Title: After All This Time
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8.7k
Summary: See, you've never really been one for bright ideas. Sure, you're phenomenal at revenge plans and being a total bitch, but when it comes to genuinely decent ideas, you're lacking to say the least. But this one? This one could actually work.
Notes: Based off one of my all time favourite films, this one is a little different. G!P warning as per usual, and it came out of writers block on Locksmith.
/
You always dreamed of getting rich.
You didn't have the right upbringing to know if your family were well off, but you always wanted to be able to spend money without worrying about how much was left in the bank and life just didn't go the way you'd wanted it to, instead leaving you working some terrible waitressing job whilst trying to make it big in the movie industry.
You live with your best friend, who is also trying to make it big as a dancer, and Brittany is without doubt the best thing that exists in your world.
You met at high school, being the weird kid with glasses and had a tendency of being shoved into a locker every now and then, but for some reason she found pity on you, choosing to befriend you despite her high social status and your incredibly low one and it was cool. Especially because you were a little different down there to other girls, harbouring a certain secret, but that didn't bother her either; instead causing intrigue which led to you two bonding over your addition.
You had a little thing for her, too, way back when, but you're totally over that now after knowing she was far out of reach, and one of the many reasons why she's your best friend is because you never crossed the friendship line and blurred it, despite the attraction you had for her. You two were better as friends and proved it time and time again whilst going through your own personal struggles and you could always rely on her.
(Even if when you had your glow up and became the smoking hot bitch you are now.)
(You're not cocky, you just own a mirror.)
Anyway, you live with Brittany in a small apartment in Lima, Ohio, and she has a job with you at the local breakfast diner. You live and work together and it's great, but one day a customer tells you to reheat the eggs they ordered due to salmonella fears and insulted your heritage by calling you Mexican – which you're not – and it's the last straw.
Bills are pouring through the front door that you can't pay, so it's not like you can yell at the customer, and you let out your frustration by slamming the plate of eggs down loudly as you sweep into the kitchen, finding Brittany talking to Kurt – one of the other waiters – and picking on the chef's leftovers laid out on the side.
"Why are people such racist assholes?" You hiss, full well knowing you're just going to put the damn eggs back in the microwave instead of requesting new ones if you have a say in it. You fold your arms and meet two pairs of eyes staring at you, fearing your reaction but you just roll your own. "She tried to speak to me in Spanish and then asked if my family wore sombrero's to funerals as a sign of respect for the dead," you follow up and Kurt sucks in his lips to hide the laugh threatening to come out and Brittany sighs heavily, hopping off the counter and stepping towards you.
"Just ignore them, San. They're buttheads," she says, skimming her palms up and down your arms and you feel calm wash over your body, making you relax a little. You were so hot and prickly a minute ago, wanting to unleash hell on that bitch of a customer but now your best friend is touching you, you feel better. "You still up for tonight?"
Tonight. You'd tried to forget about the damn high school reunion that you've been dreading, probably because ignorance is bliss and you'd just sort of swept it to the back of your mind, hoping that maybe Brittany would forget completely. But apparently you aren't that lucky and Brittany was really excited when she first found out about it and you told her you'd go, and can see the hope shining back at you through blue eyes at the recollection of it, so you can't exactly tell her no.
"Do we have to?" You try, pouting out your bottom lip which makes Kurt scoff and you shoot a glare at him. "Shut it, Lady Hummel," you spit and feel your walls come up. They usually drop down around Brittany and you feel a little embarrassed that Kurt just saw you do a cute little pout at Brittany because you've got a reputation to uphold and you're kind of soft when it comes to your best friend. "I'm assuming you're going seeing as the other gay is."
Kurt scowls at you. "It's not an insult to call someone gay, Santana," he defends, and you know you've hit a sore spot, but he has a point. You're as gay as a rainbow. "But yes, I'll have you know I've arranged to meet Blaine-" he hisses the name at you, reminding you of his ex-boyfriend but he's hard to forget. You all went to high school together and Kurt and Blaine were a stomach curdling experience that always ended in tears. "-Outside so we can go in together."
"How cute, Tweedle Gay and Tweedle Gayer together again," you tease and Brittany sniggers as she spins to stand beside you, facing the waiter. "Hoping to disappoint everyone and relight that burnt out flame? I could do with something to gossip about."
Kurt rolls his eyes and pushes off the counter, popping a final fry into his mouth as he scoops up your customers eggs and drops them back into a pan on the stove. "Just hoping to get laid, actually," he retorts and you choke on the laughter that frees itself from your throat. You weren't expecting that. "You two going?"
