A/N: This update concludes with discussions of a sexual nature regarding Tike, Brittana, Samcedes and Klaine.

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As long as I don't break these promises
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Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury's wedding is…kind of charming.

Probably because it has that rushed, last-minute feel to it, which is fucking stupid because, Jesus, they've been engaged for like almost a year at this point. But seriously, they're getting married in the orchestra pit of the auditorium, not even on stage…it's the weirdest fucking thing.

The Glee members and alums arrive early(some still seem to be partially in food comas) and get dressed in the yellow dresses and navy blue tuxedos chosen for them. Kurt seems affronted by the fact that he's a groomsman—he'd been certain there was going to be a yellow tuxedo for him and that he'd be with the girls—but he scowls and follows Blaine into the men's dressing room (the locker room. Seriously). Santana breaths a sigh of relief to find that her dress, based on her fitting for Nationals, fits with only a little tightness around her middle. Is she getting love handles? Damn. It's too dark to go running when she's awake, and she tried Rachel's elliptical, but she hates exercising indoors. Like, what is she supposed to do, stare at the walls?

Then, they kind of wait around. Ms. Pillsbury is elsewhere; Santana hopes she has actual adult family and friends helping her prepare. There are some of the newbies here—the female ones, anyway, since they really haven't seen the guys at all, as they're locked away in their own dressing room. And while Brittany talks to them and introduces them to Santana—the little redheaded girl almost hyperventilates when Santana waves at her, which makes her smirk, she still has game—most of the other alums are staring around at nothing unfocusedly. Well, Santana will admit that she's staring at Unique, because shit, she's impressed by how beautiful Wade becomes after like an hour of work. Like some kind of butterfly transformation or something, though calling Wade a caterpillar isn't exactly fair or accurate. Rachel is standing off by herself, singing "Somebody to Love" very quietly as practice. Quinn stands nearby, talking to Mercedes, gesturing to Rachel and rolling her eyes, but with a fond smile.

It's weird, though, because she'd approached Quinn as they arrived and informed her quietly about Rachel not wanting to see Finn, and how she and Kurt were going to try to enlist a few people (okay, like half the former Glee club) to make sure to keep Rachel and Finn otherwise occupied so they won't have to interact during the wedding. Quinn had looked baffled, and though she'd hid it quickly…Santana doesn't understand how it is she doesn't know what's going on. Doesn't Rachel tell her best friend things?

After some silence, Sugar pipes up, "Does anyone else think it's really weird that we're Mr. Schue's wedding party?"

And pretty much everyone choruses, "Nope," in response. Sugar just nods, smirking.

Eventually Coach Beiste enters, looking deeply uncomfortable in her own yellow dress. She's the Maid of Honor, and, yeah, Santana had been relieved to find out there was at least one adult involved in this process.

"Okay, girls, we're gonna process in, in this order, and we'll be singing 'Don't Stop Believing' line by line as we do it, so it'll be quick, just meet up with the boy you're paired with and sing like your throat's got a bone to crack, get me?" She then proceeds to line everyone up in the order specified by the piece of paper she's pulled out of her bra. There are an odd number of people in the wedding party, so it had been decided that Unique will process in by herself at the end, followed immediately by Sue Sylvester, who is officiating the ceremony (which, is that a nice way to have a friend involved, or just cheap as hell?). Sue will be close enough to her that it would look like Unique isn't alone, that she was leading Sue in, but they won't link arms and sing together like the other couples, thereby asserting Unique's femininity. Santana rolls her eyes a little. Would it kill Schuester to ask another guy—like maybe an adult male—to be in the wedding so that Unique's unique (no pun intended) position on the gender front (again, no pun intended) isn't put on such display?

The procession in actually goes okay. It's similar enough to Burt and Carole's wedding that the Glee kids don't really bat an eye. Santana finds herself paired with Kurt, which makes her want to laugh—and after they sing their line, he hisses "Schue bearded us" in her ear. She does glare at Rory, who is lucky enough to be paired with Brittany. By the time Unique and Sue start down the aisle, with Unique singing her line by herself, everyone else is pretty much in place and ready to start singing the rest of the song together. Santana's surprised she remembers the harmony so well, and judging from the sound around it, it seems like everyone else does, too.

They stand off to the side after finishing the song, and there's a pause as they wait. The instrumentals from "Don't Stop Believing" are still playing, more subdued, in the background as everyone waits for the bride and groom to come in. Santana takes the moment to scan those in attendance, which is actually not a lot of people. A genial-looking couple that she concludes are Mr. Schue's parents; a stiff-backed, tight-lipped pair of redheads she knows instantly are Ms. Pillsbury's parents, a smattering of other strange faces in the first few rows reserved for family. Holly Holiday, smirking at her a few rows back; Ken Tanaka, appearing to have ballooned up about fifty pounds and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else; April Rhodes, covered in faux fur and rhinestones, wearing sunglasses as if afraid to be recognized; Bryan Ryan, his expression haughty and challenging even at rest. Then, damn, the former Mrs. Schuester, sort of near the front, cradling a baby whose slightly flat face and tilted eyes betray her Down syndrome.

And Santana remembers Brittany telling her about the daycare center the high school had opened up, inside the school, for faculty, staff and even students—Quinn obviously wasn't the only girl to get knocked up at their school, and some of those girls had decided to keep their kids. But apparently, it is run by Terri Del Monico—who, until very recently, was still using Schuester. Which…it's actually sort of heartbreaking, Santana thinks, to see the woman who wanted a child more than anything, relegated to taking care of other people's kids, watching as her ex-husband starts to build a life with a new woman in the very building in which she works…

Santana's not sure if she's a guest or an employee at this point, because that's definitely Coach Sylvester's baby the woman is holding, but if she were just there to take care of the kid, why would she watch? She must be a guest, and Santana really doesn't know if it was horrible of Mr. Schue to invite his ex-wife, or polite. And whether she's taking care of the Sylvester spawn by her own request or by someone else's.

