Fifty Words for Forgiveness
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Among The Landmines, We Dance
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Bedding Quinn Fabray had to be, without a doubt, the best thing you'd ever done. It was a lifetime achievement, a fucking honour, and you were flying high on the euphoria of it for weeks. Knowing that you, and only you, could get that close to her, get to see her so wanton and free was the high of all highs. It gave you a cocky little step in your walk, and a smugger smirk anyone at McKinley had ever seen.
She was all bashful and shy, acting like nothing had even happened, but you knew different. You knew that if you let your fingers caress her hip when you passed, she'd corner you in the Cheerio's lounge later and kiss you senseless. You knew that if you stretched extra provocatively in practice, she'd beat you to your house and almost take you against your car. You knew that fallen angel Quinn Fabray was an absolute minx.
It was perfect.
She kept up with you, intellectually, physically, sexually, and it was a match made in heaven. Quinn was so hung up on the idea of hiding what the two of you were that you knew you'd never have to label anything, and that was fucking ace.
You liked her, but you were loath to admit that.
The first night you spent in her arms was the last. Every sexual encounter after that ended with her leaving your room either right after or before you woke in the morning. It was some unspoken rule between the two of you, one you needed.
You were not going to get caught up in the tangled web she was weaving. No way. Brittany had trapped you once, never again. You'd learnt your lesson, and were happy to just go with the flow.
Yes, your heart would beat a little faster every time she entered a room, and yes, you spent hours upon hours wondering what you would do with her when the two of you were alone, but you were putting all that down to the extra dose of lust she seemed to have prescribed.
So, of course, you weren't thinking about activities that had you both fully clothed, and of course you weren't thinking about actually taking her out, in public, like a date.
Please, you weren't an idiot.
You were Santana Lopez, Satan, you didn't do that shit. You would never do that shit, and you thought Quinn was on the same page as you. She seemed to be happy with all the sex you were having, and she didn't seem to mind your one track mind. So why did she have to complicate things? Why did she have to ask the one question you never wanted to hear from her lips?
"San, wait," Quinn mumbled, pushing on your shoulders as she broke your kiss. Another Friday night was being spent on your bed, keeping up with the unbroken track record the two of you had started. "What…what are we doing?" She was breathless, looking as gorgeous as ever, and you almost gave her an honest answer. Almost.
"Well, I was kissing you, but now we're talking about feelings and shit." This was not what you needed. What the hell was she doing? Since when did she care about labelling? Who had she been talking to? Was it Brittany? Brittany pushed you for this last time, surely Quinn knew not to make the same mistake.
"Don't be an ass," she muttered, rolling her eyes at you. You wanted to be offended, but couldn't find the energy to do so.
"Then don't ask stupid fucking questions." And they were stupid fucking questions. She needed to avoid them. They were landmines, hidden in the sand, and she was dancing across the beach like it was an average sunny day. Girl didn't know she was about to be blown away, and not in the fantastic innuendo way either.
"Let me up," Quinn commanded, waving her hand at you to move. It took you by surprise, and you frowned, shaking your head.
"No." You were not going to let her start this discussion and then flee. She'd stepped onto that beach and now she had to find her own way off of it.
"Let me up," she repeated, her tone growing more impatient.
"Why? You wanted to talk, so why are you running away?" You had to ask, you had to know.
"I'm not. I just don't want you touching me." Her hazel eyes were steely cold, mask back in place.
"You weren't thinking that a few seconds ago." It was a cheap shot, but you tried. She had been melting into your touch, mewling out your name and grinding up into you. Now she wanted to talk. What the fuck was up with that?
"But I'm thinking it now, so get the fuck off me."
"Fine," you huffed, pissed that you had to let her go. You weren't even going to touch on the fact that it hurt to have her say she didn't want you touching her. Nope, you were ignoring that completely.
"Don't hate me, San," she mumbled, straightening out her clothes. It would be the only straight thing about her.
"I don't," you grumbled, hating yourself more than anything. You couldn't have the conversation you wanted without it exploding in your face, you knew that. But once again, she was dancing around in among the landmines, and you were powerless to stop her.
