fic: i seem incapable of titling things while drunk
...or of formating posts (many aborted attempts were made to make this post look legitimate)
Rachel/Santana, hard R, 2k words, spoilers for 2x18, stop acting like you aren't hot, it's pissing me off
written with the help of a random tfln. unbeta-ed and pointless again. deal with it.
--
This is not about some strange altruistic bone Santana’s found deep inside her all of a sudden, or some weird buried feelings for Rachel Berry or anything like that. It’s not about team camaraderie, or making amends for pass misdeeds. It’s none of that.
Let’s just be clear here. Santana’s number one motivator for seeking Rachel out after glee is annoyance.
If she has to sit through practice and listen to everyone yammer on and on about Rachel’s nose, the virtue of plastic surgery, and all that loving the person on the inside bullshit she actually might cut someone. Like, this is a serious safety concern that she needs to deal with.
So deal with it she does.
Rachel’s in the first floor girl’s bathroom when Santana finds her, staring at the mirror as she gingerly touches her nose, now barely bruised looking. Her hips are pressed up against the sink in front of her, her heels off the ground as she leans forward. Santana has to shake her head against the way her gaze travels up the backs of Rachel’s leg, warmth pooling appreciatively in her stomach at Rachel’s choice of skirts.
God, she hates how gay she is sometimes. There should really be a way to control that. Maybe a convenient off-on switch or something so Santana doesn’t have to deal with the emotional damage of finding someone so supremely annoying attractive. Seriously, there is a reason she tries to look at Rachel as little as possible.
She locks the bathroom door behind her, because no way in hell is someone going to find out she’s voluntarily stepped into a small space with Rachel, and steps closer, forcing herself to focus.
“When I said change things you don’t like about yourself, I didn’t mean try to look more like wannabe princess Quinn Fabray,” Santana says, her voice dripping with mockery.
Rachel jumps a little at the sound of Santana’s voice like she didn’t just hear the door open and shut, but recovers, putting on an air of indifference that Santana knows is fake. It kind of pisses her off.
“Well what did you mean, Santana? Because aspiring to look like one of the prettiest girls in school doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”
Rolling her eyes, Santana laughs. “As if.”
Rachel turns to her, eyebrow arched slightly in question.
“Fabray? Hottest girl in school? Please.” Santana laughs. “Spare me.”
“And who, pray tell, would it be if not Quinn?”
Santana gestures down her body, and gives Rachel a pointed look. “That’s a serious question? You have eyes, don’t you? I mean, you still can see, right? Finn didn’t misshape your nose so badly that it’s like obstructing your vision?”
“Right,” Rachel draws out around a chuckle, turning back to observe herself in the mirror.
“I’m just saying,” Santana says reasonably, shrugging and propping her hip against the sink next to Rachel, “you look hideous in those pictures, so you need to stop passing them around all the time looking for everyone’s opinion. They’re ugly. Don’t go through with it.”
Rachel sighs, sounding exasperated. Santana barely stops the laugh that wants to come out at how dramatically Rachel turns back to look at her again. “You’re the one that told me to do this in the first place, Santana. I don’t understand where all this is coming from.”
“I told you to change shit about yourself if you don’t like it. Yeah, your nose is huge, and I am kind of concerned for the eyeballs of anyone desperate enough to make out with you, but you’re the one who decided you wanted to change it. Don’t put that on me.”
With something like a pout on her face, Rachel touches the bridge of her nose again with the tips of her fingers. “You already said it was ugly the other day. Honestly, I understood you the first time.”
“How is it that someone that’s so good at talking is so terrible at listening?”
A cautious laugh bubbles out of Rachel. The sound is light, and attractive, and Santana hates that her body reacts to it, stomach flipping over.
“I think that’s usually how it goes actually.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “You don’t need a damn nose job, Rachel. I told you to get one if you wanted to and I stand by that. So make a damn decision, and then shut the hell up about it so my ears don’t start bleeding.”
“Look,” Rachel says, wringing her hands together, and looking at the floor. “I know I’m not pretty like Quinn, or you for that matter, so-”
Santana cuts her off. “Stop acting like you aren’t hot. It’s pissing me off.”
Startled brown eyes whip up to stare at Santana. “What?”