In the moments before Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury appear, Sugar hisses at the girls, "Is it just me, or has Mr. Schue made out with like every non-related woman in this room?"

Everyone kind of stares at her, and a smug expression gradually crosses her face. "What makes you say that?" Merry asks, sounding alarmed.

"Most of it's common knowledge," Sugar whispers back, loud enough for the rest of the girls to hear, "Some I found out through my father's connections. Private investigators, you know."

Santana wants to just ask what the fuck at Sugar's idea of a hobby, but then, they see Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury coming into the room, and everyone is standing to watch them approach and, as instructed, the Glee kids plus Coach Beiste and Coach Sylvester sing the chorus to "Don't Stop Believing" as they approach.

And damn, but Ms. Pillsbury is a mess. She's sweaty, shaky, eyes bugged. But she's wearing what appears to be a genuine, exuberant smile. Still, she feels Quinn jolt slightly next to her at the sight, and they glance at each other, communicating their agreement—she's either mid panic attack or, more likely due to her smile, coming down from one. Mr. Schue looks sweet and concerned as they traverse down the aisle.

The ceremony is pretty standard. A few religious overtones that Sue Sylvester manages to grit out without rolling her eyes and, well, Santana's relationship with religion is complicated at best, but at least it's not like the long-ass Catholic weddings she's been to when cousins have gotten married. Sue also manages to avoid mocking the bride and groom, which is surprising, and Santana thinks motherhood may have actually softened her, or maybe she and Mr. Schue actually did come to an understanding at some point. And, the longer it goes on, the calmer Ms. Pillsbury actually looks, which is somewhat of a relief, and when it's finally over, and they sing "Somebody to Love" as they follow Mr. Schue and the new Mrs. Schue out of the auditorium to the gym, where the reception will take place. Rachel stays glued to Blaine's side, while Finn shoots her glances over his shoulder as he walks out with Beiste. Santana glares, sees Kurt stiffen in her peripheral vision, and at one point hears Quinn stumble behind her, and knows Quinn sees it, too.

And then there's the reception, and Quinn and Santana flank Rachel at the table(which thankfully is only labeled as "wedding party" and doesn't have specified seating), and Kurt sits across from her, with Blaine on one side and Mercedes on the other, and they effectively block out Finn, who looks put out as he settles next to Puck and Sam at the other end of the table. Sam gives Kurt a discrete nod at this, glancing somewhat forlornly at Mercedes as he does so, and Puck hitches his chin slightly at Quinn, who smiles in return. Rachel side-eyes the boys at the other end of the table and looks relieved to see Finn sulking in his seat, and her smile returns in full as they chat. Puck talks enthusiastically with Beiste, who sits across from them, and continually nudges Finn in the ribs to try to draw him into the conversation, but he remains withdrawn.

Sugar gains their attention, mostly because Kurt and Mercedes, as well as Tina, are focused on her gossip. Apparently, she tells them, the Pillsbury parents don't approve of the marriage, which is why their families weren't actually involved in the ceremony—they couldn't very well have the Schuesters show their support if the Pillsburys wouldn't. And, Sugar shares off-handedly, there was another name on the guest list that Mr. Schue had also made out with—Shelby Corcoran (Santana notes Quinn's shaking hand pick up her water glass two seats over from her, and sees Rachel's head turn away). Apparently, Shelby is in the process of moving out of Lima (probably to New York, but Sugar's sources aren't definite), and couldn't spare the time to attend. Santana doesn't know whether she's more surprised about the fact that Mr. Schue apparently made out with Rachel's mother (though, really, was that any worse than Puck?) or that Sugar, and probably also Mr. Schue, seems to know so much more about her than either Quinn or Rachel do at this point in time. It's kind of sickening, but when Sugar starts on the gossip of the plethora of pills that Terri Del Monico has been taking, everyone seems to let the mention of Shelby pass.

And, eventually, it's fun. There's food, and dancing, and they make sure someone is always dancing with Rachel, and it's actually getting kind of ridiculous, the lengths they're going through to make sure, what, Finn doesn't like propose to her again and Rachel finds herself unable to resist accepting? Rachel is pointedly ignoring him, and his expression is getting stormier and stormier, but not toward her, toward Quinn and Santana and even Puck and Kurt, who are always surrounding his little ex-fiance. Brittany and Mike dance together a lot, clearly happy to see each other, and attempt to draw Finn into dancing with them as a distraction, which kind of works.

At one point, Sue Sylvester approaches, carrying her baby in her arms. Brittany points and says to Santana, "You should totally go see the baby, she's so cute." Most of the alums surround Sue, those still in high school having already seen the baby, but Sue's attention is pretty clearly focused on Santana and Quinn.

Santana stares at the kid, who has bright blue eyes and the kind of open-mouthed awed expression that babies too young to really smile wear. She can see those eyes rocket all around the environment as she leans over to get a better look her and the child kind of mews at her.

"Want to hold her?" Sue asks.

Santana balks a little in anxiety. She's held babies before, but she's never been able to shake the fear that she'll manage to kill them. They're so fragile.

"Um. Sure."

Sue places the baby in her arms and Santana struggles to make sure she's supporting the tiny infant's neck while Sue watches them, appearing unconcerned. Mike leans over her shoulder and offers the baby his pinky; she grasps it. Santana smiles down at her and then looks at Sue. "She really is beautiful," she offers.

Sue nods and smirks, "That was a given. Sylvester blood is potent. Of course, I hope more for her to be powerful. I almost named her Conquest, because that is my hope for her."

