Santana Lopez has it all. She is head cheerleader, is dating the quarterback of the football team, practically owns the whole school, and, to top it all off, is sexy as hell and smart as a whip. Everyone fears yet envies her. She has the whole world wrapped around her little pinky.

Well, almost the whole world.

"What the fuck are you doing in my seat, Pierce?" she sneers at the blonde currently occupying her chair. The blonde is leaning back with her combat boots propped up on the table in front of her.

Brittany S. Pierce.

Santana hates her. She's too carefree, too stubborn, too dumb, and too fucking annoying to waste any of her time and energy. Of course, those aren't the only reasons why she dislikes her so much. The primary reason is that she's so goddamn defiant. Everyone bends to Santana's will except Brittany, and it pisses Santana off to no end.

Ignoring the Latina, Brittany sighs lazily and chews her gum for a moment more. Before Santana gets the chance to yank the sticky substance out of the girl's mouth, she sits up and removes her sunglasses.

Who the fuck wears sunglasses inside?

"What?" Brittany asks.

"Your ass. Out of my chair. NOW."

Brittany looks the raging girl up and down before smiling devilishly. "Oh, is this your seat? I'm sorry, I had no idea," she says, flashing her perfect white teeth but not making any attempt to move.

"Move," Santana says assertively, not wanting to show how angry she actually is. Brittany rolls her eyes playfully before standing up. Another thing on Santana's hate list: how much taller Brittany is than her. She has a good three inches on her, meaning that the blonde looks down on Santana. No one looks down on Santana.

Suddenly, Brittany brings her hand up to stroke the back of Santana's cheek gently. "As you wish, Your Majesty," she breathes out in a low voice, the gag-inducing smell of cigars and spearmint washing over Santana.

Her eyes grow even colder as she slaps Brittany's hands away. "Don't you fucking touch me, slut," Santana growls before shoving past Brittany and plopping into her seat.

The blonde simply shakes her head and makes her way to the back of the room to her regular spot, next to one Quinn Fabray.

"Hey Luce," she greets.

"Susan," Quinn nods back, not looking up from her AP Government homework.

"Ew."

"Your fault."

The two girls meet each other's gaze before chuckling. Despite Brittany being one of the resident badasses, she actually gets along well with cool nerd Lucy "Quinn" Fabray—probably because she hasn't slept with her.

While Quinn is currently second in their class, she's less "loser nerd with a pocket protector" and more "hot librarian without the glasses and better-dressed." Their friendship began last year when Quinn started tutoring Brittany. During every lesson, the taller blonde would make a pass at her. It was the first time someone had blatantly ignored her. Usually, people either fall at her feet or give her cheek a firm, open-handed slap. However, Quinn just kept right on going with the lesson, saying something really intelligent to disarm the other girl. Brittany finally stopped trying to get in her pants, and they began to have genuinely friendly conversations. Quinn is only one of two people that Brittany considers a real friend.

"Brittany, why do you keep doing that?" Quinn asks, finally putting away her homework.

"Doing what?"

"Pissing Santana off."

"Because it's fucking hilarious!" she laughs. "Seriously, did you see her face? I thought she was going to have a conniption."

Quinn shakes her head at her friend's antics. Suddenly, her phone vibrates, and she laughs as she reads the text.

"What's got you all giggly?" Brittany asks.

"Santana wants to know, and I quote, 'why I would ever want to be friends with someone who is so fucking insufferable.'"

"Ugh, I could ask you the same question," Brittany retorts, glancing at Santana, who is giving her the death glare. Brittany just smiles sarcastically and waves, which gets the brunette to turn around.

That's the thing about Quinn. Not only did she make it past Brittany's slutty advances, but she also managed to break through Santana's bitchy exterior. Quinn is one of Santana's only close friends. It's probably the only thing Santana and Brittany have in common.

"Whatever, Britt. Hey, are you going to that back-to-school party tonight at Karofsky's?"

"Why the hell would there be a back-to-school party now? School's been going on for 2 months."

"Because it's Karofsky."

Brittany sighs dramatically. "And people say I'm an idiot..."

"Yeah, I know. So are you going?"

"Since when are parties your scene?"

Quinn looks away, pretending to focus on the teacher. "Since Santana begged me to go..."

"What makes you think that I would go to a party with you, when you're just going to ditch me for the Ice Queen? Just because I like to push her buttons doesn't mean I like to be around her."

"Because! She's probably going to ditch me to go make out with Puck," the short-haired blonde pouts, but Brittany refuses to fall for it. "Plus, there'll be a lot of drunk, hot people there. You haven't gotten any in, what, 2 hours?"