God, she so did not want the conversation to steer this way, but whatever. She’s here now, and maybe it’ll finally do the trick and Rachel will stop all the damn talking in glee club. Santana may be hesitant to admit it in public, but Rachel’s a lot more easy to tolerate when all she’s doing is singing. When she’s singing it’s almost easy to forget that normal, offstage, high schooler Rachel Berry is like a rash she can’t get rid of.
“Your nose is huge. Fact,” Santana deadpans. “Your nose is also not your entire freakin’ body, so wise up, dumb ass. You’re not fugly like you clearly believe.”
“I feel like you might be complimenting me, but I can’t tell because you’re doing it so rudely.”
“You’re blind if you don’t realize that you’re not completely unfuckable,” Santana confesses, shaking her head.
Rachel laughs, but it sounds off. “I think I could present evidence to the contrary. Evidence which you have amply provided me throughout the years.”
Santana shrugs, unapologetic. “You’re annoying. And short. But you’re not disfigured or anything. Well, you weren’t until Finn flailed around like an uncoordinated gorilla, but that’s only temporary.”
After a beat, Rachel allows herself a curious smile, a faint blush suddenly appearing in her cheeks. It’s attractive in way that’s hard for Santana to resist noticing. “Thanks.”
Santana nods once, smirking for a job well done, and turns to leave. “Good.”
She’s got her hand on the lock of the door when Rachel’s voice stops her. “I’m sorry about Brittany.”
Santana’s chest squeezes uncomfortably. A wince crosses her face, and she’s glad she’s facing the door to hide it. “What are you talking about?” she asks lowly, turning her head slightly to look back at Rachel.
Footsteps pace towards her before a small hand grabs her arm, and turns her gently around. Santana blames the fact that she’s still a little shocked Rachel would dare touch her for her lack of reaction.
“You’re a nice person, Santana,” Rachel says with a smile. “A lot nicer than you pretend to be. Brittany doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
Santana laughs bitterly, and throws Rachel a dark smile, pulling her fingers off her arm, and leaning in close. “Actually, Brittany’s my best friend, and she knows exactly what she’s missing. And, for the record, Brittany is none of your business. Talk about her again like that to me, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a nose to fix.”
“I’m just trying to be a friend,” Rachel protests, looking up at Santana with such genuine concern that Santana’s heart thuds a beat faster for just a second. “I know you must be going through a rough time right now.”
It comes out sounding like pity more than anything, and Santana hates it. “I don’t need friends.”
Rachel shrugs, the corner of her mouth turning up just slightly. “You have one anyway.”
And then, like suddenly this bathroom has turned into the fucking Twilight Zone Rachel pushes up on her toes a little, and presses her mouth to Santana’s, firmly, and with little hesitation.
There are not words in the English dictionary to describe the kind of shock that runs through Santana’s body.
But Rachel’s lips are warm, and persistent, and Santana’s traitorous body reacts without another thought. It takes a second too long for Santana to get her arms up and push Rachel away, holding her by the biceps and staring at her with wide eyes.
Her expression is mirrored on Rachel’s face, like Rachel can’t believe that kiss lasted a few seconds past friendly either, and it’d be comical if Santana wasn’t busy feeling a few other emotions.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, a wary silence sitting between them. Santana seriously considers shoving Rachel’s head in a nearby toilet, but Rachel’s chest is moving up and down heavily, her body warm where it’s touching Santana’s, and it’s annoyingly distracting. Santana hates the way her lips are still a little wet from the kiss, and her breathing isn’t exactly even. Her body was always a few steps off track from her brain in the most inconvenient of ways.
It’s been tragically long since she’s made out with anyone, even longer since she’s had sex, and dear god in heaven she’s actually considering kissing Rachel again. An off-on gay switch would be a fucking godsend right now.
She’s got just a second to decide, to allow dignity to grab a hold of her again, but her libido wins out, and really, that wasn’t a fair fight to begin with anyway.
Rachel gasps when Santana moves forward, pressing their lips together again. Two seconds later, Santana’s twirling them around, pushing Rachel against the bathroom door, and smirking at the way Rachel’s chest arches towards her.
