NA: Things are surely developing. Thanks to those sticking with this story! (Affy, you must now devote your love to me. I complied to all your requests so far, haven't I?)
Other work: If you take a look at my Tumblr, beyondcanon (link on my profile), you'll see two more ficlets. And, if you take a look at Fate's Hands, my biggest project, you'll also see another chapter.
03
When Santana wakes up the next day the first thing she notices is that she has a headache. The second thing to come to her mind is flashes, as it seems too difficult for the moment to make one single coherent memory of the previous night. She grumbles under her sheets, having a flash of arriving at the party after the opening feeling on top of the world. She was getting somewhere with her life, finally.
Then there was dancing to indie rock music, her short black skirt, strong eyeliner and black boots making the perfect attire for the occasion. Someone showed up with more José Cuervo than they could handle, and there was a blissful moment of general drunkenness and laughing and having fun. Quinn disappeared and came back a while later, with a smirk on her lips and her Just Been Fucked hair, and Kurt – wait, was Kurt there before? When had he arrived? – yelled Body Shots! And everybody was clapping and laughing and looking for lemons and salt.
Things were going fast, but no one was giving a damn, so Blaine took off his shirt, displaying his oh so nice six pack, and lay down on the table. Santana promptly followed, taking off her shirt to lie down as well because really, a couple was a must. Kurt, the gaywad, of course drank his from Blaine's perfect abs, and Santana hadn't even remembered the Cherry Bomb existence until she was right beside her, staring at her body and saying that it was her turn. Then came the best body shot of Santana's life, tongue swirling on her stomach as AC/DC's song You Shook Me All Night Long played on the background and really, it couldn't be any more appropriate.
She also remembers dancing between Quinn, who looked smokin' hot in her tiny black dress, and Cute Asian Guy, who had a site set of abs and a penchant for blondes, or so it seemed. But Quinn wasn't interested in him, nor in telling Santana who had been the lucky one to give her that smug sooner, so they just dance and dance, and Santana fake flirts with Quinn and the both of them laugh at Asian Guy's reaction, who looked like he was going to have a heart attack from watching porn in the making, because how silly was that and couldn't he see that the both of them had absolutely no chemistry or sexual attraction between them?
Santana closes her eyes again, cursing under her breath at the memory and gathering the courage to get up and get herself some water. Her next memory is just sitting on the couch, head thrown back, trying to get herself a little less drunk and a little more put together, when Handsome Devil sat on her lap, straddling Santana, and began to assault her neck like she owned it. Santana moaned shamelessly, nails sinking in Brittany's thighs when Bombshell took a slow bite, the loud music pumping in their ears and swallow any sound they might have made.
It wasn't Santana's fault, because she is so very drunk and she didn't ask for that, she hadn't even seen it coming, but what could she do when skilled lips sucked on skin, long fingers sunk in black, long hair and the longest pair of legs of her life – and she has a thing for legs that she just can't help – are pressing against her?
They were soon kissing, and Santana couldn't care less about Kurt, because Blonde was doing the sighing thing and arching her back against Santana. She kissed her hungry and demanding, grabbing a fistful of yellow hair and biting the other woman's lower lip before exploring once more a mouth that tasted like tequila and something else of utter deliciousness. They stopped, because Brittany apparently loved Alors on Danse and Santana groaned, because Quinn was already obsessed with the damn song and this was probably her doing. Except that she didn't want to dance with all people – her boyfriend and Blaine were getting pretty much cozy there and Quinn was dancing on a table, that attention whore – and took Santana somewhere only she knew, because Santana herself was paying more attention to Blonde's ass to pay attention to where they were going.
There's a blur in her memories once more, and Santana bites her lip trying to remember what had happened between dancing and being in a closet – how fucking ironic was that, fucking in the closet with Closeted Sexy Blonde Lesbian? – going down on Brittany, standing on her knees as the blonde threw her body against the closet door. It was pure adrenaline, risking getting caught, being horny enough to do it with their clothes on and, specially, the taste of that girl, making Santana take long, slow licks, then short, quick licks, then draw circles, then suck, and doing it so right that Blonde's knees were almost giving, her mouth couldn't say anything with the remotest sense and her hands had a firm grip on her hair.
