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Brittany sighed heavily, fidgeting with her long slender fingers as her wife fumed before her.
"It's shitty enough - not being able to acknowledge you as my wife to these assholes," Santana quietly seethed. "And then to hear you giggling with surfer Mcfishlips last night..." The latina shook her head to herself, lips drawn tight and thin as her eyes hardened.
For a moment, Brittany kept her silence. Then she decided to speak. "You know I don't care about Sam. So what's this really about? Is it the whole thing about me being bisexual again?"
Once the question reached Santana's ears, she deadpanned. Not out of an effort to be rude, but because after all these years with the blonde, it still astounded her when her wife was so insightful. It both astounded and frightened her.
Brittany's bisexuality had always been a source of anxiety within their marriage. Back home, when the two women would snuggle up in front of the TV, and a hot guy would pop up on the screen, tension would always swell in the room. An unspoken tension that would hold the two women apart, regardless of how closely they snuggled. Regardless of the fact that they would continue to chuckle at all of the movie's funny parts.
Brittany had learned that if she thought a guy was hot, she shouldn't say anything.
"Well is it? About me being bisexual?" she pressed her wife.
Santana glanced at the door, which was open a small crack. "We shouldn't even be talking about this, B," she whispered, a certain softness now accompanying her tone. A certain guilt. "That creepy weirdo's upstairs stalking everyone. Nobody's seen us talk, and I want to keep it that way."
Brittany shrugged. "So what? It's not like she can hear us. Just pretend that you're tryna find something to wear, and we're just in the same room casually chit-chatting. People who don't know each other get to know each other through casual chit-chat." She shrugged again.
Santana sighed, but waddled over to her suitcase anyway. Her hair was still stringy and damp from her shower. She wrapped it in a quick bun, and dug for the clothing that she wanted to wear.
"And stop avoiding my question, San."
"Yeah, it is about you being bisexual!" Santana suddenly snapped, her hand halting amongst her clothes as she looked up at her wife. "There's this part of you that I don't understand! So when I hear you giggling with a supposedly hot guy, I go crazy because I don't know what you're thinking!"
Brittany's sad blue eyes found her duvet. "I'm thinking that I love my wife, and that she's the only one who matters," she quietly mumbled. "I only hung out with Sam last night because he seems like fun, we're both blonde, and people will think that we like each other, instead of thinking that me and you are the secret couple. We talked about this before coming into the house. Remember?"
Santana closed her eyes, as if to lock off her sight, for a moment, would reset everything. "I know, Britt. But it just - it fucking sucks."
"What? That you didn't manage to bag yourself a real lesbian?" Brittany murmured, all kinds of dejected. All kinds of bitter.
"I didn't say that, B."
Brittany swallowed down her grimace, and scooted down off of her bed. She held her chin high as she gathered up her suitcase.
"W-What are you doing?"
"Screw this. I'm moving to Emma's old bed," the tall blonde answered, affording the latina not one shred of eye contact. She crouched down and pushed the heavy suitcase the small distance. "Because it seems like you need some space," she added, once situated on her new bed.
"Are you kidding me? Last thing we need is more God damn space! Now please, B..." Santana's shoulders sagged, her voice suddenly shrinking as she said, "j-just move your stuff back over here. I already miss you as it is."
"No."
That word, with its defiant one syllable, hung between them for four or five beats. It did something to the latina.
"Well when Emma nominates the wrong two people as the secret couple, we're putting Sam, your little boyfriend, up on the block," she spat spitefully. "How about that?"
"Good luck with getting me to co-sign on that," Brittany said, standing her ground. Folding her arms for good measure.
"Surfer Mcfishlips is the reason we're arguing right now -"
"No, you're the reason we're arguing, Santana!" Brittany raised her voice, pouting as she did so.
She felt nothing for Sam, yet her wife seemed to think otherwise, and that was why they were arguing.
"Keep your voice down!" Santana whispered, darting panicked eyes towards the door.
Brittany, who had steeled her stark blue eyes upon her wife, wasn't so bothered. "We're not nominating Sam."
"I want him gone!" Santana was adamant as she slung a pair of shorts across the room rather petulantly. What she really wanted was to pop Sam's pecs, and kick him in the balls.
But this was Big Brother. Evicting him was as good as it was ever going to get.
"He's way too strong a player, Britt. He's physically powerful, a-and he doesn't even need the prize money. I overheard him telling Will how much money his family already has, last night. Then there's the fact that everyone seems to like him so far, which means he has a strong social game," the latina rationalized, holding up each finger to count the ways in which the man was a dire threat. "He almost won the first HOH competition, and -
"If we put Sam up against Emma, everyone's gonna vote Emma out," Brittany highlighted, having noticed that the blonde surfer was much more popular in the house than the redhead was. "Then when Big Bro tell everyone that we're the secret couple, Sam's still gonna be here to come after us next week, 'cause we put him on the block. You want him out 'cause you're being a jealous unicorn right now. Not because it would be a good game move."