It’s hard not to compare. Santana’s spent so long doing this kind of activity with one person in particular that her brain automatically tells her things like Rachel’s shorter than Santana’s used to, and her hair feels different between Santana’s fingers. Rachel uses her teeth to kiss instead of her tongue, biting Santana’s bottom lip in a way that flushes all regret out of Santana’s system.
It’s not until she’s got her hand up Rachel’s shirt, one hand fisted in brown hair, that Santana’s able to force her brain to stop thinking.
It turns out Rachel’s nose doesn’t get in the way of any of their kissing, and when Rachel inhales sharply at the leg Santana presses between hers, Santana thinks she’s been wrong about a lot of things when it comes to Rachel.
Hips pushing forward, Santana rocks her leg up into Rachel, smirking against Rachel’s mouth at the warmth she can feel through her jeans. She hooks her hand under Rachel’s thigh and pulls her leg up, twisting it around her own hip, and laughing at the obvious way Rachel responds to the new angle.
“Desperate much, Berry?”
Rachel’s let’s out a breathless, “I could say the same about you.”
Santana raises an eyebrow at that. “I’m not the one practically begging for it right now.”
Taking a deep breath, Rachel smiles softly in a way that totally concerns Santana before bringing her hands down in between them to tug at the top button of Santana’s jeans.
Her stomach muscles clench, and she gasps sharply. Rachel smirks. Bitch.
“Whatever,” Santana says. It’s hard to keep her voice even while Rachel’s hands are tugging the zipper down on her jeans slowly. “Don’t make a thing of it.”
Small, but strong fingers are sliding past Santana’s waistband, and she’s practically shaking at the feeling of it. Isn’t Rachel supposed to be the virgin in the room?
Her head moves past Rachel’s shoulder so that her forehead is pressed against the bathroom door, and she squeezes her eyes shut when Rachel’s fingers find purchase in wet heat, flicking against her clit with the confidence of a pro. There is something super backwards about everything going on right now.
Santana should be embarrassed by how ready she is. In the back of her head there’s a voice screaming at her to get herself together, but fuck it’s been forever since she felt like this. It wouldn’t be so hard to stomach if it weren’t Rachel Berry with her hand down Santana’s pants, but beggers can’t be choosers.
Her head drops down to Rachel’s shoulder, hips rocking forward with the movements of the fingers stroking Santana so effortlessly, and she presses kisses up Rachel’s neck, smirking at the way Rachel tilts to the side, neck muscles stretching under her mouth.
Rachel’s moving her own hips with against Santana’s leg, and it’s a little awkward for a second as they try to find a rhythm against the bathroom door, but find one they do.
It’s not long before Santana’s biting her bottom lip, and pressing hard against Rachel’s body, her stomach tightening violently before releasing on a heavy exhale. Rachel’s free hand clenches in the fabric of Santana’s shirt, and she lets out a muffled cry against Santana’s shoulder, hips pushing firmly against Santana’s leg.
They catch their breath while still entwined, and Santana clenches her jaw when Rachel removes her hand from Santana’s pants.
A few moments later, Santana pushes away, shaky fingers buttoning her jeans as fast as she can.
Rachel stays leaned up against the door. “Well that was...”
“Something you won’t tell anyone about,” Santana finishes for her in a voice that brokers no argument.
Rachel laughs, shrugging. “No one would believe me anyway.”
Santana can’t really argue with that, but she knows a few people that would totally believe it, and they’re really the last people she wants to hear about any of this.
“You didn’t hesitate before sticking your arm down my pants like a damn seasoned carpet muncher, did you, Berry? If I didn’t know better I’d say...”
There’s a smile on Rachel’s face that does more to confuse Santana than anything. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Santana.”
Straightening her clothing one last time, Santana laughs genuinely, feeling relaxed for a just a moment. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Rachel smooths a hand down her skirt, bites her lip as she looks down at the floor, and Santana has to put effort into not smiling at the sight.
“Thanks,” Rachel says softly, the words tightening in Santana’s stomach.
Santana laughs, pulls Rachel away from the door to unlock it. As she leaves, she throws an absent, “don’t mention it, seriously,” over her shoulder, and lets the door slam shut.
Later that day, when she finds out Rachel decided not to go through with the surgery, and the subject is officially dropped in glee club, Santana holds in a smile until she’s alone.