Santana can't remember anything else about that night. She wonders how Brittany had left, as the girl had the strangest of timings and modern girls always have to go right on time. She turns around in bed, finally coming to terms with the idea of leaving it to shower and eat, when she finds out she's not alone and her eyes go impossibly wide.
Brittany Flawless Pierce was laying beside her, naked as she came into the world, the sheets tangled in her legs, her body exposed nearly in its entirety – and such a nice body she had, Santana can't help but think, as the sunlight enters her bedroom and stretches over Brittany. It makes her feel guilty, because she promised herself she would not be anyone's dirty little secret. No baby lesbians, she had told herself once, and now there she was, breaking her own rules.
Rule Breaker Blonde chooses that moment to wake up and look to Santana lazily, grinning adorably and stretching a hand to touch Santana – who only then realizes she's naked too and damn damn damn it is awkward – and pull her closer. "You know," she says very seriously, "I totally just realized you have the same problem as me." Her hand is on the small of Santana's back, tempting. "What would that be?", Santana asks out of curiosity. "My name is Brittany S. Pierce, got it? Britney Spears? I've lived under her shadow my entire life, just like you and Jennifer Lopez," is the answer, and Santana laughs so hard she can barely breathe.
"You're crazy," she says, "and I'm taking a shower." And she does it, hoping that Trouble Woman will be gone by the time she returns. When she re-enters the bedroom, properly dressed in jean shorts and a grey wife beater and with an aspirin on her system, Blonde's clothes are still there and the house smells great: like eggs, bread, and maybe bacon.
Turns out Endless Legs Blonde is cooking. Cooking. Santana can't remember when was the last time her kitchen was used for that. And, now that she noticed, she's wearing one of Santana's dresses – a light, cotton, one, a gift from someone who clearly didn't know Santana would not wear such cute clothing – and it looks great. Santana wonders if there is anything that woman might wear and not look like a Greek goddess.
"I hope you're hungry," Blonde says. Santana blinks. "Brittany, you can't just barge into my life like this." Endless Legs puts the eggs and the bacon on a plate and goes to the table. "You weren't saying that last night when you brought me here," she says with the calmest of looks, as if she was stating the most obvious of information. She gestures for Santana to sit and says the food will get cold. Santana is actually hungry, and her hangover stomach growls in anticipation, so she gives in and sits down. "Okay, Brittany, I did do that, but at the current state of things, I don't think we should be doing it again."
Brittany serves her some orange juice. She frowns, not understanding what is going on, as she says "but you said the opposite after I gave you your third orgasm." Wait. Third orgasm? Santana almost chokes on her juice, because oh my god, when has drunk sex ever meant three orgasms and morning after breakfast and wearing the other person's clothes and why, why does this woman always has the answer to everything?
"You have a boyfriend," Santana says exasperated. "It means you and I can't do this again, you know." She begins to eat the eggs and it actually tastes good, so this girl cannot only dance and give her orgasms, but also makes a kickass breakfast. Orgasm Giver Blonde eats her toast before answering, "he doesn't mind, it's not cheating if the plumbing's the same." Santana rolls her eyes, because that should win the award Lamest Excuse of the Decade. "You cannot be serious,? she says.
"Yes, I can," Blonde answers, as if Santana had said something stupid, and if Santana wasn't being so well fed and well fucked she would surely have turned on her Bitch Mode. "Listen, Santana, I'm going to tell you a secret, because I like you. But you can't tell anyone, okay?" Santana nods, but she thinks to herself when had they even arrived at the "I like you" stage? That woman had a very unique perspective on relationships. Blonde continues, "I'm gay and Kurt is gay, too, and we are friends since high school. Our agents say it would be very, very bad for our career to come out and that we should date each other, so we do it."
Santana eats the eggs with the bacon – it's true for women too when they say you can get a man through his stomach – and places a hand on Brittany's. "I don't do closeted women," she says, "because you're either with me or without me. Too much trouble, for your identity, for my life, for everyone, if you hide who you are and who you are with, so let's not do this."
She is surprised once more when Blonde's lips meet her, hand resting on the back of her neck. She tilts her head slightly before she realizes what she is doing and pulls away. "You get goosebumps when I kiss you and I think it's a good thing," Brittany says and goes back to her orange juice. Santana just looks at her, at this most unusual person, and can't bring herself to disagree – she does get the shivers, after all.