Title: Little Encounters
Pairing: Rachel/Santana (Pezberry)
Word Count: 11,124
Synopsis: Rachel takes a brief vow of silence and unknowingly opens the flood-gates.
A/N: ONE-SHOT. :) Lyrics by Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Snow (Hey Oh).”
Part I: No Fun
The more I see, the less I know
The more I like to let it go
Hey oh, whoa…
Rachel’s books clattered to the ground, the punctuation point to an absolutely terrible day. She’d woken up late, had no time for elliptical, forgotten there was a paper due in her last class, and now the diva felt as if she had no coordination whatsoever. How could she be a triple-threat if she couldn’t even close her locker without dropping her books? No Broadway star got famous by tripping.
Letting out a heavy sigh of frustration, but always keeping her composure, she glanced about before picking up her spilled belongings. Just as Rachel went to pick up her history book, a white-shoed foot met with the corner of it and the already-damaged copy flung itself into Jacob Ben Isreal. Rachel looked up first at the current location of her book - Jacob Ben Isreal’s feet, where he was staring at it as if he expected half-naked pictures of a girl to come flying out. She then followed the approximate direction from which it had been kicked, followed one very tan and toned leg up to a red Cheerio’s skirt. Feeling hot in the face, Rachel narrowed her gaze and stood abruptly. She held out her hand, Jacob immediately placing the textbook in her grasp and then gaping at her as if he wanted an autograph.
"Woops, sorry. I didn’t see you down there," Santana smirked quietly at Rachel and folded her arms. "I can’t help it that you were in my way, Frodo. I mean you really should look into getting some kind of surgery. You know they can make you taller."
The diva huffed. That smug look on her face only infuriated Rachel more. Never one to censor her thoughts, she lifted her chin, “You know, Santana, I thought perhaps in you joining Glee club it would make you somehow kinder or more tolerable, but it turns out that you’ve only used the opportunity to torture me more frequently.”
"Duh. What did you think would happen? We’d run off holding hands singing showtunes?" Santana cocked an eyebrow upward and scoffed, black ponytail swinging with the motion of her head. She rolled her eyes. "Please. If anything, I like you even less than I did before. Mostly because now I see how annoying you are all the time.”
Rachel, at this point, was telling herself not to lose her lady-like composure. Chin still lifted, she was repeating in her head the fact that she was better than some high-school rivalry. Even now, with Quinn de-throned as the head of the Cheerios and more absent than present, Rachel was reminded how bad tensions with Santana were. She’d thought, naively, that when Quinn lost her seat as Cheerio captain, that all arguments would cease. Quinn pretty much ignored her, and what was worse, the newly-crowned Miss Lopez had found her groove as HBIC. It seemed no matter who was in charge of the Cheerios, their target remained the same.
"And ‘cause Britt isn’t around today I get to be extra mean to you today, pumpkin. I don’t have her over my shoulder telling me that I should be nice to you because you remind her of a leprechaun and you won’t give me any gold if I’m mean to you," Santana reached forward, tweaked Rachel’s nose condescendingly, and turned on her heel. Just when Rachel thought she was safe and began to head to her own class - despite the anger boiling in her chest and the frustrated tears - she heard a snap of fingers in Santana’s direction. Rachel froze.
Slushie crashed into her face a moment later, with Santana’s throaty laughter echoing in its wake. The offending football player who’d slushied her only dropped the cup at her feet, grinned, and jogged after his buddies.
Eyes stinging, Rachel did her best to make it to the bathroom without bursting into tears. There was something about today that was just especially terrible, and part of Rachel was absolutely exhausted - tired of fighting Cheerios, tired of fighting insults, tired of changing sweaters and putting up a front that nothing ever bothered her. As the door clattered open and a few straggling freshman scattered out of the bathroom, Rachel leaned heavily over the sink. Her beautiful brown locks dripped with slushie-juice and her lip began to quiver.
Largely, Rachel went ignored by Quinn now. The diva used to think it was all Quinn’s doing, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. The blonde was broody, often quiet, and spent all her time with Sam; she wasn’t directing Rachel’s torture anymore. Maybe Rachel was just cursed. Santana’s laughter rung in her memory and made her angry.
"No more Miss nice Diva." Rachel resolved, staring at her slushie-covered reflection before she began to wash the cold slushie from her skin.
"Oh look, a troll’s wandered in to Glee club," Santana’s familiar voice was the first to speak up as Rachel strode into Glee club - late, but for good reason. "Anyone have a lamb we can sacrifice?"
Most of the others in the room laughed. Schue directed a disapproving look. He’d begun to speak but before he could get a word in, Rachel cleared her throat, “Pardon me, Mr. Schue, but I’d just like to say that I won’t be displaying my vocal talents, or my speaking voice. In fact, I’m withdrawing myself from this year’s Regionals as well.”
Suddenly, voices were aflurry in a mass of confusion and, she can’t do that's because as Rachel suspected, they only wanted her around for her talents.
Schue stood confused, if not blatantly upset, “Rachel you can’t just - “
"Oh, but I can. As it states in Section 3, category 94 in the Student Conduct manual, ‘Any participating student may withdraw his or herself from school-approved clubs for any reason. These organizations are non-obligatory and withholding financial support.’ So as you see, I am allowed to withdraw myself. And I choose to until certain treatment discontinues." The diva turned her head and stared directly at Santana. The Latina rolled her eyes and looked away.
"When are you gonna stop acting like you’re God’s gift to the planet?" Mercedes scowled from behind Santana. The rest of the Glee club remained quiet and bewildered.
Rachel turned on heel and left the room. The only voice she didn’t hear protesting her leaving was Santana’s. What bothered Rachel the most amidst all of it was that they didn’t care about Rachel. There wasn’t one person, even Finn, that would “have her back” as they said. Granted, she didn’t expect any of them to suddenly start caring about her, but she hoped at least they could find some temporary appreciation for the fact she was indeed a human being with real emotions. In her own way, she could relate to Quinn’s former struggle to keep up a mask - that’s what Rachel still did every day. She had to pretend nothing bothered her, when it really did.
She wondered idly, how long it would take for her to be silent, for someone to come apologize. Namely, she hoped Santana would. Quinn had already apologized a month prior, and Rachel had forgiven her without hesitation. Rachel thought of herself as a very forgiving person, so if Santana even came out with one apologetic syllable, the diva would return and all would be well. Mostly, Rachel just wanted to be treated like a human being. That was asking for a lot from the residents of McKinley High.
"You’re really going to just ditch Glee club like that? You think we can’t win without you?" A familiar voice came from a few feet behind her, followed by a warm hand on her elbow; the hand forced her to turn around. Those penetratingly dark eyes stared Rachel down until she felt three inches high. Rachel gaped for a second, momentarily forgetting her vow of silence, but clamped her jaw shut and jerked her arm away from Santana’s grasp. The Latina rolled her eyes and shook her head, "You’re the most ridiculous human being. As much as I don’t agree with Aretha most of the time, she’s right. You really think you’re something. You’re not."