Santana knew that her wife was right. But she still wanted Sam out of the house, and she was going to do everything within her power to make it happen.
"Whoever we choose needs to for sure go home, or we're screwed next week if they win HOH," Brittany further added, picking at a fraying thread in her new pillow.
Santana stood there, rummaging through her mind for a scenario that would ensure that she got what she wanted. Then it hit her. "Well if I start to spread shit around the house about Sam, everyone's gonna turn on him. Maybe we can rally enough votes to where Emma will stay and he'll go. I think I can probably rally Quinn's vote..." She paused for a moment, a look of sneakiness finding a home within her dark eyes. "Rachel too, 'cause she's a sharp one. She'll see the benefit of voting him out early in the game. Including ours, that's already four out of ten votes. We just need two more. Pretty sure I can make a few deals with people to get those two votes."
Brittany huffed an over it sigh. "This is pointless. I already told you I'm not agreeing to put Sam up."
"Yeah, 'cause you wanna fuck him!" Santana grunted, without missing a beat.
"You're really starting to piss me off, San. Like, seriously starting to. I'm gonna leave before you say something else you'll regret."
With that, Brittany got down off of the bed and walked out of the bedroom, leaving her wife stood there feeling ridiculous.
And not only was Santana feeling ridiculous because she'd acted a plum fool and upset her Britt-Britt. But also because both of their families were watching the show this year, and they too would witness her acting a plum fool and upsetting her Britt-Britt.
Already, she could feel her abuela's thunderous palm crashing upside her head.
Out in the garden, Jacob Ben Israel was sat on the patio deck's L-shaped sofas, sun glaring down on his skin as he watched the boys play pool. He'd never regarded pool as all that interesting, and watching Artie and Sam play was doing nothing at all to change that outlook.
But Jacob knew that appearing as though he one of the boys was a crucial element to his game. Especially if what he was about to propose was going to be a success...
"Where are all the girls at? Aint this the type of weather that usually sees 'em out here in their bikinis?" Puck complained, before tossing the remainder of his coffee back with a loud gulp.
Finn's body almost short-circuited, twitching strangely as images of Rachel in a skimpy bikini entered his mind.
Chuckling toothily, Puck nudged both Sam and Artie, and inclined his eyes towards Finn's fucked up expression. He wasn't sure whether to call an ambulance or mock the shit out of the pale man.
That was until he decided that mocking the shit out of the pale man would be the most amusing option. "Whoa dude, you gettin' hard over there or somethin'? Don't forget that your mom's gonna be watchin'."
Artie sniggered as he blasted his cue against the ball.
Finn's cheeks flamed a deep chagrin. "W-What? No!" the tall man stammered, bringing a hand down over the zipper of his jeans. "Just... Rachel in a bikini sounds... kinda dreamy."
"Dreamy or wet dreamy?" Puck teased. "I saw her getting into the hot tub last night. She's one hot babe, that's for sure. Chiseled abs that I'd like to lick my baby-making man sauce off of and everything."
Sam quit fighting it and folded over the corner of the pool table in laughter, his cue just shy of nudging him in the balls. "Dude, you're so gross!" he rasped in-between outbreaks of mirth.
Remembering the incident with Rachel earlier, Artie frowned. "Well I'm sorry to break it to you, guys. But I don't think that Rachel dates our species."
"What?" Puck asked, all traces of laughter gone. "That's so hot."
"She said something earlier that makes me think she's gay. I think she might like Quinn actually," Artie speculated. "She stares at her a lot."
"Don't we all?" Sam retorted, expelling an unworthy sigh. "Quinn's, like, the girl you'd wanna take home to your mom."
"He's right. We all wanna take her home and introduce her to our mothers. Even you Puck," Jacob decided to inject himself into the conversation. That way, it wouldn't so much seem like he'd given in-depth thought to the proposition that he was about to make.
Puck didn't refute the accusation that Jacob has put upon him. He just stared at Finn, whose cheeks were still aflame. But seemingly enough, for a different reason. "You're kinda quiet up there, big boy," he poked, ever the pot stirrer.
"What is it with fags these days?" the tall flustered man suddenly exploded. "They're fucking everywhere! I'm going inside! Rachel needs to know that she can't just go around leading men on!"
Artie arched an eyebrow, Puck placed a firm hand to Finn's chest, and Sam watched on, ready to spring into action if need be.
"Rachel's done nothing but glare at you. Didn't she yell at you for using the word fag last night? Your bigoted attitude is disgusting, dude," Sam broke the tense silence. "Gay people are just the same as straight people. My mom's gay." He shrugged his muscular shoulders. "So what?"
Finn slapped Puck's hand away from his chest, and glared Sam down. "That doesn't even make sense! If your mom was a fag, you wouldn't be here!"
Down by his thighs, Sam felt his fists tighten.
Was this Finn guy for real?
He slung his pool cue to the ground, sending it rolling off of the beige patio decking and into the artificial grass. "I'm not even making a secret of it, dude; if I win HOH next week, I'm putting you up on the block, and you're going home. That's a promise."