You bob your head and Brittany bumps your hips together, scrunching her face up as if she's saying thank you without words. She knows you don't want to revisit the place that made your life hell, but you'll go if she wants to. Better than staring at the pile of final notices on the coffee table, wondering how you're going to pay them when you make minimum wage in this bum ass place.
"Unfortunately," you drone, and Brittany laughs again but rolls her eyes at you playfully.
"Don't be like that, San, we'll get to see everyone we went to school with."
"That's exactly why I said unfortunately," you retort, eyes sliding to Brittany who shakes her head, smiling but Kurt clears his throat to interrupt your moment.
"Shall I drive?" He asks and you glance at Brittany. You hadn't spoken about how you were going to get there, but you'll take a free ride. Saves the money you would spend on an Uber.
"Sure."
"Excellent," he says and spins around, dishing out the reheated eggs on the plate and dropping the used pan back to the stove. "Now get going, we're closing in half hour."
The local breakfast diner was a new idea by some out of towner, but it meant you didn't have to work ridiculously late hours and the store owner – Holly Holiday – is pretty chill about the opening hours. You usually shut in the afternoon, as you open from four in the morning and as most auditions happen in the evening, or at least the ones you get are, it works pretty well.
Brittany's dance classes and auditions are always later in the day, too, so it makes a perfect part-time job for you both and Kurt is attempting to make it on Broadway, but you don't really get what he's trying to do as he's just taken over the director of the Glee club at your old high school which only requires after school hours, so this place works out. Bit of a step back, if you were asked, but Kurt tends not to reach out for your opinion as it's always harsh and you're kind of a bitch.
But that's just you, so whatever.
"Get to ours for say, six?" You ask Kurt as you pick up the plate and literally shake the venom out of your body as you prepare yourself to return to the bitch of a customer.
He nods and Brittany grins at you, and you just flash her a wink as you head back out into the diner and give the lady the dish, resisting all urge to spit on it and smile at her.
That kind of energy needs to be saved for tonight.
/
McKinley High is exactly as you remember it.
Nothing has changed, even the trophies that sit in the damn trophy case, as every aspect of success in the school disappeared when your Senior year graduated, but it feels kind of good to know that you made an impact on the place, even if you specifically didn't. Brittany did though, and she grins at the Cheerleading trophies from the years she participated and won Nationals several times, and you bump your hips together as you tease her about her old uniform.
"You still got that thing anywhere?"
Brittany laughs, stood next to the case in the hallway lined with lockers and bobs her head. She looks timeless in a little black dress, her hair wavy around her face which is covered in light make up and you had a hard time controlling your staring when she wandered out into the apartment from her bedroom, and you're getting the same feeling as she pushes back a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She looks really good tonight.
"Somewhere in my closet," she answers and quirks a brow at you that makes your mouth drop open. "Why? You wanna see if it fits me still?" She smirks, blue eyes dragging down your body and back up again, and you gulp audibly.
Flirtation isn't foreign between you, but it still gives you a jolt of electricity every single time it happens. Flirting with Brittany isn't the same as doing it with any other girl, as you've discovered, and many times you've had to laugh it off before you let your other brain take over and make a move on her. She's fucking hot and your body knows it, even if your mind is the only thing stopping you from jumping her sometimes.
You would be embarrassed or ashamed about feeling that way if it wasn't for a drunken night with Brittany, a bottle of tequila and a power cut and found out she felt the same.
You'd both played truth and dare, sat amongst dozens of candles, and she'd chosen truth, to which you'd asked if she'd ever thought about any of her friends in a sexual way. The answer had made your legs snap together, because she'd rolled on her stomach, where you were both spread out across the floor and as honestly as possible, admitted she'd thought about you like that way too many times but you two were friends and she didn't want to ruin such a good friendship.
Which you didn't either, but you'd always wondered what it'd be like to sleep with her.
(The bedroom walls in your apartment are also super thin, so you already know what she sounds like in bed.)
(It's good.)
(Like, really good.)
"Is that an offer?" You throw back, with a suggestive wink and Brittany's cheeks turn red, a giggle leaving her throat as Kurt approaches from the side, clearing his own throat and staring between you curiously.
"Would you two stop flirting?" He interjects, waving his hand over toward you as dramatically as possible, covering his eyes with the other. "Seriously, if any of the douchebags in the other room see you, they'd think you were together."
You scoff at the words, ignoring the way your stomach twinges in reaction to it but it's true, you and Brittany are probably a little too close from an outsiders perspective just to be best friends. "Shut up Porcelain," you retort and eye the empty space beside him. "Thought you were meeting Tinkerbell outside?"