Rachel clamped her jaw shut tighter, furrowed her brow, and ignored the sting of the insult. Avoiding Santana’s gaze at all costs, she started to step around the girl until Santana shoved her back against the lockers; her bag spilled to the ground.
"Don’t ignore me, midget," Santana bit, and began to look angrier than before. "Oh wait, I forgot you took that little vow of silence. Well, bruja, I’m actually kind of amused at the fact you think you can stay quiet. I have plenty of ways to make you do exactly what I want.” A finger trailed over the arm of Rachel’s sweater and the diva’s eyes widened dramatically at the ripple of warmth. Santana suddenly seemed to be standing too close. “You won’t be able to ignore me for long.” With that, the Latina spun on her heel and made her way down the hallway, arms folded over her chest and characteristic dimpled smirk on her lips.
Rachel shivered and swallowed her mixture of anxiety. There was something else as well, something Rachel didn’t understand. It felt like heat, swelling up inside her chest. As students cleared the halls and began to make their way home, Rachel found herself jogging at an increasing pace toward the front doors.
Three days. Three days was the longest Rachel had ever gone without speaking in public. Her foot tapped anxiously on the floor beneath her desk and she couldn’t sit still. Not speaking, participating, or controlling situations made her feel restless and bothered. It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if Santana wasn’t in this particular class and actually present today; then at least she could have spoken in answer to questions presented by their teacher.
"I think Rachel knows the answer," Santana was trying to make Rachel crack. She’d been doing it all week - bumping her into lockers, knocking things out of her hand, attempting to corner her, and she’d even managed to trap Rachel in the library stacks and attempt to intimidate Rachel. The diva had remained stoic and silent.
The teacher expectantly turned, stared at Rachel. The brunette sunk lower into her seat and shook her head. A foot nudged her own and Santana was cruelly grinning in her direction. Again, Rachel shook her head and dodged that deep, dark gaze of Santana’s.
Not today, Santana, not today. Not until the words “I’m sorry” fell out of the Latina’s mouth, unlikely as they were. One thing Rachel noticed is that it was easier to observe people when she didn’t speak. People only really noticed Rachel when she made herself known, but when she wasn’t speaking she could easily take in the sight of someone’s body language or the warm timbre of their voice. Even the most recent Glee club meeting had been enlightening. Santana had been singing background for Mercedes, looking rather bored, and Rachel could occasionally feel the Latina’s intimidating stare coming her way. Every time, Rachel avoided it. Occasionally her instinct would tell her to look up and she’d find Santana staring her down.
While Rachel thought herself quite adept at reading people’s emotions, Santana was consistently impenetrable. Even Quinn Fabray was easy to read no matter her mood. The one person that never gave away a single shred of their inner-workings was Santana. Rachel found that quite frustrating.
More frustration compounded as Rachel made the mistake of dwelling upon the fact she probably had a much longer period of silence than she’d originally planned. The class bell rang, teacher calling out assignment due dates as a last-ditch attempt to do some actual teaching, while students filed out. Rachel took her time packing everything up; it was safer that way. She’d spotted Santana’s red Cheerio skirt disappearing out of the doorway shortly after the bell rang. Even Santana’s persistence wouldn’t make her stay longer than was required of her.
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, books clutched to her chest as she assumed she was all in the clear. That is, until a hand grabbed her wrist and dragged her forcibly down a relatively empty hallway. Her first instinct was to struggle and resist, which only resulted in Rachel sliding along behind who else but Santana Lopez. The Latina was stepping up her game and it had only been three days.
"Look, this whole thing is stupid. Regionals are coming up, you know that, and you’re holding out because of some stupid grudge?" Santana was never gentle, and this was no exception. Rachel’s shoulders got shoved against the pliable metal of the locker behind her. "Talk about juvenile, you infantile excuse for a person."
Rachel noted one thing immediately: Santana had used the word infantile. Santana expected her to respond, this she knew, but all Rachel did was quirk her eyebrow and fluff her shirt up a little bit from Santana’s hard grip. Instead of avoiding Santana’s gaze, Rachel met it head on this time. Lips pursed, her golden brown eyes locked onto the nearly black ones in front of her. Unlike looking at Quinn, or Finn, or anyone else for that matter, Santana didn’t even falter.
They were both as stubborn as they were different.
Rachel sighed, waited.
"This is so dumb!" Santana slammed a hand beside Rachel against the locker. The diva only flinched slightly, despite her desire to squeal and duck. "You’re going to make us lose for your ego," Santana pulled away and paced the empty hall before stopping in front of Rachel, throwing her hands out in frustration. "Is it because of the slushies?" Rachel shrugged. "The names?" Again, a shrug. "That’s not an answer!"
Rachel flinched and expected Santana to advance again, but she didn’t.
"We can’t win without you, and you know it."
Rachel hesitated, stared at the floor. It was the first time Santana’s voice had softened at all. Of course, it still sounded confrontational and aggressive, but there was an undertone of softness.
“Madre los Dios, Rachel! You could at least look at me! Talk about rude,” Santana demanded.
Rachel was afraid, felt her chest tightening in that way it did anytime she was confronted - especially by Quinn or apparently Santana. Those dark eyes were waiting for her to match them, and the diva shivered. Swallowing a little, she shifted her weight onto one foot and looked at the books in her arms. The diva, without explaining to Santana, held out her books to the Latina. At first, Santana appeared to be confused and offended that Rachel would suggest Santana even touch her books, but then her eyes rolled and the Latina grunted. Santana took Rachel’s books, and Rachel held back the urge to beam. She took the notebook from the top, flipped open to a clean page, and began to write.
I just want to be treated like a human being. Rachel’s large, looped handwriting was her only voice. And I deserve an apology. Until then, I stay silent. Sorry. She tore the page off for Santana, shoved it in Santana’s hand before taking her books from the Latina’s arms. Rachel clutched her books to her chest and didn’t dare a glance backward to the Cheerio as she strode as strongly as she could manage.
Last class over and thankfully no Glee club, Rachel knew that the choir room would be abandoned, so that was her immediate destination. Her heart was racing and she felt a little afraid that she would be followed, but she wasn’t - initially. It was easy to slip into her own mental space when she was in the choir room. Sheet music spread on the piano-top, Rachel sat down and began to touch the keys lightly, not hard enough to play any notes. Thoughtfully, the brunette stared at each key as her fingers passed over them.
She’d been a fool to think Santana wouldn’t have something to say to the note. The choir room door swung open and Rachel felt the rush of cool air from the hallway - along with the scent of a musky, sweet perfume.