Santana swallows a laugh, and Sue regards her with the barest trace of warmth in her expression for a moment before saying, "It's my hope for you, too. I'm sure you're starting with Greenwich Village, but soon I know you'll conquer much more."

Santana tries to smile, but shit, she never quite realized that Sue Sylvester had high hopes for her. Not that she's entirely sure what kind of conquest Sue is implying she'll have, but still. Quinn was always her real protégé, and Becky, but that little bit of affection Sue is throwing her way is surprising and almost painful.

Quinn is standing next to her, staring intently at the baby she's holding. Sue notices her, and smiles somewhat softly, then tells Santana, "Hand Janie to Fabray, will you?"

Quinn's breath seems to catch, and Santana's does, too, because the baby's name is so close to that of Sue's sister. She gently manages to give the baby to Quinn, whose eyes are instantly teary. She looks at Santana, then Sue, then Janie, and smiles a little as the baby's gaze seems to focus on her in an intense stare. Rachel, who had been mostly hanging back because Sue probably still intimidates her, approaches then to lean against Quinn's shoulder and look down at Janie. Quinn smiles graciously at her and tips the baby toward her a little more, and it's weirdly heartwarming to watch them smile down at a baby together.

After a few moments, Quinn takes a breath and hands Janie back to Sue, who smiles at her. "Are you keeping your head, Fabray?" she asks. Quinn nods. "Reading traffic signs?" Quinn gapes, coughs, and nods. "Good." Sue reaches one arm over to pull a clearly surprised Quinn in for a one-armed hug, "Then I know I don't have to worry about you."

About forty-five minutes or so into the reception, Finn is standing up to do his speech. Sugar says, a little bit too loudly, "Does anyone else think it's creepy that Mr. Schue chose a student to be his best man?" which makes multiple people at the table stifle laughter into their hands. And it's…well, it's what Santana expected, all about how Mr. Schue is the father he never had (she hears Kurt inhale a bit sharply at that, and yeah, ouch), how he taught him to be a man. And by the way Quinn's hand is tightening around her water glass, she's feeling something of the same—not that Finn is definitely slighting Kurt's dad, but vaguely like there's something sexist about what Finn is saying, though she can't pinpoint what. Quinn probably can. She's always been smarter, Santana thinks dully.

Never once does Finn mention Ms. Pillsbury-now-Mrs. Schuester, which, well, certainly they weren't close, but shouldn't he at least be acknowledging that she's good for Mr. Schue or something? Santana claps a few times politely at the end of the speech, as does everyone around her except Quinn, who is just tracing the edge of her water glass, her features hard.

Coach Beiste's speech is a little better, and focuses more on the couple—about how Emma's practicality seems to ground Will, and Will's patience seems to calm her, and it's honestly the best argument Santana's heard for why these two should be getting married, because honestly, she mostly just thought the whole thing was weird for the longest time. Firstly, that the love lives of teachers were even something they, as students, were aware of, but also because Mr. Schue was apparently obsessed with Glee club to the point that it wrecked his first marriage, even when he was terrible at running it. And anyone could see Ms. Pillsbury was mentally ill in a way that pretty much made intimacy impossible, how was that something they could work through?

Then again, she and Brittany are weathering distance, flunking a year of high school, and the worst job ever, so, maybe in some ways love does conquer all.

After Beiste sits down, Sue stands up, and judging by Mr. and Mrs. Schue's faces, this is a surprise speech.

"I can't remember a thing Mr. Hudson said at this point, but I must say that I agree with everything Shannon Beiste said. William, Elma, we have not always gotten along, but I must publicly announce my support for this union. Now, many people have an issue with unconventional unions, but not me. Whether it's a curly and a ginger, a meerkat and a songbird, I believe love is love. A toast." She raises her glass and the sea of baffled and amused faces raise their own in response. "May your love last."

After the speeches, which stop there without input from either Schuester or Pillsbury parents—because, really, what more can be said?—they're back to dancing and eating again, and Brittany feels so good in her arms, and…

Puck approaches Rachel, who is dancing with Mercedes and Quinn, and attempts to shove his hands in his pockets, only to find, bewildered, that the tuxedo's pockets are sewn shut. He smoothes his hands up and down his hips instead, and Kurt sidles up next to him. Rachel stops dancing to look at the two, and her smile dies on her face.

"I really think you should talk to him," Puck says quietly, "Like, I think you need to tell him what you told us. He doesn't understand what's going on. You know us guys aren't good at subtlety."

"I beg to differ, I excel at subtlety," Kurt sniffs.

"Not the point," Puck counters, but he gives Kurt a little smile anyway, "But he just needs to know for sure, Rach. Cut him loose."

"I hate to say it, but I agree with our resident meathead," Kurt sighs, shooting Puck a humorless smirk, "I know you didn't want to talk to him, but I think you need to speak your piece. And Rachel? You're the most persuasive person I know. So, don't let him talk you into anything you don't want."

Rachel chews her lip and then, as if it's really her decision, looks at Quinn, who is chewing her own. Quinn meets her eye and shrugs, "It's up to you, Rachel. It might be more fair to him if you let him know what you're thinking." It's almost like Quinn is gritting out this advice, with the way her jaw is tight and barely moving, and as soon as Rachel turns back to Puck and Kurt, Quinn's head tips down and she squeezes her eyes shut.

Rachel takes a breath and says quietly, "Alright. I'll talk to him."

Puck nods. "He's only got about an hour or so before he needs to leave for the airport, so he's in the parking lot, waiting for his mom to come get him."

Rachel nods and tosses her hair rather dramatically over her shoulder before striding out of the room, brimming with forced confidence.