"He's running late," Kurt deadpans, folding his arms across his chest and you see the blonde stare at you, as if to ask you to be nice so you roll your eyes, thankful that Kurt didn't see the look Brittany just gave you and nudge him lightly in the shoulder with your fist to gain his attention again.
"He'll be there," you say in an attempt to comfort him and he stares at you suspiciously before letting a small smile grace his lips. You let out a low laugh, feeling ridiculous that Brittany can make you be a nice person and grab her hand, tugging her towards you as your other hand loops through Kurt's, lining you up so you're all stood in front of the double doors that lead to the gym where the reunion is being held.
You've got this heavy dread lingering inside your chest, and you know that through those doors, there's a thousand memories you've tried to forget, alongside the assholes that formed them for you. You weren't exactly super popular in school and you're waiting for someone to ask you what you do as a job now, and diner girl isn't a huge step up from the answer you would've given them when you graduated and that'll bring a whole lot of shame and irritation.
But there is a free bar, so you're going to take full advantage of that.
It's only for a few hours too and you've got your best gays with you, or best gay and best bisexual, so you'll be good.
"Shall we?"
They grin at your question, and you brace yourself as you head inside.
/
Turns out, people don't change.
The Cheerios still feel elite amongst the football jocks on one side of the gym, the hockey players are still loud and annoying on the opposite side, and the Glee kids are still hanging about with the AV and band nerds, lingering in the middle like prey surrounded by their predators. It's very much like it was all those years ago, and you head straight for the bar as Brittany goes off to the popular kids to avoid being associated to any of those groups, and Kurt screams as he sees a few of his old Glee club members, occupying himself with them.
You order a Jack and Coke, downing it rapidly and flagging down the bartender who eyes you carefully before pouring you another one. Judgement is not going to settle well, so you tell him it'll be the first of many to manage expectations and he just shrugs and tells you not to vomit on his bar, which you can totally do.
After the second drink, you feel the low buzz in your ears, hunched over the bar and trying your best not to make eye contact with anyone who might recognise you, and hope that no-one notices the glow up because it'll be talk of the reunion. You've changed a lot, physically and mentally, and you rip off the name badge that was given to you by people you don't remember, sitting at the desk to greet everyone, knowing you can be more subtle if there isn't a literal sign sitting on your boobs, giving you away.
Luckily, you manage to avoid any small talk until Kurt wanders over to you, looking downtrodden and sad and you finally turn around, leaning your elbows on the bar with your foot planted on the rail near the floor as he sidles up beside you, facing inwards on the bar. You look out at the crowd, but you know Kurt's alone or he wouldn't be here with you.
"Blaine didn't come?"
Kurt eyes you, like he's waiting for the usual Santana venom, but you remember the look Brittany gave you and decide to go easy on him. He was really excited for the arrival of his ex-boyfriend, so if he isn't here then that's going to be a bummer. "Worse."
You frown at him. "How?"
"He's here... with his husband," he explains, waving down the bartender and ordering a fancy pink cocktail that you'll really struggle not to tease him over. "Apparently he got married to Dave-fucking-Karofsky."
You choke on the sip of Jack and Coke you take. "What?" You half-yell, wiping away the dribble that spills down your chin and turn to him. You remember that fat ass jock because he used to bully you and call you every homophobic name under the sun after throwing a Slushee in your face. You thought he was just sour that everyone knew he had a needle-dick, and you the opposite, but the gay thing kind of explains it a bit more. "I fucking knew he was gay."
Kurt throws you a narrowed glare and grabs his drink as he's handed it, taking a long sip from the brightly coloured straw. "Not helping Satan," he grunts and winces at the flavour in his mouth. "Damn, this shit is strong," he murmurs and glances at the bartender who throws a dish rag over his shoulder, winking. "Thanks, handsome."
The bartender chuckles, his shoulders bobbing up and down and you feign a retch which earns Kurt attentions again. "And you told me to stop flirting."
"With Brittany," Kurt points out, but you roll your eyes. If you had a dollar for every time someone made a comment about you and your best friend being more than just platonic, you'd be the millionaire you've always wanted to be. "Speaking of, have you seen her?"
You shake your head and scan the crowd, searching for a familiar head of blonde hair but you know she's probably with the Cheerios and they're all bundled up on the far side of the gym, talking to the jocks whose hair is as thin as your patience.
"Not yet," you answer and think about Blaine a little bit more when he comes into view, lifting his glass to a few other people you've forgotten the names of. "What's he like now?"
Kurt follows your vision and sighs. "Well, I won't lie… He's still funny, and cute, and handsome but honestly, I think I dodged a bullet."
It's not the response you were expecting, so you finish off your Jack and Coke and order a new one for you, and another ridiculous cocktail for Kurt before eying him. "Because…" You trail off, hoping for more as his answer wasn't really an answer.