"You don’t act like a human being, you act like a bitch."
Rachel swung her head around, eyes wide in surprise and anger. “I do not!”
Santana quirked an eyebrow, gave that dimpled smirk, and shrugged a shoulder, “Hah.”
Rachel clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she’d just broken her vow of silence. She looked up angrily and advanced, slamming a fist into Santana’s chest, “You and your damn friends treat me terrible!” Rachel Berry didn’t curse, but this was it. Her breaking point. “I get slushied in the face every day,” pound, "I get called terrible names that aren’t even accurate in any type of nomenclature," thump, "and I get treated like I’m no better than scum on your shoe. I know everybody hates me," Rachel felt hot tears stinging her eyes. Her fist tiredly pounded against Santana’s collarbone one last time and she stepped back, "but it doesn’t mean you have to treat me like I don’t matter."
Santana stared at the girl in front of her. Rachel could feel the palpable tension of the moment, and she didn’t dare look up. She had the urge to cover her face - maybe Santana would hit her back. “Well, first I’d like to say you just won me fifty bucks,” Santana’s voice made Rachel flinch as the brunette stepped forward again, this time to shove Santana’s shoulder back in response to the comment, “‘cause I knew you couldn’t shut your trap for any longer.” As the brunette moved to swing once more, she felt a warm hand encompass her balled-up fist. “Stop hitting me, Cristo. I thought I was violent.”
Rachel tried to pull her hand way in a futile last-ditch effort, tears freely falling, “You don’t understand what it’s like to be treated the way I am. You get to be part of something that.. that makes you some kind of celebrity around here. You don’t know how many sweaters I’ve had to throw out because of your friends, because of you,” the diva spat the last word. “It’s not fair, Santana, and all I wanted was an apology. Instead you call me a… a…-“
Glaring, Rachel felt her chin quivering, “I’m not.”
Confusion spilled into Rachel’s head.
"I’m a bitch. Everyone says you are but I’m the bitch. I mean, yeah you have your little tantrums and shit. You storm out like you own the place," Santana merely let Rachel’s hand fall from her grasp, "but stop hitting me and let me speak."
Rachel faltered, swallowed, and took the tiniest of steps backward as Santana stepped forward. The diva’s brown eyes stared at the ground. Imperceptibly, she nodded.
"By all means this doesn’t mean I’m not going to call you names. It’s my job or whatever," Santana rolled her eyes, but her voice had softened some. Rachel noticed she smelled like a mixture of perfume and wonderful-smelling cooking spices. "I’m calling the slushies off, but only if you come back to Glee club and help us compete in Regionals."
Rachel felt confused. Most likely Santana was just using the slushies as a bargaining tool. It’s not like she - or anyone in Glee club - really cared about her anyway. The diva merely nodded, frowned a little. “Fine. No more slushies, I suppose.” Rachel stepped back a little further and motioned to the door. “Now, I’d like to be alone and I doubt you want to stay here while I practice my vocals.”
The strange thing as Rachel glanced up at the Latina was that Santana looked a little disappointed. Just for a second. Then that paradoxically aggressive and nonchalant exterior was back and Santana waved a hand in the air as a sign of dismissal. Rachel flinched at the motion, and Santana left without another word.
Part II: The First Encounter
Come to decide that the things that I tried
Were in my life just to get high on
When I sit alone come get a little known
But I need more than myself this time
"I guess I just wish someone cared," Rachel spoke aloud, looking at her own reflection in the mirror. It’s not like she expected things to change. She didn’t know exactly what she’d expected in her silent protest but she thought maybe someone would realize she was a person and even if she pretended they didn’t, their words hurt.
She thought in getting no slushies, she’d spend less time in the girls’ bathroom, but in reality she still came in there. So far, every day this week, Rachel had come in here to clear her head. Although the diva would never wish for more ruined clothes, it turned out that the lack of aggression made Rachel feel invisible. She’d be a Broadway star one day - but what would she have to say in response when interviewers asked her about her high school friends?
Rachel came to the conclusion that she wanted friends. She’d always wanted friends, but the feeling was even more intense now. How did people make friends? The diva gathered her things before leaving the bathroom and making her way down the hall.
What Rachel had not expected was Santana standing at her locker. Alone. Looking irritated (as usual). Her initial reaction was one of fear, but the diva wouldn’t let Santana intimidate her today. They’d come to an agreement, after all.
"Here," Santana shoved a bit of paper into Rachel’s hand before the girl could register it.
Rachel felt suddenly flustered and nearly dropped her books again, when she felt Santana’s hands briefly steady the books before pulling away. It was quick enough for someone not to notice, long enough to seem out of place in their normal interaction. “What is this?”
Rachel felt confused. She was pretty sure this was against whatever rules Santana had as HBIC. The diva stared after her with a confused expression, shaking it off long enough to open her locker, place her books inside, and uncrumple the flyer in her hand.
The party was this coming Friday at Brittany’s house. Why had Santana even thought to invite her? From what she heard in the hallways, there were parties all the time and she’d never been invited to one. Maybe it was a sort of contractual agreement that Santana was going to call off the slushie-hounds?
Strange as it was, Rachel felt the stirrings of excitement and tried not to smile too big as she made her way to class.
Excitement had this knack of turning into anxiousness. Maybe it was a set-up. Maybe it was a bad idea. After all, she did have studying to do this weekend and she had to keep her G.P.A. up. Rachel had thought of nearly every excuse but it was both impolite and silly to turn down the party invitation when it was the first she’d ever been invited to. Santana didn’t just give invitations out.
Rachel took nervous breaths as she smoothed out her skirt - black, to pull out the polka-dots in her shirt. This was the only outfit she really had that could be deemed as “party-worthy” and Rachel hoped there wouldn’t be underage drinking because that would be unacceptable. The diva paced a little before closing her eyes. Don’t be ridiculous. She had this. She could do this.
She came down the stairs to the waiting pair of fathers in the kitchen, and the diva smiled.
"You look lovely," Leroy smiled at his daughter and Hiram nodded simply. "Ready to go?"
Rachel offered her best showface and nodded anxiously. “I’ll call you both when I’m ready to leave. Is it okay if it’s a little late?”
"This time," Hiram squeezed his daughter’s shoulder before ushering her gently out the door as Leroy got in the car and the engine came to life. Rachel settled in the backseat, folded her hands in her lap, and ignored the turning of her stomach.
The ride to Brittany’s was far too short. Rachel’s hands were still trembling in anxiousness despite her excitement at being able to attend her first real high school party. Rachel stepped out of the car, offered a small wave, before gathering all her courage to head up the walkway to Brittany’s house. Who all had been invited? Would it be overwhelming? As soon as doubts started to filter their way in her head, she knocked on the door and was greeted by Brittany’s boyfriend - Artie smiled up at the familiar diva.
