Fool's Game

by missmandamargo

Santana is sent away to a boarding school when her father walks in on her and Brittany in a compromising situation. She has to face the next year alone, far from friends and Lima. However, there is one surprise she didn't count on - her roommate.

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I felt my stomach clench in nervous knots as I walked down the hallway towards Mr. Neely's office. I had taken special care with my uniform, makeup, and hair today, resulting in a morning routine that took twice as long as usual. I had opted to wear my hair down, making the little mental note that Papa always liked it the best when I wore my hair loose.

I had gotten the e-mail the previous evening, and the alert was sent to my iPhone. It stated that Mr. Neely had arranged a conference with my father today for 10 a.m. and that I would need to attend. They were going to discuss my "future here at Atherton," and that would all be fine and dandy if I hadn't known that my dad was going to be absolutely livid. He hated being called away from work for anything.. and it convinced me that Atherton was resisting a payoff to make this go away, because that was Felix Lopez's first solution to everything.

The closer I got to the guidance counselor's office, the smaller I felt, the more transparent and insignificant. I peered in the window of the office, stomach doing a tight flip when I saw my father sitting there, in one of his pristine, pressed suits.

I sighed, steadying myself, and then pushed the door open, stepping into Mr. Neely's office. Both of them glanced at me – Mr. Neely with his soft brown eyes, my father with his coal-black ones. I fought the urge to swallow the sudden lump of panic, instead plastering a look of bored indifference on my face. My father can smell fear, and I certainly wasn't about to let him know I was basically terrified.

I sat down beside him, resolutely refusing to make eye contact, and stared at Mr. Neely.

"Hello, Santana," He said pleasantly. He shifted, organizing some paperwork in front of him. "I wanted to let you both know that the other student involved in the assault, Mildred Birmingham, has made a full recovery, and has decided to not press charges." His eyes flicked over to my father briefly, and I wondered if my dad hadn't funneled a bunch of money into the Birminghams to keep them quiet.

"Also, we have had several witnesses come forward, including faculty, who corroborate your claim that Miss Birmingham was the instigator of the altercation." Mr. Neely cleared his throat, and I had to fight down the sudden urge to cheer. I was stunned, naturally – I hadn't thought that anyone present that day would do something like stick up for me – and wondered if my father hadn't also paid a few students or teachers to come forward with this lie. I eyed him speculatively, but he sat, still as stone, with his leg crossed and face placid.

"The school board has decided to allow you to return to classes tomorrow, but there are a few conditions." Mr. Neely fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence and the unwavering weight of my father's eyes. I felt a little sorry for him. I knew what it felt like to be pressed by that stare.

"Firstly, you are to be on probation. No more acts of violence will be tolerated. They have also mandated that you attend once weekly anger management sessions and require you to join a physical activity which will help divert your energies into something more useful." He shifted, leaning over his large desk to hand me a sheet of paper. "You may choose from any of the listed options."

I scanned the paper, raising a brow at the choices. Karate? Really? I couldn't suppress the slight smirk. "Don't they think it's a little counterproductive to offer to teach me how to fight better?" My voice was dripping with sarcasm.

My father's head slowly angled my way, and all the words I had inside me died. I simply folded the paper in my lap and returned to looking placidly at Mr. Neely.

"Yes, well, martial arts can be very therapeutic, and they also teach discipline and control." He cleared his throat. "I just need both of you to sign these, which will act as legally binding documents, holding you to this agreement for the duration of the semester. We will begin our anger management counseling sessions next week."

I didn't spare a glance for my father, instead leaning forward to scrawl my signature along the line Mr. Neely indicated. My dad did the same, then stood up, flattening the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Mr. Neely, if you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with my daughter."

My heart dropped. I had to force myself to remain still, fingers suddenly clutching the pen I had been holding. Mr. Neely stood up, nodding, and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

I stood up quickly, part of me anticipating what was going to happen next – my father moved forward, pinning me with the sheer force of his will against a wall. I gritted my teeth against the fury that lit his mien, refusing to look at his face, instead fixing my gaze to the right of him.

