lips.
"Well, for a long time, I didn't have friends. And I only had my dads to talk to and sometimes I needed someone else to listen. And I would come here for the last showing and sit in the back row. I was usually by myself. I would just talk to the sky and hope that someone was listening. It made me feel better..."
Rachel looks down at the plates in front of her, handing one over and staring up above her nostalgically.
"Do you... do you still come here often?"
Rachel shrugs nonchalantly.
"Well... not as much. I have someone who listens now."
There is a smile on her lips at the comment, and she listens to Rachel as she lists the constellations over dinner. They wind up full and on their backs, talking quietly under the night sky.
"If you had a nickname for me, what would it be and why?"
She rolls her eyes.
"I have a lot of nicknames for you already."
"Oh? I have yet to hear any of them-"
"Hobbit, Streisand, Dwarf, Yentle and-"
She counts them off on her fingers, and Rachel slaps her arm playfully.
"You know what I mean, Santana. Like those cute, couple names that everyone has. You know... sweetheart and pookie or honeybunch-"
"Honeybunch? Really?"
Rachel scoffed.
"Well you know what I mean. We don't have any of those."
She shrugs. Rachel was right.
"Yea, we don't. But... you don't get to pick your boo name."
She can see Rachel's brow furrow in confusion.
"A name for your boo... like nicknames have to happen on their own. There should be an entire story behind it or some crap like that. Like a couple's inside joke."
Rachel nods like it makes complete sense and lies flat against the blanket to watch the stars. It gets quiet pretty fast, and Rachel shifts to rest against her head against shoulder- and her arm wraps instantly around her as they settle into a comfortable silence. Rachel pulls away momentarily to rifle through her bag. She pulls out a rectangular shaped package, wrapped in gold paper with a pretty purple ribbon tied around it. Rachel hands it to her and sits up, crossing her legs Indian style in front of her.
"Go on, open it."
She shakes it slightly, frowning when it doesn't shift in the packaging.
"Is this a booklet of your head shots, Rachel? Because if it is-"
"Just open it!"
Rachel is bouncing impatiently in her seat, waiting for Santana to open the gift. She hadn't expected one in return, honestly, so she takes her time. She uncovers it slowly, a cloth ebony cover, gold letters embroidered on thick material- aged yellow paper without lines and a thick purple ink pen, dangling on a string attached to the book. The lettering on the book read "Thoughts". There was a black and purple strap that clasped over a lock, the key hidden between the first and second pages.
"I know it's hard for you to talk to me about your feelings. And I thought, maybe you could write them down… and show me one day. When you're ready."
She feels herself tear up. Emotions weren't her strong suit. Talking about them… it wasn't something she was comfortable with. The gift was modest and thoughtful, and everything she didn't know she wanted. She leaned over to kiss Rachel, and blew out the candles that had burned halfway down the wick since they'd been there. She hugged the girl to her and looked up, wishing on every star in that sky that they could stay there forever.
000 0000 000
The thump that reverberated through the empty house when her back slammed aggressively against the still closing door was extremely loud; and it pulsed through her ear canal like a high frequency pitch…until the vibrations echoed distantly in her eardrums. She doesn't know how Santana managed to slip her key from her coat pocket, nor does she realize how her girlfriend opened the door while they were kissing fervently—consumed by their frantic, desperate movements.
She forgets what she was thinking about when Santana's lips trace her jawline. Santana is too busy peppering wet open mouthed kisses down her neck until she discovers the one spot on her body that makes her hips cant and her knees buckle, and she sucks on it- hard. The moan that trembles from her open mouth is shaky, and she's sure she would start drooling if she let her mouth lay slack.
When she woke up that morning, she hadn't expected the day to turn out this way. She convinced herself that they would avoid the cheesy clichés of the holiday; she even told herself that the only reason they were celebrating at all was because it was the first they would share together. She didn't want the sickeningly expected copulation at the end of a trail of rose petals. She didn't want giant teddy bears, non-vegan friendly chocolates or tacky balloon hearts. She wanted a special night out with her girlfriend, without the pressure of the expected physical intimacy.
When Santana showed up at her house that night, promptly at six thirty, she told herself that they would behave and she wouldn't let the weight of the day force her into any premature decisions. Her fathers left the day before, after she insisted they could leave her alone for the weekend. Santana was leaning lazily against the doorframe, a single tulip cupped daintily in her left hand. She put the flower in a vase set on the foyer table and walked out into the brisk February air. When the night began, what they were doing now wasn't supposed to be in the forecast.