"Hey Rachel," Artie stated before wheeling back a bit to let Rachel come in.
"Hello Artie," Rachel smiled a little. "Is this a large gathering?"
"Nope, Glee kids only. It was Kurt’s idea." Rachel followed Artie as he spoke, leading her into the oversized livingroom, where everyone was settled in a big circle around a collective of snacks. There were drinks of both legal and illegal nature on the table nearby, and Rachel nervously made her way to the circle of familiar faces. A few greetings were stated as each person one by one noticed Rachel’s arrival, but nobody seemed overwhelmingly happy to see her.
Rachel swallowed, waved a little to the ones who’d said hello, and settled in the only empty place - between Artie and Santana. The Latina’s familiar sweet musk rose to Rachel’s awareness, and the diva glanced over and met her eyes briefly. Santana nodded, and Rachel nervously glanced down at the floor. Chatter seemed to go on all around them, but Rachel could only concentrate on the way Santana’s hand was fidgeting with the cup beside her. It rested near enough to Rachel’s leg to distract her.
This was the first of that night’s odd trains of thought, Rachel guessed as her eyes trailed up Santana’s thigh. Santana looked nice in jeans. She felt a flush of guilt as she realized Santana was looking at her with a mixture of confusion and disdain. The Latina shifted her leg a little further away, and Rachel realized that she’d been literally staring at Santana’s leg in the way only Finn stared at Cheerio skirts.
The diva reached forward, taking a few baked Lays from the bowl and snacking as the group lost themselves in conversation, discussed possible games for the night, and when “spin the bottle” was brought up, Rachel’s eyes went wide. Her fathers had warned her about these kinds of games.
She felt a hand put pressure on her shoulder and she realized Santana was getting up and using her as leverage. Rachel flushed and allowed the use of her shoulder but felt warmth flood her body. Another odd train of thought passed through - she enjoyed that. Rachel knew it was only the fact that she hadn’t had physical contact with anyone that she noticed it. Beside her, Brittany was sitting in Artie’s lap, and the blonde offered Rachel a smile.
"I’m glad you came. I didn’t know if San was going to invite you, even though it was her idea."
Blink, blink. Rachel’s only response was silence and a slight nod. Once she regained verbal ability, she smiled, “I’m glad I came, too. It was very thoughtful of her to invite me.”
Around Rachel, she realized how many of the Glee clubbers really paired off with one another. Quinn and Sam were nearly inseperable - more like brother and sister than couple. From what Rachel had heard, they had gaming tournaments every weekend and Quinn wasn’t dating anyone. Finn and Puck were bros for life, and therefore always engaged in conversation. Kurt and Mercedes were the perfect team - and both snippy enough to make anyone feel insignificant. Brittany and Artie were inseperable but not for the same reasons as Quinn and Sam. The pair had just celebrated their four month anniversary together. Tina and Mike were along the same track as Brittany and Artie. Essentially, everyone was paired up in some way - platonic or more than - except Santana. While Santana and Brittany were best friends, Santana seemed to spend more time alone lately than was usual. When she wasn’t playing at HBIC, the Latina was somewhat of a loner. It was in this realization that Rachel understood her best chance at a friendship was not to break into an already-forged bond, but to begin one herself.
Santana reappeared in a timely manner and sat back down. She smelled a little of whine coolers and perfume, and Rachel dared a look at the Latina’s face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed - suggesting she’d been drinking and was tipsy. Rachel offered a timid smile but recieved only an appraising look from those dark eyes. Always impenetrable.
"Spin the bottle!" Kurt shouted as he jumped up, daintily retrieved an empty Heineken bottle, and set it on the floor. "Me first!"
"Oh man, this could be bad," Puck groaned softly.
Rachel didn’t have much time to react as the bottle spun on the floor madly. Already the conversation became more animated and a bit of laughter spilled out between a few of the Glee clubbers. The bottle landed on Tina and Kurt clapped his hands excitedly. Tina blushed and moved forward, and the pair kissed for only a moment.
"Kurt’s a good kisser," Brittany mused, and Rachel was reminded that the pair had ‘dated’ for a little bit when Kurt was trying to deny his sexuality. She’d had no idea they’d kissed. Beside Rachel, Santana groaned softly.
The bottle made its rounds, the most memorable pairings being Quinn and Mike, Finn and Brittany (Finn had pulled away with a stupified look on his face), and finally the bottle made its way to Santana. The Latina was smirking as she looked around at the circle, seemingly gauging the level of excitement some of them had for the bottle landing on them. Finn, of course, was salivating.
Rachel settled a little against the couch behind her, legs crossed over one another and finally feeling relaxed after an hour of being at the party. She really had no concerns or anxieties - that is until the Glee club erupted in catcalls and whistles without Rachel really knowing why. As the diva glanced up, she saw a bottle head pointing straight at her feet. Her stomach dropped through - possibly beneath the foundation of Brittany’s house - and Rachel’s eyes went wide. Beside her, the tipsy Latina was unreadable until she sat up on her knees. Rachel’s heart pounded into her throat as she realized Santana was really going in for it. The guys, of course, were whistling and making various noises but they faded out as she felt Santana’s arm on the other side of her waist, slide to the curve of her hip, and the warmth of Santana’s breath came way too close. Rachel was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at Santana and wonder if this was really happening.
"Oh man," laughter came from somewhere in the circle and it sounded like Quinn, but Rachel whimpered softly.
"You r-really don’t have to .. I mean it’s perfectly reasonable not to and I mean I’d rather not - " Rachel sucked in air in response as she felt a warm, plump pair of lips settle against her own. Soft at first, Rachel didn’t know how to respond. Her fists were clenched at her side tightly as if to keep herself conscious, but when she felt a tongue dip softly against her bottom lip Rachel melted against the couch behind her and felt herself responding. Santana was an amazing kisser. The diva already felt dizzy, whimpering as she felt Santana’s tongue slip to meet her own. Rachel’s hand had a mind of her own as it slipped to Santana’s shoulder and lightly clutched the fabric there. She wasn’t sure who, but one of them deepened the liplock to the point of arousal.
Santana broke the kiss before it seemed to grow too heady, but Rachel dizzily stared at the air in front of her as Santana sat back down and passed Rachel the bottle. Rachel felt herself on fire in all kinds of ways and she numbly took the bottle. The group was amidst laughter and teasing, and had apparently taken the kiss as more of a joke than anything.
Rachel swallowed, reminding herself it was just a game, but it seemed that Santana was sitting a little closer than before. The diva spun the bottle, not truly conscious of anything as it spun. Her head was still swimming and her heart was hammering in her throat.