"Santana, do I need to tell you how infuriated I am?" He said quietly, standing less than half a foot away from me. He reached down and grabbed my chin, forcing my face towards his. I recoiled from the rage in his dark eyes.

"No, Papa," I said, quietly, fighting the quaver in my voice.

"Good. You aren't completely stupid." He said it with icy indifference, though the fingers digging into my jaw belied his barely suppressed ire. "You will never shame our family in this way again, do you understand me, mija?"

I had to fight the sneer that was trying to work itself out. I felt my own anger building, and I wanted nothing more than to jerk myself away from him and shove him out of my space.

"Dios no permita allí ser cualquier vergüenza en nuestro nombre," I spat, not quite masking the disgust I felt.

My father reached down and squeezed my left upper arm, above the sleeve, pressing his fingers harshly against the soft flesh, fingertips stabbing brutally. I didn't wince, though I knew there'd be bruises there by morning. He spoke softly and carefully, his face only inches from mine.

"Do not presume to speak down to me, hija." He was almost whispering. "Tu no puede permitirse." He gave my arm another squeeze, almost as if proving that he could. The ache that was radiating out from his grip was turning my arm into jelly, the muscles and nerves screaming against the constant pressure. I almost felt like the very bone hurt.

"If this is some little plan of yours to get expelled and come back to Lima," He continued, lifting his chiseled face into a sneer, "It won't work. The second you get kicked out of here, I'm going to send you to Puerto Rico with your aunt." He whispered, and the very thought of the threat made my heart thud in my chest. "Do not imagine yourself to be clever, little girl. You are a very stupid child sometimes."

"Si, you tell me often enough, how could I ever forget?" My voice was dripping with loathing. My father's face was now a mask of heated wrath, and I knew I would probably pay for my little defiance. Nothing good ever came from his face turning that shade of burgundy.

Almost as if sensing the tension, Mr. Neely knocked on his door, and my father shifted, releasing my face and my arm in an instant. He went from being outraged and on the brink of violence to completely contained, though utterly annoyed. It was like watching a scene change in a movie. I had always wondered how he could do that so rapidly.

"Everything all right in here?" Mr. Neely asked, glancing from my father to me, and raising his brow a little bit.

"Of course." My father's tone was cold.

I glared at him, shifting away from the wall. "Puedo ir ahora, doctor?" I asked, my voice dripping irony. He twisted his mouth into a disapproving line and then flicked his hand at me without bothering to look at me again.

I slid towards the door, not waiting for Mr. Neely to dismiss me. I simply pushed past him and then out into the hallway.

My arm throbbed and burned like it was on fire. I was dizzy and lightheaded, and felt like I was going to be sick. I suddenly realized I needed to sit down – the whirring jolt of adrenaline was quickly wearing off, leaving me feeling unsteady and weak. I quickly pushed into one of the women's bathrooms that lined the hallways, turning around to lock it quickly and then stumbled towards a stall and slid to my knees in front of the toilet.

I hastily gathered my hair up in my left hand, wincing at the flare of pain that the movement agitated, and then started heaving into the bowl. Green liquid that burned my esophagus wretched into the water, scummy and slick. It made my nose and eyes run.

"Hey, are you okay?" A concerned voice asked, and my stomach quivered. I hadn't thought to check the stalls before I locked the door, and of course someone was in here. I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the chill of the toilet bowl, not bothering to look up.

"Santana?" I wondered, if there actually is a God, if he just really hates me or something, because isn't it just perfect that the voice had to belong to Quinn?

"Jesus, are you all right?" She stood behind me, and I could sense her immediately crouch down. She started rubbing little circles between my shoulder blades, one of her hands reaching out to grab the wad of my hair away from me, so I could lower my arm. The blood pulsed thickly there, and pain radiated from it with every heartbeat.

"I think I ate some bad eggs," I lied, because it was just easier. I was systematically locking away every emotion that surfaced in relation to my father. It got easier with age. I didn't even really feel like crying, right now. I just felt nauseous, and I knew it would pass.

Quinn's fingers started squeezing against the back of my neck, pressing her fingertips into the meat there. "I'm sorry. How did your meeting go?"

