Fic: When It Was Easier
Things hadn't always been quite so complicated for Santana and Quinn.
When they got too loud, she’d always go outside. Usually, she’d sit on the front porch swing, so she wouldn’t have to be so far away. One summer evening, she sat on the porch, knees drawn up to her chest, shivering even though the July night was still warm, because even out in the front of the house, she could still hear them.
“Hey! Quinn!” a familiar voice called, and she jerked her head up.
There at the bottom of her driveway, in cutoff jeans and some older cousin’s McKinley Titans t-shirt, stood Santana, resting her arms on the handlebars of her new bike. “What’re you doin’?” she asked, wheeling the bike up the driveway.
“Don’t!” Quinn said, leaping off the porch.
“What?” Santana frowned, but she didn’t protest when Quinn herded her and the bike back to the sidewalk. “You okay?” she asked instead.
“Yeah, of course, I’m fine,” Quinn insisted, but Santana had known her since preschool.
“Yeah, you’re not fine,” she said, but she just smirked instead of asking why. “Get on.”
“Santana…”
“Come on. You loved it when we were little.”
“It was dangerous!”
“Did I ever hurt you?”
Quinn sighed, looking from the bike to her oldest friend’s sly grin and back. “Okay,” she gave in quietly, and Santana whooped with delight.
Once Quinn was balanced on the handlebars, Santana pushed off and steered the bike down the street, wobbling at first because they hadn’t done this since they were eight. Quinn shrieked, and gripped Santana’s arms, but Santana only laughed, her confidence never leaving her. “Calm down,” she ordered, and Quinn scowled but managed to keep herself in check as Santana took them around the neighborhood in lazy loops.
After ten minutes or so, she took a sharp left, and Quinn shrieked again, which made Santana roar with laughter. “Santana Lopez, you did that on purpose! Let me off this bike right now!” Quinn commanded, furious, but Santana refused to listen to her.
“You love it, Q,” she singsonged, and suddenly they were headed for the only hill in the neighborhood.
“Santana, we can’t go down Tenby, we can’t, we can’t,” Quinn insisted, beginning to panic, but Santana wouldn’t hear her.
“Hold on tight,” she whispered, leaning forward, and Quinn shivered as her friend’s breath tickled the back of her neck.
“Santana!” Quinn yelled, but they were already heading down, down, the wind rushing past her face, as Santana hollered with pure glee behind her.
Halfway down the hill, Quinn suddenly forgot how to feel scared, and she yelled along with her friend. When they got to the bottom, Santana was delighted, shouting that she knew Quinn would love it, and Quinn, hating to admit that Santana was right, merely blushed and kept her mouth shut. Knowing she’d won whether Quinn would admit it or not, Santana pedaled back toward the Fabrays’, slow and steady the whole way.
Quinn should have known Santana’s apparent new consideration for her feelings was too good to be true. Just as she was riding past the Fabrays’ mailbox, she made the front wheel wobble, and Quinn, startled, nearly leapt off the bike. She was still holding onto the handlebars, though, and she ended up toppling them both over. Santana got tangled up in the bike, but Quinn quickly pulled herself out from underneath it. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously, trying to pick up the bike.
Santana didn’t say anything or try to move. “Santana!” Quinn yelled, and her friend just grinned.
“You’re a klutz,” she teased, pushing the bike off her.
“I am not,” she frowned, but Santana nodded. “Get up,” she ordered, losing patience.
“No,” Santana grinned, and she tugged Quinn back into the grass with her.
Quinn ended up falling half on top of Santana, but when she tried to move, Santana wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “Relax, okay?”
“I’m dirty,” she complained faintly, but being close to Santana right then was actually really nice.
“It’s good for you,” Santana replied absently, and Quinn shifted against her, trying to get more comfortable.
Without warning, Santana turned her head, and suddenly their faces were inches apart. “What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, breathless and not sure why.
Santana didn’t say anything, just watched Quinn’s eyes. When Quinn saw her friend’s gaze move to her lips, her own eyes closed, and then Santana’s lips were pressed against hers. Her heart started hammering in her chest, and part of her was insisting that this wasn’t the way her first kiss should have happened: in the grass, dirty and sweaty-with a girl. But a much bigger part of her was really only feeling one thing: she didn’t want Santana to pull away. Ever.
But Santana had suddenly become shy, and she pulled away quickly. She tried to struggle away, but Quinn was still lying on her arm. “Don’t,” she said quietly, and Santana was instantly stilled.
“Quinn-”
“Don’t,” Quinn begged, and so Santana said nothing.