He just leans in though, eyes shifting around like he's checking who's in ears reach but you're alone enough and you're suddenly incredibly interested. Kurt's always been good at the gossip portion of things and it's one of the reasons why you bonded; he was as much of a bitch as you were, even through high school when he was the only outed kid in your year.
"He's a pornstar," he whispers and your mouth drops open, shock flooding through your body as you lean back to study his face, looking for a lie.
"Shut. Up." You state, eyes flitting back to Blaine who looks more like a Barbie doll than anything, but you can imagine him being a butt bandit on camera. He's got that clean, twink look and you even nicknamed him that earlier, so it's not hard to believe. Although you would've thought having a husband would be difficult in that line of work. "Wait," you say and grab his forearm, stilling the both of you. "How does Dave fit into that?"
Kurt shrugs, his lips pouting out. "He might be in on it, too, but whatever they do, they're super successful and have a house in LA and shit," he waves his hand around in the air. "He probably just wanted me to star in one of his movies."
You let out a loud laugh (because that's freaking hilarious) and Kurt luckily doesn't get offended, joining in and you feel good but it's probably down to finishing off your third drink, as the news kind of sucks for him. Still, you let yourself feel it and offer your glass out, waiting for him to clink his own and he does so, grinning widely as you order another drink from the bartender that he's probably going to suck off in one of the empty classrooms later.
"Doubt it with the beavers asshole you have for a mouth, Lady Hummel, but cheers."
He just clicks his tongue at you. "Cheers, Satan," he laughs back and pauses when he brings the glass to his lips, eying you with intrigue. "If it paid enough, I'd probably do it."
"Why doesn't that shock me?" You retort, rolling your eyes and thinking about him in front of a camera surrounded by twenty dudes, and well, he probably wouldn't be too bad in one.
But there's no more talk of it, and you begin chatting away about everyone and everything else.
/
Unfortunately, you don't get to avoid the attention all night. You get cornered by one of the Cheerios when heading for the ladies' room.
It's not the one you were expecting, mostly because you'd been eye fucking one of the brunettes from your old history class stood near Brittany from across the gymnasium, but you're still super pleased when you realise it's none other than the Head Cheerio, Quinn freaking Fabray stood in front of you, looking stunning as ever.
She looks exactly like she did in Senior year, just a little older, with shorter hair, but she's still got beaming hazel eyes and perfect teeth and it sucks the breath from your chest when she smiles down at you with recognition, which should be a good thing but you were a target back in high school and this could be the beginning of a ploy to embarrass you somehow.
So, you're a little hesitant to say the least, and you let her start the conversation as she approached you, even though you're seriously feeling vibes from her already as her eyes drag up your body until they meet dark brown, narrowing into slits as she smirks.
"Santana Lopez," she says, slowly, your name rolling off her tongue in a way that makes you get all hot and prickly. "Someone had a glow up."
You're alone in a hallway, with one of the hottest pieces of ass that ever graced this damn school, and it feels a little too good to be true, so you decide to play along but cautiously. "Quinn Fabray," you retort, matching the way she said it which makes her smirk. "You kind of look the same."
She chuckles lowly and pushes off the wall, eying you up and down slowly again before returning to meet your eye. "A neggy is so high school," she states and you grin.
Back in high school, one of the easiest ways to flirt with a girl was to give her a neggy; which was a negative compliment that would make her feel insecure, so she wanted to earn your approval in a sick, manipulating way and even though it worked for all the jocks back then, you don't think it's working here. You don't really know why you resorted to that because you're incredibly successful with women and have more than a few notches in your bedpost without basic manipulation, but she's like, super fucking pretty and you didn't exactly expect to be in a situation like this, so you're just trying not to panic.
But then you think about it, and you realise that she's approached you, after obviously staring at you for long enough to figure out who you were and well, you were starting to get a little bored of the reunion. It could do with a little party.
"Is it working, though?" You retort, feeling a little cocky with the way she's looking you up and down and fuck it, you're gonna shoot your shot.
Quinn just smirks at you, holding your eyes to a beat too long and chews her bottom lip, then shocks the hell out of you by grabbing your hand and yanking until you stumble into the nearest room, which happens to be the bathroom.
And well, you guess it did work.
/
You're glad you chose to forgo a dress tonight.
Jeans and a blouse were a good shout, because it makes fucking Quinn Fabray up against a toilet cubicle stall wall a thousand times easier because you don't have to get completely undressed. She's wearing a flowy blue dress (with no underwear) and you hike it up around her waist, sliding into her and burying your face into her neck as you pound away, enjoying how loudly she yelps as you fuck her into oblivion.