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He holds me in his big arms
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And as it has so many times before, her breath catches when her eyes land on the tall figure standing alone in the parking lot. His profile is strong, and the short, military haircut doesn't suit him all that well—it makes him look almost like a stranger—but it does accentuate the way the lines of his face seem more mature, the muscles of his jaw more defined. The tuxedo, based on his measurements for Nationals, is tight on his shoulders and chest and looser in his midsection, just proving how hard his body has been working.

His head turns, and he gives her that little half-smile that always broke her resolve, and she straightens her shoulders to avoid letting it break her now. "Finn," she greets evenly.

He begins to stride toward her, "Rachel," he breathes, "What's wrong? Have you been avoiding me?"

Her eyes dart away, and she admits, "Yes."

He frowns, "But why? I mean, I wanted to see you. I miss you a lot."

"I realize," she says, "You've made that quite clear."

He tries to smile, but it falters, "You haven't really been writing me back."

"I've been busy," she says, her voice somewhat short, and she presses her lips together resolutely. Time to be honest. "And because I haven't wanted to. I would like for you to stop writing to me, Finn."

Finn shakes his head slowly, and his expression is almost amused, "Rachel, I can't do that. I love you, and I think you must still love me, and I shouldn't have broken up with you. I want us back. We don't even have to be engaged. But I think we deserve another chance."

"No, Finn," she counters sharply, "We can't do this. Not now. And if you want it to happen ever, you need to stop. You're making it very hard for me to move on, and eventually, I will just get bitter."

Something flashes in Finn's eyes, and Rachel winces. She just affirmed that she does still have strong feelings for him, and now he knows it. She folds her arms, trying for an aggressive stance, but she feels vulnerable instead.

"I'm going to ask Santana and Kurt to throw out any letters from you," she tries to say with conviction, but it comes out whiny, petulant.

Finn regards her more soberly for a moment, looking like he wants to say something, but then his mother's familiar SUV is approaching them, and he just reaches into the actual functional breast pocket of his tuxedo and extracts a thumb drive—an old one, that only holds 2 gigs—and hands it to her. "Just listen to it," he says. She stares at it, and he tips his body toward hers, and she doesn't know his intention—Hug? Kiss?—so she jolts backwards, arms tight around herself, and he gives her an inscrutable look before turning to get into his mom's car. "I'm going to keep writing to you, because I'm right about this. Bye, Rachel, I love you," he tells her, softly, his mouth shaping her name like a lover's caress.

When she gets home, after half-heartedly dancing and plastering on her starpower smile through the next hour or so the reception spans, she takes the thumb drive and slides it into her laptop. There's only one thing on it, an MP3 titled BofB, and she clicks it, and after a moment…

It's Finn, singing "Beast of Burden," and…God, this is exactly the kind of song his voice was made for, and it's rough at the right spots, and smooth and melodic at the others, and the way he punches out the staccatos from low in his belly is just…she feels, unwillingly, warm, because it's even just the kind of love song he would choose, one that's kind of misses the mark, yet is painfully, almost insensitively, true in parts, but…

It doesn't even matter that it's not very good quality, and it sounds as if he's just singing along with some kind of karaoke track coming out of his crappy laptop speakers, but its…it's just…

She manages to get Kurt and Santana on a conference video chat on GTalk, and Kurt's down to an undershirt and his hair is rumpled but he looks suitably concerned, and Santana is utterly mussed, and her lipstick is smeared, and she's scowling, but beneath her brows, Rachel can see the worry in her eyes. She'd be more embarrassed about interrupting them from time with their loved ones if they hadn't told her to call them if she needed them—and if they hadn't left their accounts online. She just needs to see their faces.

She doesn't even realize she is crying until she sees their reactions, and she wipes hastily at her face, "Sorry to, um, interrupt," she starts awkwardly, perfunctorily, and Kurt smiles encouragingly while Santana just grunts. "So you know I spoke to Finn, and he told me he won't stop writing and he gave me a recording of a song he sang."

Kurt's expression clears after a moment, and he says, "Ooh, that's what he'd been working on last night."

Rachel shakes her head a little distractedly, "It was…really good, actually, and it sort of…I just need help. I need you to ensure I never check the mail by myself, and I request that you shred any letters from Finn that you find." Kurt raises an eyebrow, and Rachel says, "And yes, I am aware that it's illegal to tamper with someone else's mail, but you have my permission. And do not inform me if he's sending letters, even if I ask."

"You got it," Santana says, firmly, "Are we done here? I've got this half-naked hot blonde in my bed right now."

"Oh, god," Kurt groans.

"What, like you don't have a bottle of hair gel with caterpillar eyebrows in yours?"

Huffing a little, Kurt says, "Well, yes, but if you insist on talking about lesbian sex, I'll lose what little libido I have left after this dour conversation."

It's extremely silly, but right and so entirely representative of her life in New York that Rachel is chuckling. And Kurt vows to help, same as Santana had, so she signs off, letting the two roommates she loves so dearly go be with their loved ones. And afterwards, feels slightly empty.

She calls Quinn, and doesn't even need to tell her what happened, before she is there what feels like immediately with vegan ice cream and 500 Days of Summer, and very pointedly turns off her constantly buzzing phone. The movie is hard to watch, with how hard she's crying, but it's therapeutic. Cathartic. And somehow, it's such a Quinn thing to do, so tough love, so straight and to the point—sometimes the dreams of our heart just don't work out, move on, Rachel Berry.

Rachel can't even bring herself to say much, just chokes out, "I really know it has to be over, now," at one point during the evening. Quinn just watches her with huge, shiny eyes, her brows slightly pinched, her lips pressed flat, and it's one of those potent expressions Rachel can't quite interpret, but she feels achingly certain Quinn is disappointed in her, for hanging on this long.

After several long moments, Quinn just nods and reaches for her, and Rachel falls into her. "It's the right choice," Quinn murmurs, "It…doesn't make it the easiest, but it's right." Rachel's tears are renewed, and they really don't discuss the matter any more.