I shrugged indifferently, my face still pressed against the toilet. "Mi papi was suitably annoyed." My voice was laden with irony. "I have to go to anger management therapy and take kickboxing lessons or what the fuck ever, to help relieve my aggression." I wondered, numbly, if my stomach still had intentions to riot.

"Kickboxing?" Quinn seemed thoroughly amused at this. "Don't they know it's dangerous to arm you with knowledge of physical assault?"

I smiled thinly, though she couldn't see it. "I tried to tell him."

Quinn stood, then reached down, pulling gently on my upper arm. I sucked in a breath at the sudden eruption of agony her gentle touch elicited, hiding my grimace as I rose.

"Let's get you back upstairs. I'll tuck you in, and bring you something easy to eat later." She smiled at me, and I tried to smile back, but I couldn't meet her eyes.

She pressed her fingers gently over my forehead, along the red indent the toilet bowl had given me. I scrubbed at it absently with the back of my hand, trying to restore the circulation to the spot.

I followed obediently behind Quinn, trying to force myself to remain calm and seem normal. Back inside the dorm, I quickly gathered up my pajamas, then shut myself in the bathroom, craving the momentary isolation.

I studied myself in the mirror for a moment. I looked pale and haggard even to myself, with bluish circles beneath my eyes, which were glassy and distant. I suppose I look like I could be sick, I thought dryly to myself, before reaching down for my toothbrush. I furiously swept away the acid bile taste in my mouth, and scrubbed so hard it made my gums bleed, as if by sheer force the toothbrush could also erase the pain and shame I had felt during the last hour.

Moments later, I left the bathroom, freshly changed into a loose white t-shirt and pink and white plaid pajama bottoms, my hair up in a disheveled ponytail. I had wiped away the makeup from my face, deciding I was going to spend the rest of the day sleeping, and maybe tomorrow too. Screw it – what was one more day? I could fake being sick.

Quinn had made my bed for me, straightening out the sheets, arranging the pillows. She leveled down the comforter and folded it back. I slipped into it gratefully, mutely thankful for Quinn's easy affection. Just her presence made me feel inexplicably better, less worn out and thin. With my head on the pillows I felt a lump rise in my chest, and I resolutely refused to look at her, because as soon as she saw the unshed tears, she'd know something was up.

"You okay?" She asked, concerned, smoothing the blankets down over me. "You need anything? Water, saltines?"

I smiled briefly at her around the thickness in my throat. "I'm cool."

Quinn studied me for a moment, as if something in my voice had tipped her off, and I felt color flooding my cheeks. I closed my eyes and turned my head away from her, trying to feign exhaustion.

"Are you sure you're okay, Santana?" The previous lightness of her tone was gone, replaced by something more like suspicion. I squeezed my face, forcing my body to relax.

"It was just a long morning." I tried to sound casual, but emotion colored my words. I felt the first few tears slip down past my eyelids, scalding my face. I prayed she wouldn't notice.

Wordlessly, Quinn slid into bed next to me, forcing me to shift over to allow her enough room on the bed. She snaked her right arm beneath my neck, pulling me into her, wrapping her other arm around my side and squeezing against my back.

I took a few gulps of air, which were flavored with the scent of Quinn's shampoo and light perfume, trying to stop the harsh sobs that wanted to rip out of my chest. Quinn was rubbing her palm gently against my back, pressing my body closer into hers.

"I'm really okay, Quinn," I said a few minutes later, once I had found the center of my little emotional vertigo. I really was. It was something about Quinn's kindness that had put in a chink in my armor, and made me feel vulnerable and tearful. I was long past crying about my father's passionate cruelty or spontaneous insults. I reminded myself of that fact over and over again, until the water in my eyes dried up and I could breathe normally.

"I know," Quinn murmured softly, tangling the hand of her trapped arm in my hair, her fingers absently scratching over my scalp. "I just felt like some cuddles."

I rolled my eyes. "You're going to catch my food poisoning." I said dryly.