Her nails scratch down your back, her mouth constantly trying to search for yours but you're not here for the romantic, kissing shit. You're here to get laid and this is going to be one hell of a story to relay to your best friends after this, mostly because you didn't even want to come here in the first place and now you're fucking the head cheerleader who you didn't even know had a pinch of gay inside her, but here you are, proving that wrong.
She now has a lot of gay in her.
Your knuckles press into the creaking stall wall as you use it as support, slamming into the ex-Cheerio and they begin to ache, so you adjust your position until one of her feet is planted on the floor to hold herself up. You grip her leg, pressing it into the stall wall and hammer into her, sweat forming across your brow and take a second to appreciate what Quinn freaking Fabray looks like as pleasure takes over her entire body and you feel the confidence surge through you.
Throughout high school, Quinn wasn't the biggest fan of you, but you always put it down to being Brittany's best friend, and a total nerd, but now you think that she might have had a thing for you and been too worried about her social status to do anything about it. Which just trebles the confidence inside of you and you put every ounce of energy into sending the blonde into a pool of orgasmic pleasure that shortly follows after you hold deep inside of her, sliding out slowly then ploughing back in hard and fast.
It's a move you've learnt from screwing your way into the hundreds, and in this moment, you're super thankful for hoe-ing out your early twenties because the experience is causing Quinn to clench around you and pull you into that pool with her, as you pour yourself into the condom she put on you earlier.
Then you're just panting into each other, reeling from what just happened and you pull out of her, and away, snapping the condom off and throwing it down the toilet to your right as you both begin buttoning up your clothes, sharing weak smiles.
"Well, that was fun," you say, tugging the tie out of your pony and unlocking the stall door, stepping outside into the bathroom.
Quinn follows, sidling up to the mirror next to you and you glance at her through it, seeing a smirk and dark marks around her neck. You're not into kissing, but hickies are kind of your thing even if they're super high school.
"Oh, yeah, definitely," she agrees, bringing out a lip gloss from her bra and applying a thin coat of it.
"My first Cheerio," you continue in a half-cheer. Your teenage self would be super fucking proud, and you also said it because you don't want an eery silence to fall around you as you can already feel it heading that way, but whatever you said earns a reaction and Quinn snaps her head around, brows furrowed like she's confused.
"Your first?"
You raise your own eyebrow at her. "I wasn't this hot in high school," you gesture to your body and Quinn rolls her eyes but she's smiling. "You do remember my glasses, right?"
Quinn laughs and pockets her lip gloss again, turning her body towards you, arms folding over her chest. "You never slept with Brittany?"
Your head jerks back at the question, eyes blinking and you glance around the room, wondering if there is still a ploy and Quinn's planned to get some of the other ex-Cheerios to jump you, after fucking you into next year, by distracting you with this question. Although you acknowledge that that's probably ridiculous, and so instead you think about what she said and play it off, just like you do every other time someone makes that mistake.
"Why does everyone always assume that?" You respond, matching the blonde's position by crossing your arms, cocking your hip out to lean against the basin. "She's my best friend."
Quinn's face twists like she doesn't believe you, and you think she's going to try and push you but she really doesn't know you, you really don't know her and you'll probably get defensive if she starts insinuating that Brittany's a hoe. You're more of a hoe than she is, but apparently, it's okay because you've got a dick and owners of vaginas always get the short straw when it comes to sex. Insane double standards and all.
It must show, too, because the words you see forming on the tip of her tongue disappear, and Quinn inhales, returning to looking at her reflection in the mirror and rustling her hair so it looked less like she just got fucked against a wall.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lopez," she says and winks at herself before spinning off and heading toward the door, pausing when her hand reaches for the handle, her eyes finding you over her shoulder. "I had a good time," she continues, gesturing to the toilet stall you just came out of and blood rushes to your cheeks. "But don't call me. I've got a boyfriend."
You think she knows that you're not interested in anything more than what you just did, or maybe she's just that much of a bitch, but either way, you're cool with it and flash her a cheeky grin, cocking your head to the side in the reflection as you tie up your hair.
There's no way in hell you'd call her anyway. You just wanted to say you banged the head cheerleader after all these years and get some sort of revenge for all the times her high school boyfriend threw you in the dumpster.
"I really wasn't planning on it like... At all," you shrug. "But good to know," you retort and Quinn scowls, but there's a smile playing at her lips as she ducks out the door and leaves you alone in the bathroom.
/
You find Brittany and Kurt by the bar when you return.