And they lay there in the grass until long after the streetlights had come on.
When they got too loud, she’d always go outside. Usually, she’d sit on the front porch swing, so she wouldn’t have to be so far away. One summer evening, she sat on the porch, knees drawn up to her chest, shivering even though the July night was still warm, because even out in the front of the house, she could still hear them.
“Hey! Quinn!” a familiar voice called, and she jerked her head up.
There at the bottom of her driveway, in cutoff jeans and some older cousin’s McKinley Titans t-shirt, stood Santana, resting her arms on the handlebars of her new bike. “What’re you doin’?” she asked, wheeling the bike up the driveway.
“Don’t!” Quinn said, leaping off the porch.
“What?” Santana frowned, but she didn’t protest when Quinn herded her and the bike back to the sidewalk. “You okay?” she asked instead.
“Yeah, of course, I’m fine,” Quinn insisted, but Santana had known her since preschool.
“Yeah, you’re not fine,” she said, but she just smirked instead of asking why. “Get on.”
“Santana…”
“Come on. You loved it when we were little.”
“It was dangerous!”
“Did I ever hurt you?”
Quinn sighed, looking from the bike to her oldest friend’s sly grin and back. “Okay,” she gave in quietly, and Santana whooped with delight.
Once Quinn was balanced on the handlebars, Santana pushed off and steered the bike down the street, wobbling at first because they hadn’t done this since they were eight. Quinn shrieked, and gripped Santana’s arms, but Santana only laughed, her confidence never leaving her. “Calm down,” she ordered, and Quinn scowled but managed to keep herself in check as Santana took them around the neighborhood in lazy loops.
After ten minutes or so, she took a sharp left, and Quinn shrieked again, which made Santana roar with laughter. “Santana Lopez, you did that on purpose! Let me off this bike right now!” Quinn commanded, furious, but Santana refused to listen to her.
“You love it, Q,” she singsonged, and suddenly they were headed for the only hill in the neighborhood.
“Santana, we can’t go down Tenby, we can’t, we can’t,” Quinn insisted, beginning to panic, but Santana wouldn’t hear her.
“Hold on tight,” she whispered, leaning forward, and Quinn shivered as her friend’s breath tickled the back of her neck.
“Santana!” Quinn yelled, but they were already heading down, down, the wind rushing past her face, as Santana hollered with pure glee behind her.
Halfway down the hill, Quinn suddenly forgot how to feel scared, and she yelled along with her friend. When they got to the bottom, Santana was delighted, shouting that she knew Quinn would love it, and Quinn, hating to admit that Santana was right, merely blushed and kept her mouth shut. Knowing she’d won whether Quinn would admit it or not, Santana pedaled back toward the Fabrays’, slow and steady the whole way.
Quinn should have known Santana’s apparent new consideration for her feelings was too good to be true. Just as she was riding past the Fabrays’ mailbox, she made the front wheel wobble, and Quinn, startled, nearly leapt off the bike. She was still holding onto the handlebars, though, and she ended up toppling them both over. Santana got tangled up in the bike, but Quinn quickly pulled herself out from underneath it. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously, trying to pick up the bike.
Santana didn’t say anything or try to move. “Santana!” Quinn yelled, and her friend just grinned.
“You’re a klutz,” she teased, pushing the bike off her.
“I am not,” she frowned, but Santana nodded. “Get up,” she ordered, losing patience.
“No,” Santana grinned, and she tugged Quinn back into the grass with her.
Quinn ended up falling half on top of Santana, but when she tried to move, Santana wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “Relax, okay?”
“I’m dirty,” she complained faintly, but being close to Santana right then was actually really nice.
“It’s good for you,” Santana replied absently, and Quinn shifted against her, trying to get more comfortable.
Without warning, Santana turned her head, and suddenly their faces were inches apart. “What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, breathless and not sure why.
Santana didn’t say anything, just watched Quinn’s eyes. When Quinn saw her friend’s gaze move to her lips, her own eyes closed, and then Santana’s lips were pressed against hers. Her heart started hammering in her chest, and part of her was insisting that this wasn’t the way her first kiss should have happened: in the grass, dirty and sweaty-with a girl. But a much bigger part of her was really only feeling one thing: she didn’t want Santana to pull away. Ever.
But Santana had suddenly become shy, and she pulled away quickly. She tried to struggle away, but Quinn was still lying on her arm. “Don’t,” she said quietly, and Santana was instantly stilled.
“Quinn-”
“Don’t,” Quinn begged, and so Santana said nothing.
And they lay there in the grass until long after the streetlights had come on.