"Shut up, Quinn," Brittany rolls her eyes. Arching an eyebrow, Quinn simply waits silently, ready for her to cave. Brittany sighs. "Fine. But only because she sucked."


"So babe, Karofsky's tonight?" Puck asks his girlfriend, who is sitting with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, still staring daggers at the tall blonde behind them.

Sometimes, boys are just so oblivious.

"It's been a while since we last...you know," he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Santana gives him a sidelong glare that could make flowers wilt. "I'm not in the mood," she grumbles.

"You're never in the mood anymore," Puck grits out, looking sad and mad at the same time.

"Sorry."

Puck turns in his chair. "Do you want to break up or something?" he demands rather loudly, making the whole class turn to look at them.

"Noah, could you please save your teenage affairs for outside the classroom?" Mrs. Doosenbury scolds. Puck scoffs but stays silent.

"What the hell was that?" Santana whispers angrily.

"Don't get me wrong. You're hot as hell, and I love the chase, but a guy has needs."

"Look, it's just been a tough week. I have papers due in AP Bio and Health Careers, Sue's been down my throat, and that blonde bitchy 'badass' over there pissed me off earlier."

"Aww, a catfight? Why didn't you tell me?" Puck whines as Santana rolls her eyes.

"Puckerman!"

"Sorry Mrs. Doosenbury," he hisses. He waits a second before resuming their conversation. "I get that you're busy, but I just want to feel like I'm part of this relationship."

"Relationship? Please. You're just in it for the sex." As soon as the words leave Santana's mouth, Puck looks at her, stunned, but she continues to stare straight ahead. He is about to reply when she opens her mouth again. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just...I'll go with you tonight, and we'll see what happens, okay?" she says, the ghost of a smile forming on her lips.

"Okay."


Brittany gets off her sleek black 2011 iron 883 Harley-Davidson. It's her baby; she even has a picture of it in her wallet. As she dismounts, she removes her matching helmet. She's an hour late, because a party isn't a party unless everyone is already drunk. Besides, what kind of badass would she be if she showed up to parties on time?

As expected, the music can be heard from outside, and people are already stumbling out of the house drunk. The door is wide open for her to see all the sweaty, gyrating bodies inside. Locking her baby, she pulls out her phone and sends Quinn a text.

To Q: You'd better have a drink waiting for me!

She smiles when a reply comes before she even steps into the house.

From Q: Kitchen

As soon as she walks through the door, someone is all up in her business. "What the hell, Brittany! I go down on you in the bathroom during school, and you just up and leave?" a brunette screams at her. Is it bad that she doesn't remember her name when they just had sex barely seven hours ago?

"I had class." The blonde shrugs. "Now, excuse me, but I need to go find my friend." She starts to push past her, but the girl grabs her wrist.

"My friends were right. You're just a selfish whore."

With that, Brittany feels the sharp sting of a slap on her face. She mentally congratulates herself; it's Thursday, and she's only gotten slapped three times so far this week. Personal record right there. Eventually, she makes her way to the kitchen where Quinn is indeed waiting for her. Plucking the Red solo cup from her hand, she takes a generous swig.

"You either forgot to put blush on half your face, or you just got slapped. Funny, both are totally plausible," Quinn quips.

"The latter. Girl from between first and second period. Good thing she's as skilled at slapping as she is at eating pussy—which is bad." Quinn scrunches up her nose in disgust at the vulgar word as she chugs the jack and coke in her hand. Honestly, the girl is full of contradictions, Brittany thinks. "So what's your plan for tonight? You gonna find Her Royal Highness?"

"Actually, I already found her. She's upstairs with Puckerman right now." Quinn rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "What about you? What's your plan?"

"Well, I'm horny because I haven't had a good lay in over a week. I'll just do what I do best and see what comes up."

"What? Strip?" Quinn teases her.

"No, Q. Dance."

"Oh, like a lap dance?"

"Fuck you," Brittany says before turning away.

"Oh, come on. You know I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't," Brittany winks before shrugging off her leather jacket, revealing the tight white tank top underneath. "Now hold my jacket."

Making her way to the makeshift dance floor, Brittany just lets loose. She feels the beat of the music flow through every part of her body, pulling it in different directions, as she dances by herself, sweat already dripping down her chest and between her breasts. Soon, she tunes everything else out as she loses herself to the music.

Until she feels a hand on her hips, that is. Suddenly, she's face-to-face with a cute blond boy. "Hey babe, mind if I join you?" he asks.