Quinn stays the night, refusing to leave after making Rachel cry so hard. Rachel forgives her, because, really, there's nothing to forgive, and even though they're in the queen sized bed of Rachel's childhood bedroom, she presses herself as close to Quinn as if they were in her twin bed, in her apartment.

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And I tread a troubled track
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She's home.

Or, really, he's home, but, corny as it is, she fervently believes her home is his arms. Even in a train station.

One slightly awkward car ride with Mrs. Chang to the train station and there's Mike, walking toward them on the platform, and his face splits into a grin at the sight of her—he'd only known his mother was coming to get him—and he speeds toward her. They embrace, his rolling luggage falling against his calf and his shoulder bag resting on their toes.

And after half a minute, he has the courtesy to pull away and fully hug his mother, who kisses his face, and then turn back to Tina, who finally kisses his mouth in greeting.

It's Thanksgiving tomorrow, but they have tonight.

She almost can't believe it has been three months since she's seen him. Chicago isn't far, and everything they'd said about how she could visit turned out not to come to fruition. There is the fact that Tina doesn't have a job—understandable, as she is quite busy already—and can't quite find a way to ask her parents to buy her a train ticket. Her parents are wonderful people, really, she loves them completely and tells them so much about her life, but, like most parents, they are always sure that they know what is best for her. And her mother is not so sure that letting Tina visit with her college boyfriend for a weekend is a good idea.

They're at Mike's house that evening. They eat a delicious meal, and Mike, talking possibly more than she's ever heard him talk before, fills in his parents and her about how his school is going. And even though she talks to him often, there's still a lot she hasn't heard about. Mike is quite reserved at the best of times, but the excitement seems to have opened the floodgates.

There's a slight twisting in her guts as two names get repeated—Sandra and Kate. Apparently, Mike's new best friends. Mike has never not had female friends; he's known Brittany practically half his life, after all, but most of his closest friends in high school were male, and Tina doesn't know whether she's jealous, or…

Most of it fades when she's under him, upstairs in his boyhood bedroom, fresh, crisp sheets rumpling around them. Their movements are slow, unhurried. That is part of what is so great about Mike—he is always so gentle with her. Losing her virginity had been so much better than she could've imagined—considering how everyone from her mother to Quinn had pretty much just mentioned pain or regret—because he had been so careful, because by then he knew how to get her…aroused. The first time, she'd been on top, holding his hands and leaning her weight onto his arms as she took her time lowering herself onto him, and it had been slow and he had been so still and so patient. Having control of the situation had helped immensely as well.

He lifts his mouth away from hers to smile down at her as they continue to move together steadily, and maybe because it's been so long, and she's missed him so much, and his eyes are shining, but Tina's kind of close. Which is absurd in itself, because she never gets off with just penetration, which Mike has always been happy to work with, but now…

The thoughts of virginity and Mike's care take her to the remembrance that Mike wasn't a virgin when they'd first made love. And she thinks, someone must have taught him to be so tender, when the memory hits her that Brittany had been the one to take Mike's virginity, and…

She spasms, the orgasm taking her by surprise, and apparently Mike, too, because he knows she usually requires more than this. But he's quick, and strong, and has good reflexes. So he leans to balance on his left arm, reaching his other hand between them, past her own that is fumbling to touch herself, to move a finger over her clit, helping her ride out the orgasm, and his face is flushed, eyes wide as he drinks her in, and he follows not very long after her.

They come down together, cuddling like always, and she just fits against his shoulder, and she strokes his abs, which makes him chuckle.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, because his brand of quiet is very external, very attentive. Mike isn't quiet because he's lost in his own head. He's quiet because he's taking in what everyone else is offering, and he's very perceptive.

She sighs a little, watching the way Mike's nipple peaks as her breath washes over it. "I'm just sorry we haven't had a chance to visit yet."

"Hey, it's okay" he assures her, "I know we've both been busy. We've been talking when we can."

Tina nods, and he kisses the top of her head, and she knows he's waiting for her to say more, so…

"Is it…is the distance making it hard for you to…remember me?"

Mike gazes at her, concerned, and then says, "No?"

"It's just…" Tina bites her lip, "I know your program is…female heavy, and it sounds like most of your new friends are women, and I know that we kinda got together from cheating in a situation where we were sort of off on our own."

Mike smiles at her, a little uncertainly, and then he says, "Would it help if I told you they all think I'm gay?"

Tina's eyes bug and a laugh jumps up like a cough. "What? That's completely absurd."

Mike smiles a little more, "Well, yeah. It's like a stereotype, a bad and untrue one, that male dancers are gay, and I think because I'm kind of shy, they assumed I was. Of course, when I started mentioning you, they were thrown, but they told me their theory was that I hadn't realized I was gay yet. When they friended me on Facebook, and they saw your last name, they then changed it to you were my beard and we were 'in a relationship' just as a joke about our last names." He shakes his head, "And then they found a picture of Kurt and I half-hugging at graduation and are convinced he's my secret boyfriend. It probably didn't help that, when they'd been trying to get me to come out, they were introducing me to several guys, and if they talked fashion or Cher or something, I'd end up saying things to these guys like, 'I don't know much about that, but you'd get along great with my friend Kurt.'" He chuckles a little ruefully, "I had no idea why they were introducing me to these guys, but I wanted to reassure them that I wasn't a homophobe, I guess, so yeah…Kurt came up a lot."

Tina blinks several times, "And they told you all this?"

A laugh, "Yeah. They tried to have an intervention or something. Of course, I told them I wasn't gay, and they countered with no guy can be friends with this many women without trying to bang them all." He rolls his eyes, "I try to tell them it's because I'm in love with you, but…"

And Tina is oddly charmed by the fact that her boyfriend has to prove he's straight to all these girls, but he's doing it by reaffirming his love for her. Which they find completely unconvincing.