She shifted, peering down at me with a raised brow. "Food poisoning isn't contagious, genius," She said, but there wasn't any scorn in her words, so they didn't sting.

I shrugged, pulling away from her slightly, allowing myself room to breathe. "Don't you have class right now?" I knew it was somewhere around noon. Lunch was soon, but Quinn had three more classes after.

"I'll just e-mail my teachers, tell them I got sick." Quinn smiled at me, lifting a hand to skim her thumb across my cheekbone, wiping away the hot smear of moisture there. "We can play hooky together, stay in bed and watch movies all day."

"You don't have to do that, Quinn," I said seriously, because I really did want to sleep. I wanted to forget everything about this morning, and next to alcohol, there isn't any more suitable oblivion. I briefly considered breaking out the fifth of tequila I had stashed in the drawer beneath my bed, wondering if I could drink it all in the next three hours before Quinn got out of class. I mentally lamented my lack of limes, and made a note to pick up that nifty lime salt the next time I was in town.

Quinn was distractedly tracing the fingers of one hand along the line of my jaw, following the bone, then sliding them down the arc of my neck and collarbone. Her little machinations were creating butterflies in my stomach. I kept my gaze locked on her mouth, aware that she was sweeping her eyes over my face, in almost a dreamlike state. It was kind of unnerving, but I had patience for it. I realized now that sometimes Quinn just wanted to look at me, and I tried to tolerate it.

"You're so pretty." She said it in an offhand way, like it was an accepted truth, the same way people accepted that the earth was round or that winter followed autumn. It was sweet, and it made my heart clench with a gentle pain.

"Really though," She continued, running her fingers along the cup of my eye, then over the bridge of my nose, finally tracing my lips softly. I smiled against them, pressing a tiny kiss there. "I think you're even prettier without makeup on."

I gargled out a small laugh, because it was so cliché and sentimental. I couldn't deny the way it made my heart beat thickly in my chest, though, or the lightness that filled me with her words. "You're going soft on me, Q," I said, trying to sound like I was teasing. "Is your period about to start or something?"

Quinn crinkled her eyebrows for a moment, flashing me a dark look. "Did you know that you're entirely unable to take a compliment?"

I smirked. "No, I'm entirely capable of it.. when they don't sound like cheesy lines from some romance flick."

"You're so cynical." She poked me a little on the cheek with her finger, raising her eyebrow. "It's unattractive in someone so young. You're going to have gray hair before you're twenty."

I rolled my eyes, sensing the humor behind her accusation. "That's okay, Tinkerbell, because you're going to have cellulite. We'll be quite a pair."

Quinn laughed then, and suddenly leaned down to kiss me, the smile still on her lips.

Something about the pressure of her lips against mine created a sudden shift in mood. I was abruptly starving for her, and I curled my hand in her hair, pressing her into the kiss. It erupted with passion; Quinn gasped against me, taken by surprise. I swallowed the sound and her breath, lavving my tongue against her mouth, my teeth scraping against her lips, demanding more pressure and more heat. She struggled to keep up, though I could tell she was overwhelmed by my ferocity and the intensity of the kiss.

Impatient, I pushed myself up and shifted us so that I was straddling her, the elbow of my right arm supporting me while the left clung to her hair, guiding her head. I was ravenous, my mouth working against hers with barely suppressed fury. I pressed my hips against hers almost painfully, and when it felt like I was going to drown, I ripped my face away from hers, gasping, only to jerk her head to the side and press scorching, violent kisses against her neck, her jawline, her throat, licking there, tormenting the flesh and the throb of the pulse that pounded, teeth scraping. My mouth left trails of angry welts along her creamy flesh, and something about the sight of them caused a kind of brutal satisfaction in me.

Quinn was panting, one hand fixed in a vice on my shoulder, the other fisting in the fabric of my loose t-shirt. I was moving my mouth lower, over her collarbone and onto the thin skin of her chest, pushing irritably against the layers of clothing that separated her flesh from my mouth. In a quick motion, I reared up, hooking my thumbs around the cardigan and pulling it up Quinn's body, not waiting for her response. She struggled to help me remove it, but I was already moving to the white shirt beneath, not bothering to unbutton all the tiny plastic discs. Instead, I simply ripped, and with Quinn curved against me, pulling the cardigan over her head, I parted her dress shirt with several subtle popping noises.