They look like they're deep in conversation, whispering under their breaths and both sets of eyes snap to you as you wander up, still adjusting your blouse from where Quinn had unbuttoned it before pushing you into a cubicle. Brittany's eyes trail up and down your body, her brows pulling knitting together like she knows why you're looking all flustered and wild and it makes your stomach twist, but you don't feel (that) bad about it. You just fucked Quinn Fabray at your high school reunion; you're on top of the world right now.
"Where have you been?" Kurt asks, hearing coyness in his voice and you glance at him, trying to hide the smirk but knowing you can't.
"Bathroom," you say, and flag the bartender down who slides you a drink, leaning on the bar top with your elbows as you swirl the liquid around the glass. "What's going on?"
Kurt's vision shifts to Brittany who's chewing her lip as she looks at you in the same way as a second before, but then right back at you. "We're leaving," he gets out and you're suspicious about the way he replies until Brittany clears her throat.
"Did Quinn find you?"
Your body stills, your sip stopping as the edge of the glass hits your lips, but you force nonchalance as you twist your body to face them, half-leaning on the bar. "She did," you confirm and you should've thought it was a little weird how Quinn just came up to find you, but she smelt really good and is like, super fucking attractive and you barely even said more than three sentences before she was tugging you into a stall. Maybe you should've asked her how she knew where to find you. "How'd you know she was looking for me?"
"She said she wanted to," Brittany replies, picking up her cocktail – the same as Kurt's – and finishing it off with a loud slurp, but doesn't meet your eye at all. "Let's get out of here."
She doesn't even let you reply before she's brushing past and you share a quick questioning glance with Kurt, but he just shrugs and follows suit.
/
The flat is cold and dark when you return.
Kurt tells you he's crashing on the couch, and you don't argue, knowing you owe him for the ride there and back, and Brittany takes herself off into her bedroom to get changed out of her dress, leaving you to grab a beer with him. You crack two open, getting another one ready but with the twist cap still on and hand Kurt one as you slump down on to the sofa, depositing the spare on to the coffee table, legs kicked out beside it.
"It's like the Artic in here," Kurt comments and you flip him off, knowing you have to keep it off most of the time as you're already behind with the bills.
"Guess your hideous fur coats have another purpose, other than offending everyone's eyes," you retort sarcastically, your face twisting with the emotion and Kurt chuckles, taking a pull of the beer and leaning his head back.
"I can't believe Blaine is a pornstar," he continues, topic swiftly changing, and you roll your head to the side to look at him, seeing sadness etch into his features. You feel kind of bad for the guy; Blaine was his first love, and now he's making an X rated movie called Bat Dude and Throbbing with his bear of a husband. That's gotta be a hard pill for anyone to swallow, especially because Kurt could literally search on Google his living nightmare and get charged for seeing it.
"That's gotta suck," you reply and it's as close to empathy as you can get, and you kind of wish Brittany would just come back now because she's good at these types of situations. She can be the shoulder to cry on, whereas you like to shrug people off who get tears and snot on your clothes because doing the laundry isn't free and emotions are kind of gross.
"Now he's cute, rich and everyone knows how big his dick is," Kurt sighs and you let out a low chuckle that he matches but feign a retch again to continue the lightness that's now creeping in. The last thing you need is for him to ruin your buzz by talking about how heartbroken he is over his ex.
Luckily, Brittany chooses that moment to wander in, dressed in an adorable crop top with a duck on it and short shorts that leave barely any room for the imagination but annoyingly, there's a furry robe donning her body and shielding half of it. You've definitely had too much to drink tonight because you study the way her legs weave in and out, taking advantage of the shortness of the robe, as she glides towards you, and you should be worn out from Quinn back at the reunion, but you can feel yourself getting a little too excited at how Brittany's dressed right now.
"How you feeling?" She asks Kurt, lips pressing together and the empathy you were missing crossing over her face as she settles beside him, a hand falling to his thigh.
Kurt just shrugs, twisting the bottle in his hand as it rests between his legs, eyes focused on the movement. "I'll be okay," he sighs and looks at her. "How are you doing? After your showdown with Quinn?"
You weren't privy to that information, so you lean forward and really put all focus into the conversation as Brittany freezes, but shifts her blue eyes to you and Kurt pauses, his breath stilling like he wasn't meant to say that. But he did, and now you're interested, and you suddenly feel like you've forgotten about the tension you walked in on when you found them back at the bar after the toilet incident, as you like to call it now, and have been left out of some pretty important news.
"You had a showdown with Quinn?" You squeak, but there's no immediate response and the curiosity grows as you stare at your best friends who are looking at everything else that isn't you. "Like you argued?"
Brittany hesitates, eyes darting around once more before she nods her head slowly. "It was more of a difference of opinions," she corrects but you know that's not what you meant and she knows it, too and call her out on it silently with a deadpan expression. "Okay, she was just… She wasn't very nice."