Rachel/Santana, hard R, 2k words, spoilers for 2x18, stop acting like you aren't hot, it's pissing me off
written with the help of a random tfln. unbeta-ed and pointless again. deal with it.
--
This is not about some strange altruistic bone Santana’s found deep inside her all of a sudden, or some weird buried feelings for Rachel Berry or anything like that. It’s not about team camaraderie, or making amends for pass misdeeds. It’s none of that.
Let’s just be clear here. Santana’s number one motivator for seeking Rachel out after glee is annoyance.
If she has to sit through practice and listen to everyone yammer on and on about Rachel’s nose, the virtue of plastic surgery, and all that loving the person on the inside bullshit she actually might cut someone. Like, this is a serious safety concern that she needs to deal with.
So deal with it she does.
Rachel’s in the first floor girl’s bathroom when Santana finds her, staring at the mirror as she gingerly touches her nose, now barely bruised looking. Her hips are pressed up against the sink in front of her, her heels off the ground as she leans forward. Santana has to shake her head against the way her gaze travels up the backs of Rachel’s leg, warmth pooling appreciatively in her stomach at Rachel’s choice of skirts.
God, she hates how gay she is sometimes. There should really be a way to control that. Maybe a convenient off-on switch or something so Santana doesn’t have to deal with the emotional damage of finding someone so supremely annoying attractive. Seriously, there is a reason she tries to look at Rachel as little as possible.
She locks the bathroom door behind her, because no way in hell is someone going to find out she’s voluntarily stepped into a small space with Rachel, and steps closer, forcing herself to focus.
“When I said change things you don’t like about yourself, I didn’t mean try to look more like wannabe princess Quinn Fabray,” Santana says, her voice dripping with mockery.
Rachel jumps a little at the sound of Santana’s voice like she didn’t just hear the door open and shut, but recovers, putting on an air of indifference that Santana knows is fake. It kind of pisses her off.
“Well what did you mean, Santana? Because aspiring to look like one of the prettiest girls in school doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”
Rolling her eyes, Santana laughs. “As if.”
Rachel turns to her, eyebrow arched slightly in question.
“Fabray? Hottest girl in school? Please.” Santana laughs. “Spare me.”
“And who, pray tell, would it be if not Quinn?”
Santana gestures down her body, and gives Rachel a pointed look. “That’s a serious question? You have eyes, don’t you? I mean, you still can see, right? Finn didn’t misshape your nose so badly that it’s like obstructing your vision?”
“Right,” Rachel draws out around a chuckle, turning back to observe herself in the mirror.
“I’m just saying,” Santana says reasonably, shrugging and propping her hip against the sink next to Rachel, “you look hideous in those pictures, so you need to stop passing them around all the time looking for everyone’s opinion. They’re ugly. Don’t go through with it.”
Rachel sighs, sounding exasperated. Santana barely stops the laugh that wants to come out at how dramatically Rachel turns back to look at her again. “You’re the one that told me to do this in the first place, Santana. I don’t understand where all this is coming from.”
“I told you to change shit about yourself if you don’t like it. Yeah, your nose is huge, and I am kind of concerned for the eyeballs of anyone desperate enough to make out with you, but you’re the one who decided you wanted to change it. Don’t put that on me.”
With something like a pout on her face, Rachel touches the bridge of her nose again with the tips of her fingers. “You already said it was ugly the other day. Honestly, I understood you the first time.”
“How is it that someone that’s so good at talking is so terrible at listening?”
A cautious laugh bubbles out of Rachel. The sound is light, and attractive, and Santana hates that her body reacts to it, stomach flipping over.
“I think that’s usually how it goes actually.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “You don’t need a damn nose job, Rachel. I told you to get one if you wanted to and I stand by that. So make a damn decision, and then shut the hell up about it so my ears don’t start bleeding.”
“Look,” Rachel says, wringing her hands together, and looking at the floor. “I know I’m not pretty like Quinn, or you for that matter, so-”
Santana cuts her off. “Stop acting like you aren’t hot. It’s pissing me off.”
Startled brown eyes whip up to stare at Santana. “What?”