"Santana," Quinn began, but I didn't give her time to finish, because I crashed my mouth against hers ferociously, swallowing her protests. They disappeared into a strangled moan, the vibrations tickling my lips and tongue. I pulled away from her, nibbling along her jaw and then I sucked roughly on her ear, causing her to squirm and buck beneath me, her breathing a chorus of gasps and wheezes.

My left hand was roaming restlessly between us, scratching over the pale skin of Quinn's stomach and the tight flesh against her ribs, tucking beneath the barrier of her bra. I lowered my mouth, pressing a hard kiss against the mound of her breast, my fingers reaching up to pull her bra down impatiently. Immediately, my mouth closed against her nipple, which caused Quinn to moan and arch into me, tangling her fingers in my hair. I craved more. I wanted every stitch of clothing off of her, I wanted her wild and thrashing beneath me, I wanted my palms and mouth to possess every inch of her; I wanted her out of control. I wanted it now.

I slid my hand beneath her back and deftly undid her bra, tugging impatiently at the straps. Quinn obliged, lifting up, allowing me to toss it and the remains of her dress shirt onto the floor. I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, somewhat more gently, as she reared up, and I felt her shudder.

As soon as she was lying down again, I was moving restlessly on top of her, grinding my hips against hers, hands roaming over her arms, down the curve of her sides, rubbing against her breasts. My eyes drank her in; the sight of her face clenched tightly, bottom lip caught between her teeth, her arms above her head, elongating her torso. Her hands gripped the pillow she was laying on firmly, and I could see the muscles flex in her arms. She was quivering and flushed, her body colored with the faint bruises from my impatient thumbs and hungry mouth.

I lowered myself down now, more carefully, because I felt in control and I wanted to savor the moment. I pressed a kiss along the underside of her breast, licking my tongue over the sensitive flesh there, trailing down along the bend of her abdomen. Quinn's muscles trembled and she made faint moaning noises, her body shifting edgily, unceasingly beneath me. It made my own stomach clench and warmth flood between my legs, soaking my underwear and leaking onto the pants beneath. I pressed a lighter kiss against her stomach, licking my tongue out teasingly along the flesh, moving slowly lower and lower, until I was pressing hot, wet kisses along her lower abdomen, directly above the line of her skirt.

I could feel the heat coming off of Quinn in waves, and she was a giant bundle of nerves, simply reacting. It was incredibly gratifying to see the effect I had on her – I reveled in my ability to turn the composed and restrained Quinn Fabray into an undulating mass of want. My fingertips hitched around the edges of her skirt, fully intending to drag it and her underwear down in one swift motion.

"Santana," Quinn breathed out, and she snapped one of her hands down over mine, closing her fingers against my hand. She gave it a gentle tug and I slid my body against her again until my face was parallel with hers, my tongue lapping over her bottom lip, followed by the sharp clip of my teeth and then my mouth sucked on it, soothingly.

She was pressing her hand into my lower back, rising and arching beneath me, and I could tell she was going crazy for some pressure on her center. I tried to oblige by shoving my knee between her legs, but they could only bend so far due to the skirt. I only made glancing contact, and it seemed to drive her even more crazy.

"God, I want you," She breathed, her free hand running along the inside of my shirt against my back, her nails digging into the soft skin there. I twitched from the combination pain and pleasure, moving my mouth to scorch against her jawline again. I grunted in response, trailing my left hand down her body and then along her thigh, rubbing my palm hard against it. She bucked, spreading her legs even farther, and I slipped my fingertips upwards, craning my elbow and my wrist in the awkward position until my fingers were pressed against her underwear.

She was soaking wet, and it felt like a furnace. Everything beneath was swollen and slippery. I moaned, as if she had touched me, not the other way around, and sought to dip my fingers beneath the seam of her panties, trying to nudge away that last barrier.

