fic: ticking in my heart
Title: Ticking In My Heart
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: From random_flores This time Quinn's the jealous one
Summary: The “date” hadn’t really meant anything, she knows, but things felt like they crossed some sort of line that night.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: This is set in the same verse as " You Are My Something," but I wouldn't necessarily call it a sequel. Maybe a continuation of sorts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
The bar is busy when Quinn walks in. It’s not nearly as glamorous as the movie makes it, but it’s still fuller than any up near Yale. She still manages to spot Santana behind the bar and her heart kind of trips when she sees her grin as she leans forward, listening to whatever the request is that a customer is making. She moves with such ease for someone who’s never tended bar before and Quinn is really enjoying the way she looks in that tank top that’s a tad too short and exposes her abdomen when she reaches high on the shelf for a glass.
Santana isn’t expecting her because she kind of came to New York on a whim. She has a random long weekend and she should really be in her dorm studying, but she’s not. It’s been about two weeks since Santana barged into her room over the whole mess with Rachel and Kurt. Things seem to have calmed down, but outside of a few skype calls and daily text conversations that seem to end abruptly, she hasn’t really spoken to Santana. And she misses her.
The “date” hadn’t really meant anything, she knows, but things felt like they crossed some sort of line that night. Nothing even happened, but since then sometimes it feels like Santana’s flirting with her and sometimes she thinks she flirts back. And yes, she’s been making out with girls since the whole wedding thing, she just still isn’t sure that’s her thing. But she still smiles every time she sees Santana’s name flash across her phone. So maybe it’s her thing at least a little. It would just be nice to know if Santana was on the same page because Quinn isn’t a fan of just putting herself out there.
She walks up to the bar and this trashy girl with a short, ripped plaid skirt and what looks like a glorified bra walks over and asks for her I.D. She hands over her fake and the girl arches her dark eyebrow skeptically, but just asks her what she wants to drink. She orders a Jack and diet figuring they’ll probably be fairly cheap and watches as girl walks off, smacking Santana’s ass on the way back.
Santana doesn’t even flinch and maybe that has something to do with the tall blonde that’s currently wrapping her arms around Santana’s neck and whispering something into her ear. The jealousy rolls through Quinn’s body full force, making her stomach ache and her eyes narrow. She has to remind herself that Santana doesn’t actually belong to her. But that doesn't exactly stop the feeling. The girl comes back with her drink and Quinn drains it quickly, motioning for another.
The drink comes back even quicker this time and there’s suddenly an alarm going off and all but two of the bartenders are up on the bar. They do some sort of elaborate routine that, for some reason, requires Santana’s ass to be directly in blonde chick’s face. And when the other woman slips money into the back pocket of Santana’s skin-tight jeans, Quinn wants to smash her glass in the bitch’s face.
Quinn’s own bartender is pulling Santana up by her collar and pushing Santana’s face into her cleavage. The crowd goes nuts and they start chanting “Rosario” and it takes Quinn a moment to realize they’re actually talking about Santana, whose lips are currently all over the other bartender’s neck. They travel upward until they hover just over her lips and the crowds egging them on, all but begging for a kiss. Santana looks over her shoulder and offers them a grin and a wink before planting a big kiss on the other girl’s lips and people are practically throwing money up at her. Quinn’s equal parts disgusted and turned on because even she can’t deny how hot Santana looks. She just hates that she’s watching her do this with someone else.
Yep, she decides, there’s no denying that this is definitely her thing at least a little. And why, of all people, does she feel this way about Santana? It’s so inconvenient and Santana outside of high school isn’t her second. She doesn’t have to bow down to the chain of command. No, she’s just Santana Lopez, Miss Sex on Legs. And she could clearly have anyone.
But Quinn’s not just anyone, she reminds herself, and she’s not going to be outdone by some bleach-blonde tramp or a slutty bartender. She drinks down her drink and stands up when Santana’s making her way down the bar in her direction. She sees the girl’s eyes widen in surprise, but she just smirks.
“How much for a kiss?” She kind of shouts over the music and it draws the attention of a few people behind her.
Santana’s brow wrinkles in confusion and she looks around before pointing to herself. Quinn’s grin grows at that she nods, and just like that, it seems like Santana remembers where she is. “Nothing you can afford,” she says back with that cocky grin that makes Quinn’s panties just a little wet.
“Try me, Rosario,” Quinn all but purrs her name and the crowd’s definitely paying attention because there’s a chorus of “ooo’s.”
“Hundred bucks.” She knows Santana thinks she has her because she doesn’t think there’s anyway that Quinn would pay that much for a kiss.
But Quinn’s got a point to prove and a crisp hundred in her wallet that her father gave her last month, in case of emergencies. She reaches into her purse and pulls it out, setting it onto the bar confidently.
The crowd that’s gathered around them is like waiting with baited breath to see what’s going to happen, but the manager is stepping between them, pushing the money back at Quinn. “Alright, break it up. I run a bar, not a brothel.”
The girls climb down from the bar and Santana’s just standing there, looking at her with this unreadable expression on her face. Quinn doesn’t want to have the conversation they’re now undoubtedly going to have in a crowded bar. So, she takes a cocktail napkin and scribbles her number under the name “Emily” and pushes it towards Santana.
She hands a few dollars to her bartender to settle her tab and picks up her stuff to leave. Santana’s being far too quiet for her liking and she doesn’t want to need to brace herself, but she is.
“Quinn...” Santana starts, but the blonde just shakes her head.