God, she so did not want the conversation to steer this way, but whatever. She’s here now, and maybe it’ll finally do the trick and Rachel will stop all the damn talking in glee club. Santana may be hesitant to admit it in public, but Rachel’s a lot more easy to tolerate when all she’s doing is singing. When she’s singing it’s almost easy to forget that normal, offstage, high schooler Rachel Berry is like a rash she can’t get rid of.
“Your nose is huge. Fact,” Santana deadpans. “Your nose is also not your entire freakin’ body, so wise up, dumb ass. You’re not fugly like you clearly believe.”
“I feel like you might be complimenting me, but I can’t tell because you’re doing it so rudely.”
“You’re blind if you don’t realize that you’re not completely unfuckable,” Santana confesses, shaking her head.
Rachel laughs, but it sounds off. “I think I could present evidence to the contrary. Evidence which you have amply provided me throughout the years.”
Santana shrugs, unapologetic. “You’re annoying. And short. But you’re not disfigured or anything. Well, you weren’t until Finn flailed around like an uncoordinated gorilla, but that’s only temporary.”
After a beat, Rachel allows herself a curious smile, a faint blush suddenly appearing in her cheeks. It’s attractive in way that’s hard for Santana to resist noticing. “Thanks.”
Santana nods once, smirking for a job well done, and turns to leave. “Good.”
She’s got her hand on the lock of the door when Rachel’s voice stops her. “I’m sorry about Brittany.”
Santana’s chest squeezes uncomfortably. A wince crosses her face, and she’s glad she’s facing the door to hide it. “What are you talking about?” she asks lowly, turning her head slightly to look back at Rachel.
Footsteps pace towards her before a small hand grabs her arm, and turns her gently around. Santana blames the fact that she’s still a little shocked Rachel would dare touch her for her lack of reaction.
“You’re a nice person, Santana,” Rachel says with a smile. “A lot nicer than you pretend to be. Brittany doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
Santana laughs bitterly, and throws Rachel a dark smile, pulling her fingers off her arm, and leaning in close. “Actually, Brittany’s my best friend, and she knows exactly what she’s missing. And, for the record, Brittany is none of your business. Talk about her again like that to me, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a nose to fix.”
“I’m just trying to be a friend,” Rachel protests, looking up at Santana with such genuine concern that Santana’s heart thuds a beat faster for just a second. “I know you must be going through a rough time right now.”
It comes out sounding like pity more than anything, and Santana hates it. “I don’t need friends.”
Rachel shrugs, the corner of her mouth turning up just slightly. “You have one anyway.”
And then, like suddenly this bathroom has turned into the fucking Twilight Zone Rachel pushes up on her toes a little, and presses her mouth to Santana’s, firmly, and with little hesitation.
There are not words in the English dictionary to describe the kind of shock that runs through Santana’s body.
But Rachel’s lips are warm, and persistent, and Santana’s traitorous body reacts without another thought. It takes a second too long for Santana to get her arms up and push Rachel away, holding her by the biceps and staring at her with wide eyes.
Her expression is mirrored on Rachel’s face, like Rachel can’t believe that kiss lasted a few seconds past friendly either, and it’d be comical if Santana wasn’t busy feeling a few other emotions.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, a wary silence sitting between them. Santana seriously considers shoving Rachel’s head in a nearby toilet, but Rachel’s chest is moving up and down heavily, her body warm where it’s touching Santana’s, and it’s annoyingly distracting. Santana hates the way her lips are still a little wet from the kiss, and her breathing isn’t exactly even. Her body was always a few steps off track from her brain in the most inconvenient of ways.
It’s been tragically long since she’s made out with anyone, even longer since she’s had sex, and dear god in heaven she’s actually considering kissing Rachel again. An off-on gay switch would be a fucking godsend right now.
She’s got just a second to decide, to allow dignity to grab a hold of her again, but her libido wins out, and really, that wasn’t a fair fight to begin with anyway.
Rachel gasps when Santana moves forward, pressing their lips together again. Two seconds later, Santana’s twirling them around, pushing Rachel against the bathroom door, and smirking at the way Rachel’s chest arches towards her.