Quinn was thrashing now, and I was irritated at the skirt that was hindering me. I lifted up again, pulling my hand out to unsnap the fastener of the skirt.

"Wait," Quinn said, breathlessly, and my eyes whisked up to hers. They were dark pools, the pupils the size of dimes, her face flushed and lips a dark red. Her hair was crazy and her chest was heaving. She looked ridiculously sexy – just staring at her, I felt the pressing need to possess her, the desire to shove my fingers inside her and cause her body to writhe and ride until it was out of control.

"Take your shirt off," Quinn said pleadingly, and for a moment I caught the barest glimpse of uncertainty in her features. I obliged wordlessly, tugging the shirt off of my body and then reaching around to undo my own bra, sliding it over my shoulders.

Quinn grabbed me again, pulling me against her, and our skin slid deliciously together, stomachs and breasts grazing, igniting trembles and sparks at every passing touch. I lowered my mouth to kiss her, with less heat and more care, because she seemed like she needed it. I was growing anxious again, though, as the kiss lingered, not able to fully quench the hot repetitive pulse that made me want to grind against her, rip her clothes off, manipulate her body into ecstasy. All I could think about was removing the last barricade between us, and what I would do once I had her bare before me.

She was running her palms up and down my upper arms as we kissed, tongues battling softly. After a moment she pulled back, pausing, and I sensed her gaze snap into focus. She was resting the meat of her hand against my left bicep, and I followed her gaze, suddenly aware of the giant, ugly bruise that was there. Aww shit. I had forgotten all about it, and as if in a dream, it began to throb with pain. It was hot and tender against Quinn's hand.

"What's this?" She murmured, running her fingertips over it. I didn't want to talk; not about the bruise, or anything. I wanted us both to be beyond talking.

I nuzzled my face against her neck, opening my mouth to suck on her ear and her pulse point, but she wasn't going to be distracted.

"Santana, those look like finger marks." Her voice was breathy but more determined. She pressed her left hand against my shoulder gently, shoving me away from her so she could look into my eyes. "Who did this to you?"

I scowled, trying to fight through the hazy fog of desire that blanketed my mind. I didn't understand why we were talking and not kissing. "It's nothing." I muttered, reaching up to push a lock of hair out of my face.

Quinn's body tensed, almost as if I had slapped her, and I could tell by the expression on her face that she wasn't going to let this go. I sighed, sitting up a bit, turning to look at my arm for the first time.

The welt was hideous and dark red, with purple and blue pressing in on the edges. It was very obviously the imprint of someone's large hand, the fingers and thumb squeezing around the bottom, almost meeting. It hurt, but even that was kind of a delicious sort of pain, throbbing in the back of my mind and in time to my racing heartbeat.

I shifted off her, abruptly uncomfortable with the place I was in, which was admittedly strange, since it's sort of my signature position. I scooted beneath the covers, feeling the flames of my desire die a little bit, because now Quinn's face was scrunched up with concern and a little bit of anger.

"What happened?" Quinn asked, turning to face me. I lied flat on my back, staring upwards, trying to slow my rapid pulse and stop the incessant throbbing between my legs. I realized how weak with need I was; my body ached for the pressure of Quinn's, my hands itched to be buried in her, my mouth was hungry to taste her. I had to focus on breathing slowly and evenly.

"My dad just got pissed at me for acting out." I said it casually, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. I pulled the blanket up to my neck, covering my naked breasts, because I felt oddly exposed now that Quinn was just looking down at me.

"So what? He grabbed you?" She asked, and now her tone was edging in on fury.

"It's not a big deal, Quinn. It doesn't really hurt." My words sounded flat even to me. I refused to look at her, instead tilting my head to face the wall.

"Santana, that's awful. It is a big deal." Her voice was gentle and soothing, and I closed my eyes against it, as if to ward off the compassion that seemed to emit from Quinn in droves.

"Don't worry about it. He got his." I bluffed, trying to sound apathetic. It didn't work – instead I just sounded petulant and discordant.

Quinn was smoothing her hand against my hair, and she moved closer to me, to press a kiss against my forehead. "I'm sorry."

I jerked my head in an unsteady nod.