Santana bit down on her neck, and she let her head lull against the door. Santana was lifting her right leg, and she wrapped it around the curve of Santana's waist, pulling her other leg up to follow. There was a thick, swollen, solid bulge grinding into the juncture of her thighs, Santana's grey slacks were tight and straining. She wants to pull off Santana's trench coat, still grinding against the hard girth of Santana's erection. It's hard to think over the feeling of Santana dragging across her clit, and she's instantly aware that she wants this; that she needs it.
"If you want me to stop… tell me to stop now."
She stops breathing. Santana is looking at her, holding her by the bottoms of her thighs against the door she's pressed against. She's looking into her eyes, searching for the one feeling she's currently experiencing. She knew it was hard for Santana, her thickness pressing against the wet patch of underwear beneath her skirt, to say no. She knew it was difficult for Santana to stop, just to give her the chance to call the shots. To make sure she wanted to take this step. She was staring slack jawed at her girlfriend in that moment.
She doesn't nod, or vocalize anything she's thinking. She just closes her eyes and kisses her. If she could force anything she was feeling in that moment into her lips, she's sure she'd be doing what she was doing now, with Santana- the girl she loves. When she broke away, Santana dropped her legs to the floor and pulled off both of their coats. The coats both drop to the floor in heavy thuds, right before Santana disappeared to pull her panties down from under her skirt. By the time she looked down, Santana had pulled a leg over her shoulder and pressed her face into the bend of her thighs.
The feeling of her tongue sliding over all the swollen parts of her sex made the tug in her stomach catch the moan in her throat. She missed this. The feeling she got whenever Santana touched her. Their bodies moved together involuntarily. Somehow her fingertips knotted in the hair at the back of Santana's skull and she squeezed as Santana's tongue flicked over her hypersensitive flesh. The car ride home was too much, because it doesn't take much for her to begin screaming and grunting and clenching around Santana's mouth. When she orgasms, she tumbles into Santana's face, and she lets Santana catch her and bring her body flat against the floor.
They lay there together on the foyer floor; kissing each other like it was the best activity in the world. All the fire that had been there moments ago smoldered and they tangled in each other's embrace for a moment—smitten with each other's company.
"Do you… do you sometimes feel like we moved too fast?"
It's out her mouth before she can stop it, but she wonders often about how quickly she fell for the girl lying beside her. Santana shrugs.
"No… It's how I know that I love you. I didn't have control over any of it. I mean… if I had a chance to set the pace and take it slow, it just wouldn't have happened. All this was supposed to happen this way."
She kisses Santana on the mouth. It's a sincere peck that lasts for a few seconds before she lifts herself from the floor. She reaches her hand down to help Santana up, and slowly leads her up the stairs and to her bedroom. She takes off Santana's clothes, slowly. This feels new. They hadn't had sex in a month and she couldn't help her hands from shaking as she unbuttoned Santana's pants, letting the thick material pool around her ankles on the floor. Santana pulled her dress slowly over her head, and they met somewhere in the middle for a kiss. Santana was still bulging in her underwear, and she realized quickly that she wanted her, naked on top of her. They did away with what was left, and they lay together on the bed, kissing. It was quiet in the house, and she let her hand drag lazily down Santana's sides—they had all night.
"I have something to tell you…"
She stopped her movements, leaning backwards to see Santana's face.
"I'm… I'm going back on hormones."
Oh. A decision. She instantly has so many questions. They flood to her head immediately, and she has to stop herself from blurting them all out. Santana is looking at her, searching for some reaction in her eyes. She looks worried. She pushes her questions aside and she leans up to kiss Santana.
"I'll… I'll be right there when you wake up from surgery. I'll bake you cookies and visit you every day until you're released. I'll braid your hair when it's matted from lounging around all day and I'll make sure you have someone to watch cartoons with on the couch."
Santana looks like she just won the lottery.
"I—I'm not getting the surgery I just— I need to go back on my hormones to stop the growth from well… growing. And my levels are just so wacked, these mood swings are no joke and I just… I want to even that out. This testosterone has me doing things that I normally wouldn't. You know… like punching Finn in the face."
Oh. She feels like she's passed some test. Like Santana was waiting to see how she'd react. There's only one question left now:
"What made you change your mind?
Santana breathes deeply.
"I've had sixteen years of not knowing how this feels. I went a long time wanting to be a complete person, not realizing that I wasn't incomplete because of the extra parts. I was incomplete because a piece of me felt like it wasn't a part of me. And then, everything just started working and I realized that if I go through with the surgery now, I'd never be able to be this way again… right when I was starting to understand what this felt like. If I want to go through with the surgery later in life… it's still an option. But for right now, I want to see what it's like to be complete… extra parts and all."
She smiles up at Santana, proud at the conclusions she's come to.
"You know that no matter what…I'm here, right?"
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She leans down to kiss Rachel.