It had somehow landed on Santana. Oh no. Rachel didn’t know exactly what to do or how to handle it, but as she sat up a little she tried to tell herself this wasn’t some makeout session. This was a game. High school memories and all that. She smoothed out her skirt and glanced over to Santana, who was staring hungrily at her lips in a way Rachel was sure she was imagining. It wasn’t possible for someone to look at her like that. Rachel tried to lighten the mood by thinking of other things, but as Santana pulled her by the hand and Rachel took her last breath against Santana’s lips, she felt the Latina set her on fire again. The diva groaned softly enough for only Santana to hear as their lips met. This time, Rachel tried desperately to blame it on the alcohol, because there was no way Santana would willingly slip her hands over Rachel’s back and crush her torso gently against her own. Rachel’s hands hung loosely over Santana’s arms and the kiss became too all-consuming the moment Santana moaned quietly against Rachel’s lips and tangled her fingers in Rachel’s hair.
Catcalls and laughter swelled around them as they pulled apart - they’d only pulled apart because Rachel had pushed Santana gently away from her (and simultaneously her body had decided to betray her want because she’d whimpered very audibly against Santana’s perfect lips) before sitting down and trying to gather her composure.
The game continued in somewhat of a haze, but the Glee club lost interest before it got back around to Santana (luckily). Rachel was grateful for that, and she was even more grateful as everyone spread out around the livingroom and settled in for a couple horror movies.
The diva hated horror movies, but somehow everything seemed to be a blur currently as she settled in the corner of the couch. Her heart couldn’t regain a calm pace as the kisses played over and over in her head. Every detail was crisp even as the opening credits began. Rachel would normally be cowering but she was only trying to ignore the sound of Santana’s voice as she joked with Artie somewhat near where Rachel was sitting.
Were kisses supposed to feel like that? Like liquid fire being poured inside her veins? They’d never felt like that before, not with anyone, and all of a sudden it seemed that it was all Rachel could remember. Santana had grasped her so hard and pulled their torsos together. Rachel could understand why Finn had given his virginity to her - she was irresistable.
The diva couldn’t figure out why she was a little disappointed in thinking the Latina probably kissed everyone like that.
It was just a game of spin the bottle, anyway.
Part III: Not Just a Game
Come to believe that I better not leave
Before I get my chance to ride
It had been approximately four days, six hours, and two minutes since Rachel had been consumed by the fire that was Santana. Not that she was counting or anything. Not only did it seem like everything had been some sort of weird dream, but there was new talk of having a movie night for the glee club at someone’s house every weekend. The idea sounded lovely to Rachel - as she’d been thinking she wanted friends and starting to have better relations with her fellow glee clubbers. Another part of her had mixed feelings, because there was something about the fear that they’d end up playing spin the bottle and she’d end up kissing Santana again. It could have been excitement, because after all, you can’t really forget a feeling like that. It certainly been a good feeling, not a bad one. Perhaps she was afraid of what it meant, not how it made her feel.
Everyone but Santana seemed to be speaking to her more regularly. The Latina was going out of her way to avoid Rachel, that much she could tell. Whenever Rachel came out of a classroom and spotted Santana, she’d see the Latina heading in the opposite direction faster than she’d ever seen Santana walk. The diva wondered why, but being a realistic person figured it just meant that the kisses had made Santana feel awkward and uncomfortable. It wasn’t possible, after all, that Santana had enjoyed it just as much. She’d been tipsy anyway.
So lost in thought was Rachel that she failed to see the slushie flying at her. Karofsky was the offender from what she could tell, and the cold washed over her. It was almost painful, realizing that the order had to have come down from someone. Had Santana gone back on her word or had someone else ordered the hit?
Rachel remained stunned to silence and stillness. Her legs wouldn’t function even though they said ‘run’ very clearly. A mixture of emotion - surprise, anxiety, sadness, anger - flooded her and just as she was about to speak she felt another slushie collide against her. More laughter. It was like a nightmare.
Sputtering a cry of surprise, she felt someone brush past her and before she could wipe the slushie from her eyes, she heard the voice. Santana. Yelling. Was she yelling at Rachel? No. Wait just a moment. Rachel used her stained sleeve to wipe slushie from her eyes, ignored the stinging of false flavoring and chemicals, and gasped at the scene in front of her. Santana had somehow pinned Karofsky to a locker and already hit him once, and just as he was covering his face, the Latina managed one last blow before she was yanked off of him. She was shouting loud, angry curses in Spanish and her legs were flailing about trying to get one last damaging kick to Karofsky’s gut.
Rachel really couldn’t make out Santana’s words. In her anger she’d lapsed into Spanish and was lecturing Karofsky even as she was being pulled away. She pulled and pried at the arms around her - Mr. Schue had come flying out of course - trying her best to get at Karofsky.
Two questions lingered on Rachel’s mind. Where had Santana come from and why was she so angry? Was she angry because she’d seen the slushie attack?
Before Rachel could say anything to Santana, she was being tugged away by Ms. Pillsbury. The diva had actually momentarily forgotten she was covered in flavored slushie until Ms. Pillsbury began fussing over her ruined clothes and directing her to go wash up the best she could. Rachel tried to get one last look, and all she could see was Santana being held back by both Figgins and Schue.
After a clean change of clothes and a fresh layer of makeup, Rachel was still pondering Santana’s reaction. The diva wondered, as she leaned closer to the mirror, if Santana had really gotten upset that she’d been slushied. If she had, then why? Perhaps she was just reacting out of loyalty to the promise she’d made Rachel. After all, Santana had been avoiding her all this time anyway, so there wasn’t anything that would speak of another motivation.
The diva didn’t know if she should even ask, truthfully, and as Rachel grabbed her things and made her way out of the bathroom, she was stopped by Brittany.
"Movie night," Brittany bounced on her heels, handed Rachel an invitation, and bounded down the hallway before Rachel could ask the blonde if her best friend had said anything about the afternoon’s confrontation.
She guessed she’d just have to wait until Santana said something to figure it out.
The thing about Kurt’s livingroom was that it was relatively small. While the room Finn had in the basment and Kurt’s bedroom were fairly large, neither had a television as large as in the livingroom.
By the time Rachel arrived, it was pretty packed full. The couch was taken up by Mercedes, Kurt, and Quinn, with Sam on the lounging chair. Mike and Tina sat against the arm of the lounging chair, Finn and Puck sprawled out in front of the television, and only enough room for two more people in front of the couch - Santana and Rachel. Santana was already seated and avoiding eye-contact with Rachel as the diva waved to everyone and took the last remaining space. Even with space beside Santana, there was little room if Rachel had wanted it. At most, she could get a half an inch of space between her arm and Santana’s. Brittany and Artie were both near Puck and Finn, and anyone who had to cross the room would have to climb over bodies.