“Call me after work, Rosario,” she says quietly and Santana nods in understanding. She’ll be waiting for her when she gets home, but she’ll know what Santana picks if she calls first. She grabs her bag and heads towards the door, shooting the other girl one last look before heading into the cold night.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: From random_flores This time Quinn's the jealous one
Summary: The “date” hadn’t really meant anything, she knows, but things felt like they crossed some sort of line that night.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: This is set in the same verse as " You Are My Something," but I wouldn't necessarily call it a sequel. Maybe a continuation of sorts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
The bar is busy when Quinn walks in. It’s not nearly as glamorous as the movie makes it, but it’s still fuller than any up near Yale. She still manages to spot Santana behind the bar and her heart kind of trips when she sees her grin as she leans forward, listening to whatever the request is that a customer is making. She moves with such ease for someone who’s never tended bar before and Quinn is really enjoying the way she looks in that tank top that’s a tad too short and exposes her abdomen when she reaches high on the shelf for a glass.
Santana isn’t expecting her because she kind of came to New York on a whim. She has a random long weekend and she should really be in her dorm studying, but she’s not. It’s been about two weeks since Santana barged into her room over the whole mess with Rachel and Kurt. Things seem to have calmed down, but outside of a few skype calls and daily text conversations that seem to end abruptly, she hasn’t really spoken to Santana. And she misses her.
The “date” hadn’t really meant anything, she knows, but things felt like they crossed some sort of line that night. Nothing even happened, but since then sometimes it feels like Santana’s flirting with her and sometimes she thinks she flirts back. And yes, she’s been making out with girls since the whole wedding thing, she just still isn’t sure that’s her thing. But she still smiles every time she sees Santana’s name flash across her phone. So maybe it’s her thing at least a little. It would just be nice to know if Santana was on the same page because Quinn isn’t a fan of just putting herself out there.
She walks up to the bar and this trashy girl with a short, ripped plaid skirt and what looks like a glorified bra walks over and asks for her I.D. She hands over her fake and the girl arches her dark eyebrow skeptically, but just asks her what she wants to drink. She orders a Jack and diet figuring they’ll probably be fairly cheap and watches as girl walks off, smacking Santana’s ass on the way back.
Santana doesn’t even flinch and maybe that has something to do with the tall blonde that’s currently wrapping her arms around Santana’s neck and whispering something into her ear. The jealousy rolls through Quinn’s body full force, making her stomach ache and her eyes narrow. She has to remind herself that Santana doesn’t actually belong to her. But that doesn't exactly stop the feeling. The girl comes back with her drink and Quinn drains it quickly, motioning for another.
The drink comes back even quicker this time and there’s suddenly an alarm going off and all but two of the bartenders are up on the bar. They do some sort of elaborate routine that, for some reason, requires Santana’s ass to be directly in blonde chick’s face. And when the other woman slips money into the back pocket of Santana’s skin-tight jeans, Quinn wants to smash her glass in the bitch’s face.
Quinn’s own bartender is pulling Santana up by her collar and pushing Santana’s face into her cleavage. The crowd goes nuts and they start chanting “Rosario” and it takes Quinn a moment to realize they’re actually talking about Santana, whose lips are currently all over the other bartender’s neck. They travel upward until they hover just over her lips and the crowds egging them on, all but begging for a kiss. Santana looks over her shoulder and offers them a grin and a wink before planting a big kiss on the other girl’s lips and people are practically throwing money up at her. Quinn’s equal parts disgusted and turned on because even she can’t deny how hot Santana looks. She just hates that she’s watching her do this with someone else.
Yep, she decides, there’s no denying that this is definitely her thing at least a little. And why, of all people, does she feel this way about Santana? It’s so inconvenient and Santana outside of high school isn’t her second. She doesn’t have to bow down to the chain of command. No, she’s just Santana Lopez, Miss Sex on Legs. And she could clearly have anyone.
But Quinn’s not just anyone, she reminds herself, and she’s not going to be outdone by some bleach-blonde tramp or a slutty bartender. She drinks down her drink and stands up when Santana’s making her way down the bar in her direction. She sees the girl’s eyes widen in surprise, but she just smirks.
“How much for a kiss?” She kind of shouts over the music and it draws the attention of a few people behind her.
Santana’s brow wrinkles in confusion and she looks around before pointing to herself. Quinn’s grin grows at that she nods, and just like that, it seems like Santana remembers where she is. “Nothing you can afford,” she says back with that cocky grin that makes Quinn’s panties just a little wet.
“Try me, Rosario,” Quinn all but purrs her name and the crowd’s definitely paying attention because there’s a chorus of “ooo’s.”
“Hundred bucks.” She knows Santana thinks she has her because she doesn’t think there’s anyway that Quinn would pay that much for a kiss.
But Quinn’s got a point to prove and a crisp hundred in her wallet that her father gave her last month, in case of emergencies. She reaches into her purse and pulls it out, setting it onto the bar confidently.
The crowd that’s gathered around them is like waiting with baited breath to see what’s going to happen, but the manager is stepping between them, pushing the money back at Quinn. “Alright, break it up. I run a bar, not a brothel.”
The girls climb down from the bar and Santana’s just standing there, looking at her with this unreadable expression on her face. Quinn doesn’t want to have the conversation they’re now undoubtedly going to have in a crowded bar. So, she takes a cocktail napkin and scribbles her number under the name “Emily” and pushes it towards Santana.
She hands a few dollars to her bartender to settle her tab and picks up her stuff to leave. Santana’s being far too quiet for her liking and she doesn’t want to need to brace herself, but she is.
“Quinn...” Santana starts, but the blonde just shakes her head.
“Call me after work, Rosario,” she says quietly and Santana nods in understanding. She’ll be waiting for her when she gets home, but she’ll know what Santana picks if she calls first. She grabs her bag and heads towards the door, shooting the other girl one last look before heading into the cold night.