I could feel her skin pressing against mine, the soft pressure of her breasts against my upper arm and shoulder. I had to suppress a shudder. She lifted her arm to rest on my stomach, and even that gave me chills. I could feel her breath against my hair.

I groaned. "Quinn, you're gonna have to back off." My tone was tight and strained. "Or I'm going to win this bet, with or without your consent." I was only kind of joking. My body was one tight chord, throbbing and writhing in time to my pulse.

Quinn quirked a brow, propping her head up on her palm. I refused to look at her, instead keeping my eyes firmly closed.

Quinn's hand wandered upwards, cupping my breast, and I jerked, unable to suppress with way my body squirmed against her. My breath exploded in a silent gasp.

She ran her thumb wonderingly over my nipple, scraping over the sensitive knoll leisurely, sending daggers of lust through my body. I groaned, lifting my hand to bite at the palm, trying to relieve the pressure that was building in my gut. It didn't help.

"I'm serious, Quinn," I breathed, my heart hammering. I was feeling extremely lightheaded and the urgency that possessed me before returned. I was a second away from flipping her over and having my way with her.

Quinn smirked, lowering her face to kiss my shoulder. "If you weren't so stubborn, I could help you out a little bit.."

I nearly growled, then clasped my hand tight around her wrist, pulling it forcefully away from my breast. I glared at her. "If you weren't such a fucking ridiculous tease, you'd be the recipient of multiple orgasms right now," I spat harshly. I was fed up with this bet crap. A sexually frustrated Santana is not a happy Santana.

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. "I thought the bet was to get you to have sex with me first? And vice versa?" She smiled a little smugly. "Seems like that was going to happen just a second ago. I mean, I'm not stopping you.. but then you'd technically lose."

I scowled, a bit confused. "Whatever. I don't care." I was angry now. The tension in my groin was too much, and my pants were sticky against me. I needed to change. "I'm calling it off."

"I knew you wouldn't last." Quinn's face was prim and sexy all at once, a combination that made me want to simultaneously slap and kiss her. God, this girl made me feel too many emotions, all of them entirely too passionate.

"Shut your fucking face, Fabray," I growled, clenching my fingers into the comforter. I felt bizarrely defenseless, like Quinn had all the power. She knew how badly I wanted her, and she was using it against me – it felt strangely like humiliation, even if she hadn't intended it like that. I don't know if I ever wanted anyone the way I wanted Quinn, like it was a physical ache, my body craving it. It was driving me insane; I sorta felt like crying, and that was definitely a kind of madness.

"Here, I have an idea," Quinn said suddenly, then hopped out of bed. I watched her as she darted towards the door, locking it, and then back to the window, pulling the drapes closed. The room went dark, muffling the edges of everything in the muted light.

She climbed back into bed with me, but on the right side, away from my injured arm. She settled against me again, nuzzling her face into my neck.

"What's your brilliant idea?" I asked, because my breathing was growing strained again.

"Have you seen that movie 'Get Him to the Greek'?" She asked, quietly, mumbling against my neck. Goosebumps erupted along my skin.

"Um, I think so. With Russell Brand?" I asked, turning my head away from her, giving her more room to maneuver.

"Yeah, and when he's with his ex-wife, you know, she suggests that she tells him naughty stories while he, you know," Quinn kissed my shoulder and along my collarbone. I squirmed.

"Okay? What about it?" I was confused, but I think that was mostly due to the red fog that was creeping over my mind.

"I'll let you off the hook for this one time. I'll lay here and tell you naughty stories," She smirked against my skin. "And you can.. you know. It's like a free pass."

I scowled. "No way. That makes me feel like a prepubescent boy."

"Oh, c'mon," Quinn was grinning. "I'll let you play with my boobs."

I rolled my eyes. "Not worth the humiliation, Goldilocks."

Quinn's expression changed, and she lowered her head against my ear, tugging on it gently with her lips. "Please?" She whispered, causing my whole body to clench. "It'll be so hot."