Rachel glanced aside at Santana as opening credits rolled, the light from the television illuminating the Latina’s distracted expression. The diva wished she’d say something, anything, or even look at her - and then she realized that was perhaps how Santana had been feeling when Rachel had taken on the silent protest. Blinking, she felt a little bit of surprise at the epiphany.
Leering wasn’t exactly the way to get Santana comfortable enough to say something. Everyone else was talking loud enough amidst their own conversations for Rachel to clear her throat quietly enough for only Santana to hear.
The Latina looked immediately irritated, “Yes?”
"I was just wondering," Rachel hesitated the moment those dark eyes found hers in the dark, and shrunk against the couch a little, "if you’re.. did you get hurt this afternoon?"
"No, why would I?"
"I-I just thought that since you’d, you know, hit Karofsky that you might - " Rachel pointed dumbly to Santana’s hand, which was jerked away from any potential graze of skin.
Rachel waited a moment, breathing in bravery and spitting out the question that had been bothering her since the happening this afternoon, “Did you hit him because he slushied me?”
Santana’s expression was completely unreadable, and she remained silent.
The diva hesitated, her hand halting in the air before resting atop Santana’s. Only for a second, before she pulled it away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Or .. you know.” Rachel tucked her hands in her own lap and stared at the television screen. A zombie film. Quinn and Sam must’ve brought this evening’s entertainment.
Rachel felt Santana shift beside her - but the strange thing was that she had shifted closer, not further away. Brown eyes widened in silent surprise as she glanced over at Santana. Santana wouldn’t acknowledge her, but the funny thing Rachel noticed was that there was now considerable amount of space where Santana had previously been sitting. If she’d been moving to have more space, she’d done exactly the opposite.
The Latina’s arm was warm, pressed against Rachel’s. Rachel’s muscles were tense as she tried not to focus on how nice it felt. It must have just been because she hadn’t had physical contact. That’s all. Rachel took even breaths, subtle enough to go unnoticed. At some point, Rachel’s arm relaxed ever so slightly beside Santana’s, and felt the true weight of Santana’s form right next to her. She may have been leaning a little on Rachel.
A few times, Rachel took the chance to openly watch Santana’s expression from the side but it was still unreadable, and Santana wouldn’t acknowledge her again for what seemed like forever. The diva shifted slightly, angling her knee to come into contact with Santana’s thigh. The Latina didn’t move.
It shouldn’t have mattered, but Rachel had to know why Karofsky had gotten the worst of the Latina’s fury that afternoon. Yet, how to ask? How to get past Santana’s stoic and stubborn expression to see what was behind it?
Openly staring at someone wasn’t generally a good idea, but Rachel hadn’t realized it until she got caught. Santana must have realized Rachel was staring because she turned her eyes challengingly to Rachel’s, and the diva felt frozen. The apology got stuck in her throat as Santana watched her. A familiar burning sensation began in Rachel’s chest.
It was as if Santana was searching for something, the way she looked at Rachel. The diva could only gape.
"He shouldn’t have gone against my order," Santana spoke just loud enough for Rachel to hear over the sound of screams on television. "He knew better."
She’d done it for Rachel.
Leaving had been harder this time - realistically it shouldn’t have been, because there’d been no heated makeout games. Yet she felt as she was walking down the sidewalk to her father’s car, that she was leaving an important opportunity behind. As Rachel turned around, she saw Santana saying goodbye to Kurt. The rest were staying just a little longer, or taking a longer time getting ready to leave.
Santana made her way down the walk, and even though Rachel should have just let it go, she couldn’t. As Santana made as if to ignore Rachel and leave, the diva reached a hand out and gently caught Santana’s arm. The Latina looked down at the hand, rolled her eyes, but didn’t have anything sarcastic to say. She just looked at Rachel expectantly.
"I just wanted to uhm, well, to thank you. Not so much for the violence but for upholding your promise to me and defending me," Rachel stumbled a little over her words and couldn’t look Santana in the eye. So many times she’d felt so brave, even in front of Quinn - it was easy to confront Quinn and everyone else - but in front of Santana she felt small.
"Don’t," Santana brushed off the gratitude and began to move out of Rachel’s grasp, but the diva stopped her by squeezing her elbow delicately. Her skin was like silk, Rachel noted, as her thumb slid over the curve of her elbow. Before she could warn Santana, she was moving forward and wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist. The diva pressed herself flush against Santana, rested her head against her collarbone.
It was the best ‘thank you’ she could give Santana. And while Rachel expected Santana to push her way, or curse her out, or something, she did none of that. The diva felt two warm arms hesitate at her sides and slowly slip up her back. Notably, a trail of goosebumps made their way after Santana’s hands. Santana’s breath was near Rachel’s ear, and it sounded a little hesitant, as if she too felt something squeeze her lungs when she was close. Santana’s fingers pulled Rachel tighter and the curtain of black hair wafted the smell of some wonderful shampoo in Rachel’s direction. There was a moment that Rachel felt breath right beside her earlobe.
Rachel’s breath hitched as Santana whispered against her ear, “I got your back.” The sensation of it was spectacular - Santana’s lips brushing so near her ear - as well as the insinuation that Rachel was under the protection of someone who might eventually care about her.
Then all too soon, Santana was disengaging and making her way down the street, heading home without a word. Rachel stood alone on the sidewalk until her dad rolled down the window and asked if she was coming.
Part IV: Sleepovers
Running through the field where all my tracks will be concealed
And there’s nowhere to go
It was now a weekly occurence, and while not all the glee club members made it to every movie night, it had become something Rachel looked forward to. While she hadn’t had any encounters with Santana since they’d embraced outside of Kurt’s house, the Latina had started to acknowledge her with the barest of head-nods and sometimes a smirk. Rachel would flush and push hair behind her ear bashfully as Santana would pass.
Part of Rachel craved the opportunity to be near Santana once more, but it was too soon to suggest any one-on-one activities. This weekend would be Rachel’s first chance - Mercedes was having the girls over for a slumber party at her house. In fact, Rachel had never been to a real slumber party before. While Quinn had opted to spend the night with the boys at Puck’s for an all-night Call of Duty tournament, the rest of the girls would be there.
No more slushies had ruined Rachel’s clothing since Santana had beat Karofsky into a locker, and Figgins kept an unusually close eye on Santana. Rachel noticed he too had gotten bruised in Santana’s display of authority.
Standing in front of Mercedes door, she felt no hesitation as she knocked and waited. It was nice; even though she was only on acquaintance-level relations with everyone, Rachel didn’t feel so alone anymore. She also had one thing to look forward to - seeing Santana.
The Latina was already there as the door swung open and Tina smiled at Rachel in greeting. Rachel could hear Brittany and Santana as she stepped into the house, and when Rachel asked what they were doing, Tina merely grinned. “Karaoke. Imagine that.”