"So…I mean…you are just friends with them?"

His eyes shoot back to her, "Yeah," he says, "And it's all I want from them." He eyes her for a minute, then asks carefully, "Are you still…satisfied with me?"

"Of course," she tells him quickly, but there's doubt, there's doubt because there are strange thoughts. Because it's both a relief and a frustration that Mike wants only her, because if he didn't…

He brings their lips together in a kiss, and she smiles into it, but can't help but wonder what it is he could say that would make her feel okay.

.
Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame
.

In the afterglow of holding the hot blonde in her bed, she just can't quite fall asleep. Brittany's making sweet, contented sighs against her shoulder, draping her body over hers, and Santana loves the feel of those willowy muscles and the splay of soft hair against her chest.

Brittany can always read her, though, and after a few minutes, asks, "What's wrong, San?"

Santana sighs, her breath shifting the blonde hair draped over her, which causes her pussy to twinge distractingly and she shakes it off. "What did it mean when Artie asked if you were still on for Monday?" she asks, her voice small, like she's lost.

Brittany shifts to look at her, and, her face expressionless, just says, "He's been tutoring me. Tina's good at almost everything, but Artie's a little better at history and Tina took biology sophomore year, so it's fresher for Artie."

Santana nods, and, well, it's not like she really thought they were doing something behind her back, but there's just something in her that burns when she thinks about the two of them spending time together. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, her voice feeling even more pathetic.

Brittany's eyes trace her face, then dart away. "I know you get jealous," she says quietly, "I didn't want you to worry."

The burn in Santana's guts is white-hot for a split second before she reigns in her hurt. "But I found out anyway, and okay, I know you aren't doing anything together, and I trust you, but I don't trust him. And I don't want to be the kind of girlfriend who tells you you can't have friends, but I don't like it."

Brittany sits up then, and curls her legs to her chest, which…good. Being able to see those utterly lickable tits while they're trying to talk would just be…

"I thought it would be worse if you knew," Brittany tries to defend herself, and in a way, Santana gets it. Because now it's going to be in the back of her head, knowing that Brittany and Artie are spending time together, alone. "Does it help to know he's got a crush on someone he does A/V club with? He asked me for advice."

"Maybe a little," Santana concedes with a little lip quirk. She stares at her wall a moment and then says, "It's just so hard, being so far away from you all the time. I worry that we'll make mistakes. That we'll get desperate, I guess, I dunno."

"Is that how you're feeling?" Brittany asks, and Santana, for whatever reason, isn't expecting the question, and…she doesn't know. Her erotic imagination is pretty much limited to Brittany, isn't it? And they're pretty good with the sexting and the phone sex, and, yeah. Except…there's work, and the rumors there she does nothing to fight because it keeps guys from hitting on me, she reminds herself. But she and Helen don't even really talk about them, except to joke about them when they're alone.

Suddenly it all feels like one huge mess.

"I don't know," she admits, "I just know I only love you."

"Me, too," Brittany says softly, "But…do you want other people?"

Does she? It shouldn't be such a difficult question. Brittany has been the epitome of what she's wanted in another person since she was 14, possibly before, and certainly before she was ready to admit it. But that hadn't stopped her from having sex with a lot of people she didn't and couldn't love.

But now, she knows she's gay. And she's in a big city, full of women. And she's young and hot and…not getting any? It doesn't add up.

"I don't know. Maybe," she concedes.

"Sometimes I do, too," Brittany admits, "It doesn't mean I love them."

"I know," Santana says, her jaw tight, that burning flaring again.

"And I don't really understand sometimes, because we've always done things with other people, like when we were only sorta together."

"But…we talked about this, and it's different," Santana argues, "We're each others' now, for real."

Brittany shrugs a little bit uncomfortably, "But you're so far away, it just doesn't make any sense to me. When you were here, it made sense, I didn't want anybody else, but now I just don't understand why things don't go back to the way they were. Where we had each other but we also could have other people."

Santana looks away. She doesn't like to think about those first several years of high school, when she and Brittany, well…she guesses they had each other in a sense; Brittany certainly seems to have retroactively decided that they did. They had always been best friends, just with…more. And she hates even more to think about how what they had meant more to Brittany than she'd allowed it to mean to her, for so long. No matter how often they'd repeated "sex isn't dating" to each other, it became clearer and clearer that Brittany didn't believe that, at least not when it came to the two of them.

She spreads her hands weakly, "What are you…are you asking to break up?"

"No," Brittany answers earnestly, "I don't want that. I want you but you're right. It's not enough when we're so far away." Santana can feel Brittany's eyes on her as she squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment, because this just feels like one of those slippery slopes they'll never manage to scramble out of. "Don't you want that, too?"

"I guess," Santana mutters. It'd be a lie if she said she didn't sometimes wish she were unattached. "Are you really okay with thinking about me and other people?" She wants Brittany to second-guess this, because it's scary and she doesn't want to be the one to say no. She doesn't think she can say no to Brittany.

"I think so," Brittany responds, "I trust you." Santana feels a flush of warmth, but Brittany has been paying attention to her, and asks, "Are you okay with it? For me?"

Her face twists. A sudden, violent twinge wracks her heart, "I think it's more okay…if it's just girls. Thinking about you and guys hurts, but…"

Brittany frowns a little, "But that doesn't make any sense. When I was with Artie, you told me that it didn't count with a girl. Doesn't that mean you think it shouldn't count with a boy now?"

Santana closes her eyes again, her chest tightening, and nothing hurts quite like her own manipulation slamming back in her face, like a boomerang she threw two years ago and forgot to catch. "It's…no…Britt, when I said that…I just missed you and loved you so much I was willing to say anything to keep you next to me."