Let's see...when was the last time she had dick? About a week. Considering his request, she looks at the guy, who's doing his best at a flirtatious smile. Oh, why not? He's cute enough. "Sure, if you can keep up."

He can't.

The guy has absolutely no idea what he's doing and clearly doesn't even know where to put his hands. Brittany cringes when he attempts to grind into her; it's just sad and a total turn-off, made even worse when he accidentally spills his beer all over her. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he apologizes.

"Ugh...it's fine," Brittany grumbles as she takes off her shirt and tries to wipe her now beer-drenched hands on it.

The guy's jaw falls open as he stares at Brittany in only her bra. Does he honestly think he's still getting any from her? "On the bright side, I did get you wet really fast," he smirks, eyeing her breasts.

Rolling her eyes, she turns and leaves him there in search of a bathroom. Damn clumsy ass guys. Finally locating an empty bathroom at the end of the upstairs hallway, she begins to try to get the beer stains off her shirt. Riding in just a leather jacket and nothing underneath is extremely uncomfortable.


"God, you're so fucking hot..." Puck says as he grinds upwards into Santana, who is trying to enjoy this. It felt good at first when he held on like he needed her, but now the alcohol is catching up to her, and she feels a little nauseous. As much as she doesn't want to have sex with Puck (he always finishes first and leaves her hanging), she just can't let him go. They have gotten comfortable with each other, not to mention how useful he is—well, how useful his status is. As half of the badass quarterback and bitchy head cheerleader power couple of McKinley High, her reputation is impenetrable. She wants to keep it that way.

"I want you so bad right now," he groans, his hard cock already poking at her bare thigh through his boxers. She continues to kiss his neck, trying to ignore the way her stomach is doing flips—the bad kind—but it's no use. Abruptly, she stops rocking against him. "Why'd you stop, baby?" he says, panting hard.

"I think I'm gonna hurl." Santana brings her hand up to her mouth.

"I'm not THAT bad!"

"No, i-it's the alcohol—" The next thing Puck knows, he's lying alone, mostly naked, while his girlfriend has left him high and dry yet again.

Santana barges into the first bathroom she sees, not caring who might be getting it on in there. As soon as she opens the door, though, she runs straight into Brittany fucking Pierce. Just her luck. "Move!" Santana demands, harshly pushing her aside.

"Fuck!" Brittany shouts in pain as her rib collides with the sink.

Santana couldn't care less though; all she can focus on is the white porcelain bowl. Seconds later, she's on her knees and gagging as her stomach throws its contents back up her throat. Brittany doesn't know what to do. For some reason, she feels a little bad for the Latina as she notices that her vomit is getting all over her beautiful hair. Suddenly, without even realizing what she's doing, the blonde is holding her hair back for her. Brittany watches as the brunette pants, how her back muscles tighten with each retch. Seeing her all vulnerable is...kind of a turn-on.

Ew no, what the fuck? She's a cold-hearted bitch, and you don't like her, and you definitely don't think anyone throwing up could be sexy.

"What are you doing?" Santana asks, trying for an intimidating tone, but it comes out more breathy.

"It was getting in your hair."

Santana groans before dry heaving, but nothing comes out. "Since when do you care?"

"I don't."

The brunette is about to tell her to get the hell out, but then she's gagging on air again. She decides to let it go for now. Usually, she is much better at holding her poison, but since she knew the only way she'd be able to take care of Puck was to get insanely drunk, she went a little overboard. Brittany stays with her for the next few minutes, brushing stray locks back when they fall loose from her tender hands.

Finally, Santana figures she's done and leans back, placing her head back against the wall as Brittany gently lets go of her hair. Santana doesn't like the way she's looking at her, almost like she's concerned. Deciding not to make a venomous comment for fear that the blonde will run and tell everyone of her vulnerability, she chokes out a barely audible "thank you."

"No problem." The blonde smiles. In another moment of weakness, Santana admires Brittany's beauty, how her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and...oh shit. She's shirtless. Not even conscious of her ogling, she rakes her gaze over the pink bra and wonders what lies just beneath the silky fabric...

"Umm Santana?" Brittany asks, snapping Santana out of her haze.

"Y-yeah?"

"I'm...going to go now."

"Okay." That might be the first time ever that Santana hasn't spoken to Brittany with contempt in her voice, probably because she is so confused. Brittany looks the girl up and down once more before turning away. Gathering herself, Santana calls out, "Pierce?"

"What?"

"This doesn't mean we're friends or anything. I still don't like you."

Brittany flashes her one last grin before giving the brunette her signature wink. "I wouldn't have it any other way."