While it was difficult to maintain the urge to gasp at the fact they were playing a singing game, she followed Tina up the stairs as quietly as possible. Rachel hummed a little to herself but halted in the doorway as she saw Santana in nothing but black boy-shorts and a white beater. The diva had to stop herself from gaping, though, and made her way into the room.
"Hey guys," she stated, waving a little to Mercedes. "Thanks for inviting me."
Mercedes merely shrugged in response then picked up an apparently interrupted conversation as Tina sat down next to the girl. Brittany and Santana were too busy figuring out what song to sing to acknowledge her, so Rachel sat her things next to Santana’s and settled into the bean-bag chair near the television.
It wasn’t until after Santana finished that the Latina seemed to notice her. While she didn’t say anything to Rachel, the Cheerio didn’t hesitate to meet her eyes and smirk just a little. Rachel wished there was a way not to blush everytime Santana did that, but she really had no choice. The diva felt a strange twist in her stomach, ever since that hug. It was one thing to kiss in a game of spin the bottle - that was just a game - but Santana had willingly hugged her last time, for longer than necessary.
Rachel’s eyes found the floor less nerve-wracking to look at. Brittany sprawled on the bed near Mercedes and Tina, and the three were so absorbed in their conversation that Rachel felt the beginnings of butterflies in her stomach.
Santana was near her backpack, spreading out her sleeping bag right next to where Rachel had laid her own. The brunette tried not to stare but she found it hard to concentrate thinking Santana would be sleeping next to her. In those boyshorts.
Saving the world might have been an easier task than not salivating. Rachel felt very unlike herself. This wasn’t a normal reaction to someone. Yet with all the previous encounters in tow, it made sense. Maybe it was just a hormonal thing.
And then Santana had reached for Rachel’s sleeping bag and spread it next to her own. Rachel swallowed and perhaps expected Santana to say something, but she said nothing as she finished smoothing it out and sat on the bed with the other three girls. Rachel stood as she realized there would be no current acknowledgement of the fact that Santana had just made the choice (for herself and Rachel) that they’d be sleeping beside each other.
It’s not like they’d be sleeping together. It probably wasn’t important. So Rachel let it go and sat down on the bed. Conversation came easier when she wasn’t wondering at Santana’s motives.
It wasn’t until 2 a.m. that anyone started dropping off to sleep. While both Brittany and Tina had brought sleeping bags, Tina ended up passing out beside Mercedes on the bed and Brittany was sprawled on the carpeted floor on the other side of Mercedes’ bed. The five of them had happily conversed for almost six hours before they’d gotten tired. Santana was still awake when Rachel came in from the bathroom, dressed in pajama bottoms and a matching t-shirt (stars, what else). She nervously cleared her throat as she flicked the light off. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she spotted Santana settling against the bed, apparently putting her regular clothes into her backpack. Those tanned thighs were right in Rachel’s line of sight as she unzipped her own sleeping bag and climbed in, but she tried not to leer.
Rachel felt confusion now that everything was quiet. As she usually did when trying to clear up her thoughts, she made a list of all the things Santana had done in order to discover what they had as a common denominator. Ticking things off on her fingers, she worked through it: first, Santana had been bothered Rachel wasn’t speaking and offered her protection; secondly, she’d been perfectly fine with kissing and/or making out with Rachel (depending on how you looked at it) twice in a game of spin the bottle; thirdly, she’d hit Karofsky for throwing slushies in Rachel’s face, and then the list became too long to keep track. There were several small signs all adding up to one conclusion: Santana may have had some sort of affection for Rachel.
The diva glanced over at Santana in the dark. The Latina was zipping up her backpack and settling down on her pillow the moment Rachel sat up, leaned on her elbow, and looked down at Santana. She arched an eyebrow, “Can I help you?” The Cheerio spoke lowly, but not in a way that suggested she was irritated.
"I don’t understand you."
"Good," Santana smirked in the dark. Those penetrating eyes were locked on Rachel’s.
"I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me."
"Big surprise. I mean, I barely even tell Britt anything and she’s my best friend."
"What am I?"
"What do you mean?"
"What am I to you? Why have you been kind to me?"
"I made a promise."
"It’s more than that."
Santana dropped her gaze and wouldn’t answer. That was all Rachel needed to confirm what she thought. Santana had some affection for Rachel. The question was whether or not it was romantic or platonic.
Rachel wanted to ask more, to press, but she only laid down on her back and stared at the ceiling.
"I’m not playing with you."
"I mean I’m not being nice to dump a bucket of blood over your head at prom."
"Lovely image, Santana."
Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes, sitting up. “You’re not going to ask me why?”
"Didn’t I already do that?"
"You shouldn’t answer questions with questions."
Rachel could see now, in the dark, something had fallen inside of Santana. A wall, a barrier, something. In the dark, maybe she felt safer revealing a part of herself she wouldn’t talk about. Maybe she thought Rachel couldn’t see the way her eyes were shining or feel that Santana’s torso was near the line of Rachel’s body. Maybe she just wanted to be out with it.
Something about sleepovers brought out the secrets in people, that’s what Rachel thought.
"It’s when you stopped talking I realized that I liked when you talked," Santana began quietly, almost a whisper, and she was leaning up on an elbow with that thick curtain of black hair hanging over her shoulder. Near enough for Rachel to smell her shampoo. Rachel’s soft brown eyes searched in the dark and saw Santana staring at her fidgeting hands. She had no words, because her heart was being strangled at Santana’s opening words. "Then the game, you know. That was… fucking brilliant," Santana’s voice took on a slightly husky tone, and her penetrating eyes found their way up Rachel’s throat, to her mouth, and finally to her eyes. Rachel lay there, vulnerable and nervous. "I guess it’s just," Santana shook her head. "I suck with words, dude."
"I’m not a dude, but I .. I think I get what you’re trying to say," Rachel spoke with a nervous tremor, and her eyes dipped into the darkness for a moment. Santana’s eyes were too intense for her to stare at much longer.
The Latina seemed to have said all she could as a warm hand sought Rachel’s arm and trailed over Rachel’s forearm, then the inside of her elbow. Goosebumps erupted all over her flesh as she felt Santana’s palm full against her arm, slipping underneath the arm of her shirt and cascading back down. It was harder to breathe than Rachel could remember, and she still couldn’t force herself to look at Santana. She was nervously chewing on her lip and praying for the courage to react accordingly.
Santana’s touch didn’t stop at her arm. As the Latina grew bolder, her fingers moved across Rachel’s collarbone (at one point dipping beneath the rim of Rachel’s shirt, making the diva think it was either very fortunate or very insane not to be wearing a bra).
"You haven’t been drinking have you?" Rachel breathed finally, her voice meek and quiet. Santana couldn’t possibly want to touch her this way. Santana only chuckled throatily and that thick black hair swayed a little in Rachel’s sight as she shook her head.