"I just…this is confusing. I don't want to ruin our friendship," she explained, as if you weren't already aware of that fact. You were completely aware of that fact, most likely more so than she was. You had already walked this path with your previous best friend, and knew what lay ahead. She had no fucking idea. "We're best friends," she added, as if that was to help solidify her case.
"We could be more than that," you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders.
"What?" The surprise and shock was evident in her tone, and it had you shrinking away from her.
"Never mind," you replied curtly, moving to pick up the cushions and pillows the two of you had kicked off the bed.
"No, I heard what you said, and I want you to explain it." Of course she did.
"Not happening."
"Why do you always do this?" she groaned, frustrated. You hated her looking at you and shrugged, trying to play innocent.
"Do what?"
"Clam up! It's like trying to get blood from a stone. You don't talk about things that make you even remotely uncomfortable, even if the outcome has the potential to make you happy. You're stuck being miserable because you don't share, you don't talk, and you don't let people in."
She was teetering very close to those fucking landmines, and didn't seem to even bother. You bit back the venomous reply you were desperate to spit out and went for a more tactful response.
"Just because I'm not shouting my feelings from the rooftops does not mean I'm miserable." Quinn scoffed at you and shook her head, determined to be blown the hell up. You could only warn her so many times.
"Who are you kidding? You are miserable, Santana, and you have the ability to change that, but you don't." You couldn't argue with that, because she was right. If you had shared your feelings with Brittany, things might have been different between the two of you. Instead, the blonde couldn't even look you in the eyes. And now, you were repeating history.
"Talking about feelings and shit is a waste. It's fucking stupid," you lied, unable to stop yourself. "It doesn't solve anything." It would only lead to heartbreak. You knew that. You had been there. You were too late with Brittany, and by the time you had shared your feelings she had moved on like you were nothing. No. You weren't going to do that with Quinn.
"You're wrong, and you know you are. All it would take is the odd moment of hearing you express some kind of emotion or feeling, and you'd find people warming to you."
"Why the fuck would I want that?" Letting people in was your biggest mistake. Brittany was proof enough for that. Adding Quinn into that mix didn't help matters. You were a fucking idiot letting this happen again. Letting people in always left you getting hurt.
"Because you're lonely, and don't you dare lie to me by denying it. You are, you're lonely. Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I didn't connect the dots that the only reason I was even invited round here in the first place was because Brittany was gone? You needed someone, anyone, and you picked me to fill her space. Though, I didn't realise you were literally trying to replace her."
"It's not the same so don't even fucking go there." And it wasn't, because with Brittany, you just weren't ready to come out. Given that Hudson solved that problem, fucking asshole, you were out but you no longer were thinking about Brittany as the blonde in your prom photo or kissing you at graduation. No, that was entirely different blonde, one who looked to be getting angrier by the second.
"What do you want from me?" Quinn asked, rising to her feet and crossing the floor. She stopped centimetres from you, completely invading your personal bubble, and she repeated her question. "What do you want from me, Santana?"
You wanted her. You wanted her officially. You wanted to be able to kiss her outside the confines of your bedroom or in secluded classrooms. You wanted to hold her hand and walk down the freaking hallway like some sickly sweet couple. You wanted to take her out on dates, make her smile, make her laugh and just fucking make her happy. You wanted all of that.
"Nothing," you replied, shaking your head. "I don't want anything."
"Fine," Quinn said, straightening up, her no-nonsense tone in place. "I'll see you tomorrow." She didn't even glance your way as she grabbed her things and headed for the door.
The slamming of it shut matched your foot stepping on the landmine. The second you removed it, the second you accepted your feelings for her, it would blow you into a thousand pieces, destroying all your hard work. You had locked away your feelings, had tried to keep them buried, but just like this landmine, they were going to explode. It was only a matter of time.
She was destroying you, shooting you to smithereens, and she wasn't even around to clean up the mess.
Of course she wasn't.
She didn't care.
She'd never care.
*0*0*
You repeated that thought every night before falling asleep, and almost believed it. You were so close to letting her go, to moving on, when it happened. It changed things, and it made it so you were never capable of going back.