Brittany's face is a little stony, but her gaze doesn't waver. "So Artie was right? You were manipulating me then?"

"Yes," Santana admits brokenly, "And I'm sorry. I guess…love makes us do stupid things, right?"

Brittany just looks at her, almost eerily, for another few seconds, then nods. "I get it. I'm not happy you lied to me."

"I haven't lied to you since we got together," Santana cuts in, "I'm so sorry, baby."

Brittany breathes in deeply, and gives a little smile, finally, "I forgive you and I'll stop being mad soon. But I don't really get why you only want me with girls."

"I…don't know. It just hurts. I guess I'm afraid you might fall in love easier," Santana tries, unwilling to voice her fears, the ones she knows are irrational. What if Brittany realizes how much she misses men? She really hasn't given that much thought to the fact that Brittany's bisexual for quite awhile, and she doesn't want to tell her girlfriend how much her sexuality suddenly terrifies her.

Brittany nods a little reluctantly, "Okay. I get that that would scare you, even though I know it won't happen. Can I make a rule, too?" Santana nods warily, "You're not allowed to make out with Rachel or Quinn."

Santana chokes on nothing at this, "What?!" she finally squeaks, and it's a fucking embarrassing noise, but at the very least, it's totally shattered the mood.

Brittany just looks at her coolly, "Because Quinn is like, hot like me in a lot of ways, and I know you always secretly thought Rachel was hot, too." Santana shakes her head vigorously and scoffs, "And they're your friends, so you have like, the potential to fall in love with them, because you already do love them, right?"

Taking a deep breath, Santana just says, "Yeah, I do love them, but come on! They're both straight," Brittany's brow furrows in confusion here, "and like, I don't want them that way!"

"The lady's pretesting too much," Brittany notes, and Santana side-eyes her.

"Did you just…quote Shakespeare at me?" Brittany smirks, and Santana leans forward to drag her back on top of her, kissing her lightly on the mouth, "You're a genius," she purrs. And just like that, Santana's done (for the moment) fearing her girlfriend's fluid sexuality and debating whether or not she wants to make out with her closest friends, and is back to mapping her girlfriend's entire body, and hoping she's not saying goodbye to it for the last time.

.
The consequence of what you do to me
.

Thanksgiving may have passed, and he may not have had a chance to see his family, but that doesn't mean he isn't thankful right now, for this moment, when he finally gets to hold her.

They've been kissing on and off for a little over an hour now, taking a break to just cuddle, and she's warm in his arms, and it's…enough for now. He's not a virgin, but she is, and it's important to her, and this is just something it's not in his nature to push, even though his mind is screaming with how much he wants her.

His mind, and his…

She hasn't been ignoring it, per se. Her curious hands have been tracing the waistband of his jeans, grasping his thighs. It's not entirely new territory for them; she's touched it before, though not to completion, toward the end of Senior year, before they'd heard that she was going to LA and realized their relationship had an expiration date. They'd scaled things back at the point, trying not to get in too deep, and managed to enjoy their summer together full of dates that felt more like hanging out, and kissing, and nothing else.

But they're not even really officially together right now. They're friends. Friends who love and support each other and just happen to really, really physically want each other.

Mercedes's hand trails back and forth on his thigh, and he leans down to kiss her again, and jeez, this is blue-balling, isn't it, and it's not…painful in the way he's heard Puck complain about it, it's kind of a sweet torture that just makes him feel so much more for her…

A miniature shudder traces down his spine, much the way her fingers had earlier, starting with strokes to the hairs on the back of his neck and down to just above his waistband. He tears his mouth away and, God, he can't stop the thoughts, the ones he's been fiercely ignoring for weeks now, it's like when the blood in his brain rushes south, it's not holding back those stupid damn kinky thoughts, and suddenly, he can't stop himself, and he's going to ratchet it up a bit, and she won't even know, and he's so bad. "Tell me about the guy you've been seeing," he husks.

She pulls back to look at him, her brow furrowed in something close to diva-annoyance, and then her expression softens, "Oh, I'm so sorry, you need to cool down?"

Sam looks away a little at that and is silent for so long that Mercedes is forced to pause. "You okay, Sam?"

And he laughs, just once, and says, trying to force away the disappointment that floods him both at himself for asking and at her for not telling him, "Yeah. I'm okay. But you can tell me about him."

Mercedes studies his face a little more and then says, carefully, "I'm not actually seeing him anymore. We went on a few dates, but we just…didn't click that way, it turned out."

Sam swallows, feeling a mixture of relief that it isn't serious between them and more disappointment that she's not sharing the details that make him really damn hard. "That's cool," he says, and his brain still isn't fully engaged, obviously, because his next question comes straight from his cock, "Was it like…physical stuff that didn't work?"

Mercedes is utterly bewildered now, and she tells him a tad reluctantly, watching his face all the while as he refuses to meet her eye, "No, I mean, that was okay. He was a good kisser, maybe a little too aggressive." Sam's eyes slip shut for a moment. "He was…really into my rack" she shares hesitantly, and Sam's breath catches, but his eyes are unfocused, and not in a sad way. "To the point where I felt like we were going a little too far, I guess."

"Oh," Sam barely exhales, and shifts his hips a little bit on the bed, and a glance tells Mercedes he really hasn't cooled down, at all, and there's a little flush on his cheeks. "Sam," she says, her tone a little stern now, "Seriously, you okay?"

He shuts his eyes and doesn't respond for a good ten seconds before he just feels too guilty to lie and he blurts, softly and quickly, "I like it when you tell me about other guys. Like, really like it."

He won't meet her eyes, but he can see her expression a little, the way it changes from confusion to…horror?

"I'm sorry," he says quickly, starting to move away from her a bit. God, what's wrong with him? One hard-on and he completely loses his ability to control himself.