I groaned, my eyes rolling in the back of my head. Quinn began kissing my neck in earnest, rubbing her lips against me, flicking her tongue out to tease the skin. My heart stuttered in my chest, causing my stomach to quiver and clench.

I sighed. "I'm doing this under protest," I muttered.

"Noted." Quinn blew gently against the hot flesh of my neck, making me shudder.

I reached my left hand down, sneaking it beneath the elastic of my pajama pants and underneath my underwear. Everything was drenched and swollen, and I rubbed my fingers experimentally over the familiar folds, applying expert pressure, massaging lightly. I was determined to get this done as quickly as possible, because the whole situation was both arousing and awkward at the same time.

Quinn moved her mouth down along the curve of my chest, and then she suddenly pulled the blanket down and cupped my breast again. Without warning she sucked my nipple into her mouth, lavving her tongue over the hardened point, eliciting a breathy moan. My body arched, and my fingers pressed harder against my clit, causing my own hips to buck off the bed. Quinn was sucking on my nipple mercilessly, rolling the flesh of my breast beneath her hand, working her entire mouth against me. I let out a loud groan, then bit my lip, burying my free hand in her hair and tangling my fingers there.

"Oh, shit, Quinn," I panted, working rhythmically against myself, jerking my hips as my index and ring finger pressed tight, sharp circles against my clit. Before I knew it I was arching, my breath catching in my throat, my entire body locking up. Quinn's hand snaked down to hold my hip, her fingers pressing hard against me as I rode out the orgasm, which tore the air from my lungs in ragged gasps. My heels pressed against the mattress, toes curling, before my body relaxed in one long convulsion.

I suddenly felt heavy and lazy, and I dragged my hand out of my pants, wiping the moisture against the outside of my pajamas. My eyes were closed tightly. Quinn had lifted her head up to press soft, light kisses against my face, against my cheek and my jaw, along the side of my lips. My breathing was still unsteady, my heart leaping in my chest, but the rest of me was utterly still.

"That was so, so sexy," Quinn whispered, pulling the blanket up again over my chest. I was running my fingers through her hair languidly.

"Mmm." I wasn't capable of talking yet. That was probably the best self-induced orgasm ever. I definitely needed a panty change now.

Quinn laid down beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. We were silent for a while, and I was beginning to doze off.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Quinn asked suddenly, in a hushed whisper.

"Mm, yeah." I said, shifting, reaching over to hug her closer to me.

"I really want to do that to you." There was raw honesty in her voice, and something about the way she said it made my heart skip a beat.

"That's the idea, eventually," I told her.

"Yeah.. and I want you to do it to me. I don't know what that means." I felt her shrug. "I've never had an orgasm before."

My eyes opened slowly, and I paused, but then started rubbing her back reassuringly. "I told you, Puck is an oaf. He didn't deserve you."

Quinn trembled a little bit against me, and I hugged her even tighter, sensing she was on the verge of some kind of.. something. I wish my mind wasn't so foggy and hazy right now, though I was completely content and felt so, so good.

"Why don't we call the bet off?" I said into the silence. "Let me show you how it's supposed to happen. I think if you keep trying to seduce me into giving in, I'm probably going to be kind of rough." I said it with a bit of self-deprecation. "I'm not incredibly patient when I'm wound up."

Quinn's voice was colored with laughter. "I like that about you. It's erotic."

I smirked a bit. "Yeah, but it's not very romantic."

Quinn tensed a little bit. "I'm scared of that. Romance."

I was trying to think of a way to respond when I felt her shake her head against me. "No, I'm having too much fun. The bet is still on."

I sighed, but didn't argue. I surprised myself with that little statement – since when did I care about romance, and why the hell would I want to give it to Quinn? My heart hurt. It felt raw and sore, both from me struggling to hold back certain emotions and fighting to allow others in. I just held Quinn against me, acutely aware of the lack of clothing between us, feeling her heart beat and listening to her breathe. We laid like that for a long time.

A/N: I hope everybody enjoyed this. Reviews = love. Also, if you have any good ideas for songs for the Vox to do as a group and also individually for Quinn, Santana, and Sugar, let me know. I intend to start writing Sugar the next chapter.