You wished you hadn't heard her. You wished she hadn't said it. You wished she had fucking meant it.
You knew, deep down you knew she didn't, and you knew it was a mistake.
You were back at square one, drowning in your feelings for her, and fighting to stay above water to continue this precarious dance the two of you were doing. It was an endless cycle, doomed from the beginning, and you could do nothing but sit back and watch it unfold before your eyes.
You had stepped on the landmine, and now it was time to watch it blow.
*0*0*
It was accidental. You knew it was, she knew it was, but neither of you were willing to talk about it. Talking about it meant admitting that it happened, and that would be like opening the gates of hell and letting the demons out. It was never going to fucking happen.
She didn't mean it. She couldn't have meant it. It was an unheard of emotion coming from Ice Queen Fabray. She was incapable of feeling that; like you were incapable of talking about your emotions. Those things went hand in hand, so of course the two of you were going to pretend she hadn't just cried out your name in ecstasy and followed that up by three little words that had struck the fear of God into you.
"I love you," she'd whispered, nuzzling into the skin of your neck, kissing you softly. She was blissfully unaware of the tension in your body, the fear spiking up your spine, and the harsh breaths you had taken in shock.
"What?" you croaked, pulling back to see her hazel eyes alight with euphoria. She was still floating, far, far away from you and reality. Your question crashed her back down to Earth, though; plunging her in an ice cold bath, causing her to freeze.
"I…I didn't…I mean…" Those goddamn hazel eyes were fear ridden, her body rigid and fixed. She didn't know what to say next, her mouth opening and closing a few times. She was looking at you, imploring you to make the next move because she was drowning in fear before your very eyes.
"You…you…what?" Your brain was not processing her words. You'd heard them, you'd felt her lips burn them into your skin, and you'd seen her unmasked and in all her glory as she let them slip between those glorious lips of hers.
She couldn't have meant it.
Her mask may have been lying on the floor next to her clothes, but she couldn't have meant that. She didn't. She didn't love you. That wasn't possible. It was a mistake. Post coital bliss overtaking her brain and making her think she loved you. She only loved what your body could provide, orgasms, she didn't love you, Santana Lopez, the second in command, the resident bitch. No way could she have meant those words.
Attempting to push your body off hers, you stalled when Quinn's hand came up to grasp your cheek. She still looked like a deer caught in headlights, skittish and scared, but there was something different, something unknown lurking in the shadows. Deep within those pitch black pupils of hers held something more, something dangerous, and you were suddenly the one caught in headlights.
"You didn't mean that," you gritted out, trying hard not to nuzzle into her touch.
She kept watching you, hey eyes unwavering in their gaze. It was off putting, and had you wriggling to get free of it. Sliding away from her, you settled on your side of the bed, tucked under the sheet and waited. She had to say something. It was her turn to speak. You had made your move, now it was hers.
Instead, the silence grew between the two of you like a chasm. Apparently, she didn't think words were needed, either that or she'd suddenly gone mute. You couldn't stop the glare from taking over, burning your anger into the adjacent wall, as you waited for her to fix this.
The tension clogging the air was making you angry, and the awkward position you were huddled up in was causing you to get frustrated with her. She had caused this, not you. You shouldn't be the one to fix it. Hell, you had already tried, and she hadn't said anything in return. You'd given her an out, all she had to do was agree. What was so hard about that?
"San," Quinn whispered, her fingertips caressing the top of your arm on show. Her voice had you turning to look, to see those goddamn hazel eyes honing in on you and making it impossible for you to look away. "Would it really be so bad if I-"
"Stop it, okay? This is sex. This is just sex. Leave your emotions at the door. We're best friends. That's it," you barked, vibrating in anger. How dare she toy you along like that.
She knew, she had to know that there was a warmth growing in your chest, a warmth only for her. She had to know, she did. She had seen you, unmasked, defences down, door open, and she'd revelled in the unprecedented access to you. So why was she playing with you like this? Why was she pushing you off the landmine, ensuring your untimely death?