"No, no, wait," Mercedes says, grasping his arm, "What exactly do you mean?"

His voice is hollow, "I guess it's like…a kink," he spits a little bitterly, "I get really turned on when I hear about other guys wanting you."

His back is to her, and she doesn't respond for a long while, and then her hand is on his back, gentle. "You…what does that mean?"

"It means…I'm not gay," he starts, and she snorts a little, because yeah, he guesses that was actually pretty obvious to her, "And…that I obviously really, really, don't mind that you're dating people in LA. Even though I love you."

More silence, then, "I like that I'm dating people, too, even though I love you. It's…yeah, okay, it's fun for me. It's not like I had much chance to do it in high school. And I think you know that I really don't want anything serious, not while I feel as strongly as I do for you."

Sam turns to look at her slightly, "Are you…does it gross you out? Because…I don't really want to be like this, and I'm trying not to think about it too much, but I just…I couldn't stop myself tonight," and there's the slightest whine to his voice.

"It's…a little weird," she admits, "But it's somehow like…like it shows how much you love and trust me, in a way?"

Sam nods a little, studying her face, and her assessment actually relieves him a lot. And then, "Because, I mean, I was thinking, and we don't actually have to change anything about what we're doing, but like, because of this, it could make sense if, you know, if you were my girlfriend, and you could still date, like we could be open, and then you could tell me about it, but we'd still be each others', you know? Because as much as we try to say we're not together, we really are…"

Mercedes's mouth drops a little and she says wryly, "At the risk of totally destroying the mood, I think you just channeled Rachel Berry."

Sam laughs despite everything, and then meets her eyes. "What…what do you think?"

And Mercedes looks right back and then kisses him, "I think," she kisses him again, "that I'm relieved. I want you to be my boyfriend."

They kiss a little longer, and then he says, "So, we're in an open relationship? But, it's only open for you. Right?"

"If that's what you want," she says, touching his cheek gently.

"I do," he says sincerely. "Other people should appreciate how hot you are."

She chuckles and ducks her head, "You're so weird," she murmurs, "My weird boyfriend," and she reaches down to cup him through his jeans, which is shocking and he gasps a little.

And she touches him, really touches him this time, going so far as to fumble at his bedside table for his lotion. His only complaint is that she stops his hand from touching her, saying she's not quite ready for that but she wants him to feel good, which is so not fair, and he feels that as a chill that runs down his sternum to his bellybutton, like the path her lips take while she strokes him gently, and he's been on edge so long, and the image of her kissing the faceless boy are at the forefront of his mind, that it's over so quickly…he can barely muster the brainpower to feel guilty about it afterwards.

And by the time he goes back to school on Monday, her Facebook relationship status says "In an Open Relationship," and while his is still the same (not shown on his profile), everyone knows, and everyone kind of looks at him with a mixture of pride and confusion, and he just grins.

Their relationship may be atypical, but he has a feeling they'll figure out how to make it work.

.
I bet he feels like an elephant
.

He comes back to his bed to see Blaine sitting on the edge in his untucked undershirt and slacks, his expression concerned. Of course, he'd been able to hear most of the conversation Kurt had been having across the room, but had stayed out of it because he hadn't been sure Rachel wanted him as an audience. Blaine's concerned eyes meet Kurt's, and Kurt tries to smile, sitting next to him and leaning against his shoulder.

"I'm really mad at my stepbrother," he admits softly. Blaine nods a few times, reaching a hand up to stroke the hair on the back of Kurt's head. "I really hadn't wanted to take sides in this breakup, because I love them both, but…Finn's being such an asshole. He broke up with Rachel in a really painful way and now is fighting to get her back, like, complete 180, because as usual, he doesn't know what he wants!"

Typical Blaine tries to sympathize with everyone as he says, "He's trying to make up for a mistake, right?" which so isn't helping.

So Kurt almost snaps in response, "But it wasn't a mistake, Blaine! Didn't you see the way the two of them kept dragging each other down and holding each other back?! It was good that he broke up with her. Much as I love both of them, they just got to the point that they were toxic…"

"You're right," Blaine soothes, pressing a little kiss next to Kurt's eye, "But I meant that Finn sees it as a mistake. One he can't easily fix."

"Right," Kurt breathes, taking a breath and just feeling the way his boyfriend's hand runs gently up and down his back, the other resting on his knee. He kisses Blaine almost impulsively, and after a bit, when his hands start to slide beneath Blaine's shirt, he pulls back, choking on sudden tears.

"Oh, honey," Blaine says softly, lifting a thumb as if to wipe them away, but Kurt beats him to it, angrily swiping a hand under his eyes.

"He hasn't written to me once since I moved," Kurt chokes out, remembering how Finn had given him a hug on Thanksgiving, but had just been so obviously distracted through the whole dinner, then disappeared into his room that evening to work on that song for Rachel, and it feels like he hadn't even been home…

It's so stupid to be crying over Finn Hudson, again, he thinks, but the whole thing has just been such a buzzkill that he can't do much more than kiss Blaine and let him hold him through his tears. Sex will have to wait. He hopes Blaine will be satisfied with kissing and holding each other, for now. The look in Blaine's eyes, painfully attentive, lets him think that it is okay for now.

And it's not something he's ever thought could happen, but he's been cock-blocked by Finn Hudson.

Additional A/N: Chapter titles from Nero, "Promises," Lana Del Rey, "Video Games," Amy Winehouse, "Back to Black," The Weeknd, "Wicked Games," Beach House, "Myth," and Tame Impala, "Elephant." Other songs mentioned are Journey, "Don't Stop Believin,'" Queen, "Somebody to Love," and Rolling Stones, "Beast of Burden."

The use of Conquest as a name is a reference to David Willis's webcomic "Shortpacked!"