The threat hung in the air for a moment, before Puck said, "And if you think we're gonna let you go in there and get all up in a woman's face, over some bullshit, you're twisted."
Knowing that he was outnumbered, Finn deflated, pushed past Puck, and disappeared into the house, slamming the sliding door shut behind him.
With the alleviation of the dumb ass's presence, Artie snapped his tongue, muttering, "what a grade-A douche," under his breath.
Still rather riled up, Sam headed into the house to make sure that Rachel wasn't having to endure the likes of Finn's breath, all up in her face.
Jacob saw his opportunity, and struck. "How does everyone feel about a secret all male alliance?" he asked, sipping his drink as though the suggestion was merely an afterthought.
"Uh..." Puck scratched the back of his head whilst mulling it over. "Sounds cool. Who'd be in it though? 'Cause I'm not aligning myself with Finnpotent. The guy's a natural born jackass, and I'm gonna vote his ass out as soon as the opportunity arrives. I hope Sam's gone inside to headbutt him."
Jacob's lips elongated with a sly grin. "Essentially, it would be me, you, Sam. Artie, you too if you want in. We can bring Will in on it too. But I haven't yet figured him out well enough to know if he'd be open to the idea."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Artie agreed, careful with how he hung his pool cue back up on the wall. "There's something really honest and fair about Will, which I'd usually love about a person on the outside world. But those characteristics aren't always all that useful in this game. Anyways, count me in."
Jacob simply smirked, and if it had been appropriate to rub his scheming little hands together, in that moment, he would have.
"I'll talk to Sam about this secret all male alliance shindig when he gets back out here," said Puck, totally sold on the idea. "We're gonna have to come up with a killer name for our faction though."
"You betcha," Jacob purred, satisfied with the fact that he'd aligned himself with the two most physically strong competitors in the house, Sam and Puck. Ideally, they would do all of the heavy lifting, Artie would gather house information and relay it back, and he would be the brains of the operation.
It was perfect.
Inside of the house, however - particularly in the living area - things were not going so well...
"Lead you on? Not if you were the last man - and I use that term very loosely - on earth. This has got to be some sort of a prank," Rachel scoffed up at the oafish man who'd barreled into the house, stood over her, and thrown the wild accusation.
"You've been smiling at me, and like a whore, you got dressed when I was in the room!"
Quinn, who was in the kitchen starting dinner up for the houseguests who were permitted to eat normal food, span around just in time to see Sam step in-between Finn and the petite yet fiery brunette. She watched, feeling the swelling potential for things to get nasty. She'd only known Rachel for a day and a bit, but it was already clear to her that the shorter woman was a true New Yorker, and didn't take any shit whatsoever.
Having seen enough, the blonde dried her hands with a paper towel, tossed it in the bin, and then made her way over to the escalating altercation.
"Hey! Come on Finn! Back off!" she scolded 'Goliath,' before glancing at a furious Rachel. "I leave you alone for five minutes," she jested, attempting to ease the annoyed brunette. Even if just a little.
Not that it worked.
"This oaf!" Rachel spat, chest heaving up and down with unbridled irritation, "seems to think that I've been leading him on, because I'm gay and I spare him a pained smile every now and then, if only to keep from verbally annihilating him!" She looked away from Quinn, and returned the full ferocity of her glare to the presumptuous idiot in front of her. "We share a bedroom, asshole! If I have to get dressed, I have to get dressed! Half the time, I don't even notice that you're there! Simply because you're such an insignificant waste of flesh!" she yelled.
Finn bulked up aggressively, and lifted his foot to step forward. But he was met with a firm enough push back from both Quinn and Sam.
So Finn settled for pointing a threatening finger at the mouthy little brunette instead. "You led me on, and the whole time you were gay!"
"Why don't you just go to your room little man? Unless you wanna keep this up, and make yourself an even bigger house target," Sam chimed, with an antagonizing wink.
Quinn was stood there in shock. It was only day two and she'd had to get physical with someone, in order to protect someone else. But even more startling was that Finn had somehow managed to work out that Rachel had led him on, which was just... Well, it was just fucking ridiculous now, wasn't it?
In that moment, Emma seemed to just appear at the top of the stairs. "Rachel?" the redhead called, drawing all eyes to herself. "Would you mind coming up to my room for a little chat?"
Despite the unmistakable darkness in the woman's overly cheery tone, Rachel's shoulders relaxed a little, because anything was better than Finn and his awful breath. She threw one last glare at the ridiculously stupid man. "Steer clear of me from now on!"
It hadn't been a question.
Quinn placed her hands on her hips and sighed as she watched Rachel climb the spiraling staircase. Although this particular incident hadn't been Rachel's fault, the blonde knew that she was going to have to have a word with the brunette about her blow-ups and storm-outs. One too many, and the house would deem her unbearable to live with, and then they'd collude to have her - and those who she was aligned, or friends, with - evicted.
Quinn knew that if her unofficial two-person alliance with Rachel was going to work, then they had to be on the same page.