Looking back up at those hazel eyes, the light from them was gone, and her mask was back in place. You were shut out again, left to fend for yourself. The room was suddenly a little chilly. Given that she had resorted to her old methods, you did, too. Masked but undressed, you flounced out the bed and went to the bathroom.
Slamming the door behind you, your chest ached and you fought back the onslaught of tears trying to escape. What the fuck was wrong with you? Why were you crying? You had done the right thing. She hadn't meant it. She hadn't. She was confused. She had to be confused.
You needed a minute, or a century, before heading back out to her. You splashed your face with water, admired her handiwork left on your skin, and willed your chest to stop aching so. You had made the right decision, laying things out like that. If you hadn't, you were only going to get your fingers burnt. The warmth in your chest was proof of that.
It may only be a small flame now, but in time, it would burn you down to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes. You couldn't let that happen. You had to protect yourself.
Finally gearing yourself up, you exited the bathroom and expected to see the blonde dressed and back in your bed. Instead, she was gone; not a trace of her in sight. The warmth in your chest, however, was not.
You hated it, you hated it with a passion, and you hated her for encouraging it. You hated her so much for doing this to you, making you care about her, like her, possibly love her. She was evil, cruel and so fucking horrible, but you ached for her return, and you couldn't stop yourself from curling up in the spot she'd vacated in your bed, and hugging the pillow that smelt of her closer.
Yes, you fucking hated Quinn Fabray for making you love her when she'd never love you back.
*0*0*
To say things were awkward after that night was an understatement.
Quinn avoided you like the plague, keeping her distance as best as possible, and went out of her way to miss your normal rendezvous times. It left you bitter and alone, pining, yet again, for a blonde girl to jump back in your bed. Really, you were a pathetic mess.
You were waiting it out, knowing her resolve would slowly weaken before making your move. That time came after Cheerios practice Thursday afternoon. You wanted her to come over tomorrow night, to pick up where things had left off, but without confirmation you assumed she'd be a no show. She had ditched you three times already this week, so what was to say she wouldn't do the same on Friday?
There was no way you were going to stand for that. You waited until everyone had left, leaving the two of you alone. She was avoiding your eyes, constantly looking everywhere but at you, and you'd had enough. Rather than do the one thing you should have, actually talking to her about what happened, you closed the distance and kissed her.
Her lips knew yours too well not to kiss back, her body so familiar with this motion not to melt into yours, and her arms so used to wrapping round your neck that you were not surprised when they weighed down on your shoulders. God, you'd missed those lips.
It had been less than a week, but you couldn't fight the longing in your chest every time you saw her, the ache every time she avoided you, and the pout on your lips when she stood you up. No, you missed her, so fucking much, and were not ashamed to accept that fact.
"Come over tomorrow night?" you asked, breaking the kiss.
Her eyes were glazed and she looked momentarily dazed, but she nodded, leaning in quickly to kiss you again. You welcomed it, like you welcomed her every time she was near. You couldn't get enough of her. She was intoxicating. Fucking sunshine, fresh air and amazing. That's what she was, and you were hooked.
Thankfully, you didn't have to wait more than twenty four hours before she was on your doorstep, waiting to come in. Your parents were out, like usual on Fridays, and you welcomed her in. There was something about her which was different, but you couldn't place it. Your eyes scanned her body meticulously and came up short each time.
She wasn't the same girl who walked into your bedroom last Friday night, and you doubted she'd ever be that girl again.
Barely having time to shut your door behind the two of you, Quinn had you pinned against it, her hands rough and roaming over your body. She was wasting no time, going exactly what she came there for, and you were caught up in the lust of it all to question this change.
She was never that bold, taking the lead, dropping to her knees so soon, taking you against the damn door like this was an everyday occurrence. Fuck. No, she was different. She was trying too hard. Whatever was going on with her, she was using you to distract her, and you wanted to argue about being used, but she was using you in the best possible way so you kept your mouth shut.
Letting her control you, pushing you up against every surface and tearing at your clothes, was not what you were expecting of the night. You couldn't complain. How could you even think of complaining? She was wanton with lust, taking you exactly the way she wanted you, making you cry out in ecstasy.