"I know…"
She whispers it, and she kisses Rachel again. She feels at ease, looking down on the girl she loves. She hated herself for the emotional fluff-fest, but she couldn't help but marvel at the feelings coursing through her veins. She felt like such a girl. She smiles at that, grinning as she rolls over so that Rachel was sitting on top of her. Her hands immediately find Rachel's hips, fingertips grazing her sides feather lightly—feeling Rachel's goose bumps map out pathways to erogenous zones. Rachel leans down over her, their bodies touching at every expanse of skin. Her mouth constantly moves over Rachel's; until Rachel's mouth tugs away to kiss and nip down the column of her neck, the crooks of her elbows, the spaces behind her knees and then—right where she needed her mouth pressed against.
Santana rolls them over until she is on top, returning favors with the tip of her tongue over Rachel's soft skin. She basks in the smells that Rachel emits, the noises of Rachel's moans and tastes of certain places on Rachel's body that she's been craving for a month too long—and she commits it to memory. She'd been lost without this feeling. She worships every inch of Rachel's body leisurely. She kisses her ankles and runs her hands over the curve of her hips. She traces Rachel's spine with the bow of her lips, and she drags her tongue over the swell of Rachel's breasts. She lets her hands remember the feeling of what Rachel feels like beneath them, and she lets her fingers dance out noises that she's never heard before from Rachel. She bites her lip when she can't take the slow torture anymore and she pushes inside her with a long groan, her eyes shockingly open and staring deeply into hers.
They rock together, slowly. Deep strokes and counter thrusts shift the bed and the rock out a steady rhythm. Misty sweat sticks them to each other, and they torment themselves; reprieve drawling out in the form of their groans. It's been too long she's been here, with Rachel. She whispers things in Rachel's ear when she feels her grip tighten on her shoulders, Rachel's legs squeezing around her as she pumps—this stroke too agonizingly amazing to keep without shattering. They come together with the other's name a mantra on their tongues. Rachel rolls her over and kisses her slow—they have all night.
Her cell phone woke her up. It was buried in her slacks on the floor beside Rachel's bed, and she had to fumble for a moment to grab them and stop the noise. She listened to the voicemail her mother left, informing her of her parents cancelled reservations. Her father was home sick, and they needed to know where she was. Rachel stirred on the bed, checking her clock before turning the other cheek, getting comfortable in the space Santana had just evacuated. She hadn't expected the weekend to be over so soon. She also didn't feel like being grounded for "breaking the rules". She dialed Brittany's number, wondering which little white lie would suffice.
It rung four times before the click of the other line chimed in her ear. It was early, for a Sunday, and Britt had probably been asleep.
"Britts, I need an alibi, call my mom for me and tell her that I slept over and I'm in the shower or something?"
"Brittany's sleeping."
She didn't recognize the voice. She'd talked to Tiffany on the phone on plenty occasions, and she was almost positive that Brittany hadn't been with the girl the night before. She cleared her throat—
"Who is this?"
It wasn't really any of her business, to be honest. But she was annoyed and she'd called to talk to Brittany and there was nothing that she didn't know about her best friend—
"This is Bella, and Brittany is sleep—should I give her the message?"
Bella knew who this was. The picture that flashed whenever she called the blonde was of her and Lord Tubbington smoking cigars. She needed to know why the girl was over there and what the hell Brittany was thinking.
"You really shouldn't pick up other people's phones…"
Bella's laugh was scratchy, still thick with the sounds of sleep.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't call people at seven a.m. on a Sunday."
Bitch.
"Whatever, Karofsky. I don't even have to entertain the thought of why you're over Brittany's house. I'm sure you know better."
"Know better than to what, Santana? Last time I checked, I'm not stepping on anybody's toes. And you're right, you don't know what I'm doing over here. And it'll stay that way."
"One word from me and you're done. Brittany will do anything for me. Including getting rid of you. Remember that. And do me a favor, stay away from my leftovers, it's not becoming."
Bella laughs again, this time it's louder, and she hears sounds of Brittany's questioning voice in the background.
"Don't you already have a girlfriend, Santana? Maybe you need to loosen that weave, all those razor blades you keep in there must be getting a bit too close to your scalp."
Click.
It instantly pisses her off. She almost throws her cell phone, opting instead to squeeze it as hard in her hand as she can possibly manage without cracking it.
"Fucking Bitch."
She barely mutters it, and she turns on her heel to climb back into bed. Rachel had sat up since she'd been on the phone, her face tense with annoyance and her arms crossed over her chest.
"Leftovers? Are you finished peeing on your territory?"
Shit.
End Chapter 23
I feel like my writing style has changed so much since I started this fic. And I hope this change doesn't make it seem like two different people are writing this…
Please review, I'd love thoughts on this chapter.