"Why aren’t you stopping me?" Santana asked the question like a perplexed child as her hand stroked the skin at Rachel’s throat.
Rachel swallowed and her eyes fluttered. It was getting harder to verbalize, because every once in a while Santana’s fingers would dip below her shirt collar and go a little too close to the beginning of Rachel’s modest curves. She felt like she was shaking from the inside out.
"Aren’t you afraid I do this with everyone?"
Rachel frowned a little. She had been, initially, but the way Santana asked it made her think there was a tone of insecurity, as if the assumption was too familiar and too painful. The diva shook her head and finally forced herself to search Santana’s eyes. There was vulnerability there for the first time since she’d known the Cheerio. “No,” she whispered.
Santana hesitated, her hand stopping. And then the touches continued. Santana’s hand went from her collarbone to her arm once more, as if following an invisible trail, and Rachel should have stopped her when she heard the unzipping of her sleeping bag. Santana pushed the corner of it aside, just enough to slip her hand beneath the thick, insulated fabric, and Rachel’s eyes widened as she felt Santana’s fingers slip over her hip and underneath her shirt. It was then Rachel realized Santana was exploring, seeing how far she could go before Rachel stopped her.
Trembling from the inside out, Rachel only stopped Santana’s hand as she heard movement above them. Someone shifting in bed, sighing, and shifting again. Those dark eyes locked on hers and Rachel clutched Santana’s hand to keep her from going any further - and to keep her from withdrawing. It took perhaps five minutes before she let go of Santana’s hand. She gave no indication she wanted her to stop.
Santana’s fingers moved dangerously close to the underside of Rachel’s breasts. The diva felt she couldn’t breathe, and felt her body start to respond to the most minute of movements, even the way Santana’s fingers drew hesitating lines against her ribs as if Santana was deciding to stop.
That alone was proof enough that Santana was weighing whether this was the right thing to do. In some way, that showed Rachel she cared. The diva tried her best to keep breathing, but it was when she felt Santana’s fingers blatantly drawing half-circles against the curve of her breast that Rachel stopped. She nearly grabbed Santana’s hand in askance for her to stop, but she couldn’t think. Fog rolled through as she registered the Latina leaning down in the dark, and those lips brushed first her neck, her throat, and eventually found Rachel’s lips. At first the kiss was tentative, gentle. Santana was brushing her lips against Rachel’s as if seeing it was alright. When Rachel let out the quietest of whimpers, the kiss became a little more passionate.
I’m going in for the kill, I’m doing it for the thrill…
Santana’s tongue drew along Rachel’s bottom lip, and the diva gasped just before she found herself becoming the aggressor. Her fingers tangled in Santana’s thick locks and tugged her closer, her other hand seeking Santana out to pull her closer. A wash of craving spilled from Rachel as she tried to be as quiet as possible - a task which became a lot harder when Santana’s hand boldly covered Rachel’s breast before her thumb rolled Rachel’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She all but moaned into Santana’s mouth and her hips bucked haplessly.
Santana smirked against Rachel’s lips at this, and the diva felt her body yearning for a whole lot more contact. She was all but tugging Santana on top of her, pulling at the Latina’s shirt and arching her chest up into Santana’s eager touch.
Rachel really wished they were alone. Especially when she heard Brittany mumbling on the other side and they broke apart slightly, breathing heavily into one another’s mouths. Despite the desire to keep descretion, Santana was still rolling a nipple in her fingers and making Rachel squirm. The diva all but growled and moaned, kissed Santana harder. It was a demanding kiss, and she sought out Santana’s passion as she writhed beneath her experienced touch.
At some point it became evident things weren’t going to stop, so Rachel decided they needed to change location. The girl unwillingly disengaged from Santana and grabbed the Latina by the hand, dragging her eagerly into the bathroom far, far down the hall. The second the door shut, Santana grabbed Rachel by the waist, hoisted her up onto the sink’s edge, and reconnected their lips forcefully. Rachel’s toned legs wrapped around Santana’s hips and the Latina’s hands were already making their way to Rachel’s aching nipples.
"I’m not going to be able to stop now," Santana whispered against Rachel’s lips, causing Rachel to groan quietly. A hand slipped from Rachel’s shirt and without warning slipped beneath the line of Rachel’s panties. Rachel gasped in surprise as Santana slipped her touch down much lower than Rachel had expected. The diva was breathing heavily in shock against Santana’s lips and before she could finish working through the fog of what she wanted and what they should do, she felt Santana push her fingers deep inside of her and curl in just a way that made Rachel moan and dip her head forward. Santana’s hips rolled forward to accentuate the motion of her fingers, and Rachel’s lips crashed against Santana’s once her body started to respond to the Latina’s rhythm.
She’d certainly never expected to be having sex in Mercedes’ bathroom with Santana, but here it was, a very delicious reality. Santana’s fingers moved again and again, deeper, and in ways Rachel never had expected. Her hips were grinding against the touch and her hands had slipped to Santana’s very nice (now that she noticed) backside as if to pull Santana’s touch deeper inside of her.
"Don’t stop," Rachel heard herself pant against Santana’s lips as she got closer and closer to the abyss. Each stroke became more intense, her insides beyond sensitive at this point and her lips crashing against Santana’s as her hips rolled frantically into Santana’s experienced touch. "Oh god, please," Rachel pleaded in a whine against Santana’s lips, and she felt a third finger join the other two; this alone was enough to send the diva over the edge. Her muscles clenched around the touch and Rachel moaned Santana’s name against the Latina’s shoulder.
Her hips still writhed wantingly, and while she thought she was finished, Santana didn’t stop for the first. She brought Rachel headlong into a second round, this time holding Rachel’s thigh around her waist and showing the diva exactly what she knew how to do.
At some point, after Rachel had fallen into a third orgasm, Santana finally let up and brought Rachel back to earth by kissing her, slow and heady. Their kiss was different, fueled by something different. While it was passionate, it was something else. It was a kiss that could start a slow-building fire that would last for hours, the kind of kiss that would make you want and ache. Yet there was a sweetness to it, an affection, the way Santana’s hands were pulling Rachel into her arms, pulling her close, not grasping or groping, but holding. When they finally needed to come up for air, Rachel felt Santana press her swollen lips to the diva’s temple and her hands pulled gently.
This was something. She could see it in Santana’s eyes as they finally pulled apart. Santana’s hand slipped into her own, and together they made it back to Mercedes room as if nothing had happened, but in the dark it was safe for Santana to pull Rachel against her. The last thing Rachel heard before falling asleep was the sound of Santana’s heartbeat near her ear, the sound of her even breathing, and she felt Santana’s fingers drawing shapes over her back. This was something special and it was just beginning.