Kurt moves awkwardly to reposition, which you don't blame him for because you're a little pissed off he didn't tell you about it, too and you think he's picking up on that, but right now you just want to know why Brittany argued with Quinn. Especially because it can't have been that long before she came and found you in the hallway and what happened, happened and now you're a little panicky that Brittany said something. Or Quinn did. You're not really sure.
"About what?"
Brittany holds your eyes, choosing to pause before she answers and when it comes out, it's quiet, like she doesn't want to admit the truth. "You."
Now, you're definitely pissed off, because if someone's been talking smack about you behind your back, then you should've been told. You're not one to let it slide, and to be honest, you were expecting someone to say something negative about you because you're the kid who blossomed into a supermodel, and that's a big thing. Not a lot of teenagers have potential, most peaking and maintaining, but you did a total 180 and went from being the ugly duckling to the beautiful swan and you were expecting some criticism, but you would've preferred it to be to your face.
Then you could've handled it then and there, and to find out that you most definitely didn't do that as instead, you apparently banged the person who was talking smack about you, has now made it incredibly hard to admit that you could've dealt with things differently.
Which, had you known, you could've done, and you wouldn't feel like such a damn fool.
"What did she say?" You ask, cautiously, finishing off your beer and waiting for the alcohol to drip into your blood stream. You think you're going to need it.
Kurt clears his throat, and you want to hear it from Brittany as she was probably the one who heard it but you don't get to. "She was just being kind of…" He dips his head, lowering his eyes as he slowly continues with, "Judgy about you."
Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. "Judgy?"
Brittany shakes her head and steps in. "She was being a bitch and I put her in her place, but she took that as a challenge."
You try to imagine Brittany standing up for you, and your heart swells inside your chest but it's hard to focus when you can feel fear creeping into your veins, freezing the affection. Because you slept with Quinn, after she went head-to-head with your best friend and Brittany's beautiful and innocent and good, and it would take a fair amount to push her to the point of confrontation. But that just makes your unease ten-fold because she came and found you after talking about you behind your back, apparently not nicely, either.
"It's not that deep," Kurt interrupts but you flash him a glare. You want to hear it from Brittany.
"She just said you were in need of a glow up, and would sleep with anyone if it meant you were more popular," she rapidly spits out, her face wincing as the words leave her mouth but all you see is red.
You feel the humiliation burn in your skin, like it used to back at high school and as grateful as you are that Brittany stood up to Quinn, you want to rip her short blonde hair out. You want to call her up and scream at her, and you knew you felt weird about her approaching you and that it wasn't for some adult version of bullying, and what did you do? You fucked her against the side of the toilet cubicle.
Well done. That's got to be in the top three stupid things you've ever done, and you've done a lot.
Because you kind of proved her right. Not that Quinn has got you anywhere other than being smug for like, five whole minutes, but you know she's the type of bitch to head back to her group of Cheer-bitches, pathetically squeezed into alumni t-shirts now, and spill the beans and ruin your reputation. Not that you had one, but it's still going to put a dent in you as an adult, versus the poor rep you carried as a teenager.
Quinn's more than likely already told them, which means you've already lost and didn't even know it and you groan loudly, twisting to fall back against the couch and lifting your hand up to your forehead, pressing the back against it.
"I'm such a dumbass," you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but then there's a hand on your forearm, squeezing it gently and you pull back to glance into blue eyes.
You really don't want to tell Brittany now.
"What did you do?" Kurt asks, his voice hard and knowing and you shift your vision to him, knowing the truth is written all over your face and you can't even hide it. So, you choose to shrug, rolling your eyes – mostly to yourself – and swiping the spare beer off the coffee table as Brittany drops your forearm, taking a long pull. You're fucked either way now, so you might as well play it like you don't care. You can't change it.
"Did you... Did you sleep with her?" Brittany squeaks, and your head snaps round when you register the tone in which she said it. It's little, like she's hurt by the question that she decided to ask, and you feel a heaviness sink into your stomach, creeping up your throat and lodging there, but the answer must show on your face because her mouth drops open, brows scrunching together and you hear Kurt gasp dramatically from behind her.
"That's why you were in the bathroom for so long?"
You roll your eyes again instead of confirming, and Brittany slumps back down on to the couch, matching Kurt's position as they sit there limply, staring at you with wide mouths and even wider eyes. Heat floods your cheeks and you try to hide it by taking an even longer pull of your beer, but then there's a bark of laughter and you jump at the sound, eyes zoning in on both of your friends as they share a look before bursting into a hysterical fit, falling into each other.