It’s hard not to compare. Santana’s spent so long doing this kind of activity with one person in particular that her brain automatically tells her things like Rachel’s shorter than Santana’s used to, and her hair feels different between Santana’s fingers. Rachel uses her teeth to kiss instead of her tongue, biting Santana’s bottom lip in a way that flushes all regret out of Santana’s system.
It’s not until she’s got her hand up Rachel’s shirt, one hand fisted in brown hair, that Santana’s able to force her brain to stop thinking.
It turns out Rachel’s nose doesn’t get in the way of any of their kissing, and when Rachel inhales sharply at the leg Santana presses between hers, Santana thinks she’s been wrong about a lot of things when it comes to Rachel.
Hips pushing forward, Santana rocks her leg up into Rachel, smirking against Rachel’s mouth at the warmth she can feel through her jeans. She hooks her hand under Rachel’s thigh and pulls her leg up, twisting it around her own hip, and laughing at the obvious way Rachel responds to the new angle.
“Desperate much, Berry?”
Rachel’s let’s out a breathless, “I could say the same about you.”
Santana raises an eyebrow at that. “I’m not the one practically begging for it right now.”
Taking a deep breath, Rachel smiles softly in a way that totally concerns Santana before bringing her hands down in between them to tug at the top button of Santana’s jeans.
Her stomach muscles clench, and she gasps sharply. Rachel smirks. Bitch.
“Whatever,” Santana says. It’s hard to keep her voice even while Rachel’s hands are tugging the zipper down on her jeans slowly. “Don’t make a thing of it.”
Small, but strong fingers are sliding past Santana’s waistband, and she’s practically shaking at the feeling of it. Isn’t Rachel supposed to be the virgin in the room?
Her head moves past Rachel’s shoulder so that her forehead is pressed against the bathroom door, and she squeezes her eyes shut when Rachel’s fingers find purchase in wet heat, flicking against her clit with the confidence of a pro. There is something super backwards about everything going on right now.
Santana should be embarrassed by how ready she is. In the back of her head there’s a voice screaming at her to get herself together, but fuck it’s been forever since she felt like this. It wouldn’t be so hard to stomach if it weren’t Rachel Berry with her hand down Santana’s pants, but beggers can’t be choosers.
Her head drops down to Rachel’s shoulder, hips rocking forward with the movements of the fingers stroking Santana so effortlessly, and she presses kisses up Rachel’s neck, smirking at the way Rachel tilts to the side, neck muscles stretching under her mouth.
Rachel’s moving her own hips with against Santana’s leg, and it’s a little awkward for a second as they try to find a rhythm against the bathroom door, but find one they do.
It’s not long before Santana’s biting her bottom lip, and pressing hard against Rachel’s body, her stomach tightening violently before releasing on a heavy exhale. Rachel’s free hand clenches in the fabric of Santana’s shirt, and she lets out a muffled cry against Santana’s shoulder, hips pushing firmly against Santana’s leg.
They catch their breath while still entwined, and Santana clenches her jaw when Rachel removes her hand from Santana’s pants.
A few moments later, Santana pushes away, shaky fingers buttoning her jeans as fast as she can.
Rachel stays leaned up against the door. “Well that was...”
“Something you won’t tell anyone about,” Santana finishes for her in a voice that brokers no argument.
Rachel laughs, shrugging. “No one would believe me anyway.”
Santana can’t really argue with that, but she knows a few people that would totally believe it, and they’re really the last people she wants to hear about any of this.
“You didn’t hesitate before sticking your arm down my pants like a damn seasoned carpet muncher, did you, Berry? If I didn’t know better I’d say...”
There’s a smile on Rachel’s face that does more to confuse Santana than anything. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Santana.”
Straightening her clothing one last time, Santana laughs genuinely, feeling relaxed for a just a moment. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Rachel smooths a hand down her skirt, bites her lip as she looks down at the floor, and Santana has to put effort into not smiling at the sight.
“Thanks,” Rachel says softly, the words tightening in Santana’s stomach.
Santana laughs, pulls Rachel away from the door to unlock it. As she leaves, she throws an absent, “don’t mention it, seriously,” over her shoulder, and lets the door slam shut.
Later that day, when she finds out Rachel decided not to go through with the surgery, and the subject is officially dropped in glee club, Santana holds in a smile until she’s alone.