It felt wrong, though. Deep down in your chest you knew it was wrong. She was trying to expunge last week's memories from her mind, and you knew it wasn't going to work. You had tried to forget already. You had changed the sheets, washed her off your skin, drunk yourself into abyss, and still those words haunted you.
"Quinn," you groaned, pushing yourself up onto your forearms as she hovered over you. She looked wild, abandoned and lost. Those warm hazel eyes were gone, and her mask was still in place, revealing the cold, dead eyes you'd seen for years. "Quinn, wait. What are we doing?" you mumbled, almost incoherent from her hand that was travelling up your thigh.
"I'm trying to fuck you and you're asking stupid questions," she replied, cold and clipped.
"This isn't what you want," you cried, bucking your hips wantonly.
"No, but it's what you want." Her eyes were wicked as she dropped her head and you fell back onto the floor, your fingers digging into her scalp.
She was teaching you a lesson, such a fucking cruel lesson.
"I'm sorry," you choked, fighting back the surging emotions beneath your skin. "I'm so fucking sorry."
You needed her to know. The warmth in your chest needed her to know you never meant to hurt her last week. You were scared. You didn't mean to be so harsh, so rough, so careless with your words. You needed her to know.
"Please," you whined, pulling her back up to you. She looked angry, fierce, and you wanted to cry in her arms at the mess you'd created. "Please, Quinn," you pleaded, begging her to stop this, to give you back the girl you had last week.
"What do you want?" she asked, her mask still firmly in place as she leant further over you. Her forehead rested on yours, her lips ghosting across your own as she spoke, and you knew this was as intimate as she was going to get with you tonight.
"You," you confessed, your thumbs stroking at her cheeks, willing her to understand.
She was standing in the room, surrounded by your deepest and darkest emotions, having taken up residence in your head and heart. She had to understand. She had to see what you were after. She just had to.
"Then fuck me," she growled, biting at your bottom lip harshly. "My feelings are at the door, this is just sex, so fuck me."
You whimpered at her words, but not in lust. God no, she was breaking you into a million pieces. She was the fucking landmine.
You didn't want her feelings to be left at the door because you couldn't leave yours there. Yours were seeded deep in your chest, willing you to kiss her as if you had all the time in the world, and she was biting your lip like this had an expiration date on it.
Christ, maybe it did. Maybe that date was last Friday night. Maybe that was all you were going to get with her.
Stupidly, stupidly you had thought a small part of her might have meant those words last week. You hated yourself for thinking about it, but you couldn't help it. You wanted it to be true. You wanted her to love you. You wanted her, and she just wanted sex. You were breaking apart, lost in her arms as you did as she asked.
You would never have her the way you wanted, it was time you accepted that.
Of course she hadn't meant what she said last week. She would never mean it. Your heart, that fucking warmth, thought you had been wrong. It thought she did, and it had thrown you into this situation, begging her to love you, when she never would.
Locking it up, shutting it down, you put out the warmth in your chest with each bite on her neck, each scratch on her back, and each bruise on her hip. She wanted sex, you'd give her sex. That was it. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep giving her an inch and letting her take the mile.
You needed to take your own advice. Leave your feelings at the door, it was just sex. And for a while, as you let lust take over, you could pretend that mantra was true. Only after, when you were both sated and lying in bed did you realise it would never be that easy.
She had smiled that little smirk she gets when she's truly satisfied, and turned to you, her eyes shining bright. She was breath taking, truly a goddess, and the warmth in your chest exploded through to every nerve ending in your body and before you knew it, you wanted to kiss her into the mattress, to worship the skin you'd just grabbed, scratched, bitten and abused.
You wanted to love her.
Quinn chose that moment to slip from your bed, grab her clothes, and quickly depart, leaving your bed cold and your heart colder.
You wanted to call her back, to stop her from leaving, but for tonight, you'd be a coward. You'd swallow your words and pretend that she wasn't walking away with a piece of you. You couldn't tell her. She was too good for you. You'd ruin her. You needed to let her go.
Satan was never meant to be with an angel.
*0*0*