Then you're embarrassed for a whole other reason. Then you're the one staring with wide eyes and a wide mouth and because there's alcohol coursing through your veins, you start to see the funny side of things and enjoy watching your friends crack up, slapping each other with tears falling from their eyes and it gives you the giggles. You join in, chuckling loudly and the pressure lifts from your chest as you slump down on to both of them, groaning loudly to yourself into their bodies.
And you've gotta admit, you fucking love your friends.
/
A little while later, after you've discussed the sordid details of your lengthy trip to the bathroom with Quinn and they've stopped laughing at your idiocy, you're still all sat in the living room, you and Brittany tangled up on the couch, heads opposite ends but limbs twisted together and Kurt's slumped over the armchair in the corner. You've been talking about Quinn, and the reunion, and Blaine and you've all come to the conclusion that you hate how successful and wealthy the biggest douchebags in schools became.
Well, Blaine wasn't a douchebag in high school, but he sure is now. Oh, and rich too, which totally grinds your gears.
"At least you got to bang the head cheerleader," Kurt grumbles when you throw shade at his ex. "All I got from tonight was knowing that I can watch my ex get banged online by the guy who used to bully me," he follows, lifting up his bottle of beer into the air in faux celebration.
You chortle out a laugh and scrunch your face up at Brittany as she sniggers, too. "You totally could've got a blowie off that bartender," you try.
Kurt looks annoyed for a second, but then his eyes flit to the ceiling and he smirks, whipping out a piece of paper between his two fingers and throws it at you. The laughter fades, and you drop your beer down to the floor by the sofa and open the paper, seeing someone's phone number with the name Adam on it.
"You dog," you cheer, realising that Kurt got one step further than you thought and scooped the bartenders phone number. "That's awesome, Hummel," you nod proudly and Brittany reaches down with long arms, leaning up for a second to pluck the piece of paper from your hand and takes a look for herself.
"You gonna call him?" She asks, eyes still trained the scribbled numbers.
Kurt shrugs and tips back the last of his beer. "Probably not. If I'm not going to be rich, then I'm gonna have to marry rich," he says, earning another laughter from you and Brittany. "Need to find me a sugar daddy."
"It's just so annoying," you reply and silence settles in around you as you all mull over the events over tonight. You think about Quinn and how she's probably a successful lawyer or living off daddy's money, and how Blaine went from being a mildly wealthy teenager to a multi-millionaire just because he sucked some cock on camera.
It's nothing you wouldn't do – well, not suck it yourself but be sucked – and you shake your head against it, full well knowing that a bit of porn isn't the worst thing if you could go to bed at night with the heating on at least. This fucking apartment is cold and dark all the time because you can't pay the bills, and the stack of final notices is bigger than the stack of cash in your wallet, which is totally embarrassing and if you could earn a few dollars fucking on camera – as apparently you get fucked double hard when you do it off camera – then you probably would.
Blaine probably goes to sleep at night in a queen sized bed, with his queen of a husband and doesn't have to work seven days a week in a freaking breakfast diner just to afford food. Heating and lighting is a luxury, one that you go without a lot of the time and as much as you love (sort of) your life, you just wish you could change it. You know for sure Blaine never has any of the worries you do, to the point where he gives so little of a fuck that he strolled up to his damn high school reunion, out and proud about being a gay pornstar and honestly, you admire him for it.
And then it hits you, and you sit bolt upright, scaring the crap out of Brittany who jumps up too, whipping her head around. The alcohol causes your vision to dizzy a little, but you feel this resounding strength growing inside your chest and Kurt eyes you cautiously, glancing between the blonde and you a few times as curiosity sets in.
You can't freaking believe it. It's literally been sitting in front of your eyes since you walked into that damn high school reunion, and in potentially voicing your suggestion, you could have actually found a way to get rich. You might have actually finally found a fucking path that suits you, that's doable with minimal financial start up and you being laughing out loudly to yourself, earning two very confused stares.
"How much did you drink?" Kurt says, more rhetorical than an actual question but Brittany can see your mind is going somewhere and is leaning toward you, slower and slower until she's sat up, arms looped around her knees to steady herself.
"What are you thinking, San?"
See, you've never really been one for bright ideas. Sure, you've phenomenal at revenge plans and being a total bitch, but when it comes to genuinely decent ideas, you're lacking to say the least. But this one? It could actually work. You don't usually put a lot of thought into your ideas, or into anything other than trying to get ahead – Quinn was right about that – and even though it seems like a stretch, the several beers you had on top of countless Jack and Cokes make it seem like it and so for the second time tonight, you think fuck it and shoot your shot.
"What if we made a porno?"
/
Let me know what you think of the first chapter!