I'll Be There for You -- Glee: Quinn/Santana -- Chapter 5/8
Title: I'll Be There For You
Chapter: 5/8
Author: perfectly_vague
Rating: R (language, adult themes)
Disclaimer: I own zero rights to Glee.
Summary: Quinn's had it with Santana being a different person out in the world than she is behind closed doors. Same sucky summary... same request that you don't let it deter you! :p This is the result of one of the iTunes shuffle drabbles I posted not long ago. As always, any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy!
WARNING: This chapter contains explicit content. If that does not sound like your cup of tea, please do not read on.
"We're waiting, Santana!" Mrs. Lopez shouted at her daughter, who had just celebrated her 18th birthday a few days earlier.
Seated on a kitchen stool that felt barely an inch off the ground, Santana looked up at her parents, who were standing over her, with folded arms. "I told you," she mumbled, "it just seemed like a good idea at the time."
For the first time since the lecture began, Mr. Lopez cut in, his voice loud and thunderous as it tended to be when he wasn't in the mood for Santana's crap. "If you could have ever thought that sounded like a good idea, there must be something horribly wrong with your brain," he said, his features stony and serious. "Really. After everything your mother and I have given you, all our sacrifices and hard work to set a good example for you, even though we showed you so much leniency, and in return, you give us disrespect!"
"I didn't mean to --"
"Save it!" her father's voice boomed once more. "I will not accept such blatant lies! You cashed in every single savings bond that your family set aside for your education and spent it on foolishness, and then you try to tell us that you didn't think it would end poorly. Have none of our lessons gotten through to you over the years? Not a one?"
The word "foolishness" instantly made Santana's skin itch. She felt her eyes threaten to well up, and before they could, she stood from the chair and to closer eye level to her parents. They were wrong about her, and she had to try to make them see that. "I thought you guys taught me to be an individual who works hard to get what she wants! Sure, art might not be a path that you agree with or support, but I've worked HARD to get as good as I am, and I had to try and get my work seen! Don't I get any credit for taking that initiative?"
"And did your initiative that cost you thousands of dollars end up furthering your art fantasy?" Mrs. Lopez challenged.
Santana remained silent, as both Mr. and Mrs. Lopez already knew that the answer was no. She didn't dare tell them the part about finding out after the fact that it was actually no more than one of those online-based scams that requires an entrance fee to have your work "enhanced" and "anthologized" in a catalog, only to never follow through on the deal. Only Quinn knew that part of the story.
"Exactly," Mr. Lopez replied to Santana's silence. "So, you were arrogant, you were foolish, you were wasteful, and now you have nothing to show for it. Not to mention that valuable funding that could have gone toward your tuition is now gone."
Taking her seat once more, Santana sighed dejectedly. "I'm sorry."
"We're sorry, too," Mrs. Lopez stated flatly. "Your father and I haven't made a decision yet, but we are not going to pay back that money that you wasted away, so, either you take out loans or you get a job or you try for a scholarship, but you got into this situation, and you need to fix it somehow."
Without needing to be said, the conversation was over, and Santana stood in silence and walked upstairs to her room. It was one of the many times she learned that expectations of perfection mixed with a rebellious nature rarely ended well.
Standing directly inside the door to the bedroom they shared, Quinn pulled Santana into a hug, which she only half-reciprocated, body stiffening up in an attempt to once more suppress any threats of tears.
"I heard everything," Quinn spoke softly, "and for what it's worth, I think they were being too hard on you."
Walking over to the closet, Santana began mindlessly leafing through her clothes. "It's whatever," she said with a shrug.
Quinn crept behind Santana and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I know it's bothering you, even if you say it isn't," she gently prodded.
Instead of gratefulness, pride swelled within Santana as she shrugged off Quinn's embrace. "Quinn, it's not, like a big deal or anything. I'm just sick of being a fuck-up that's all."
Taking a step back, Quinn continued to attempt reason on her girlfriend. "Babe, you are not a fuck-up, okay? Not even close. You are one of the smartest, most talented --"
"Quinn, stop it, okay?! I DO fuck things up, all the time! I get in trouble with Figgins, like, weekly, I was always getting shit on Cheerios, my parents think I'm this juvenile discipline problem, even the freaking Glee club hates me. I don't need to, like, cry about it or anything, I'm just sick of it, that's all. Just fucking drop it," Santana barked, flinging herself backward on the bed and folding her arms tightly across her chest.
After the words left her mouth, she wished, as usual, that she had thought a little more before acting, especially since she didn't miss the look of discouragement flash through Quinn's eyes. But even if she would never admit it aloud, Santana was always silently grateful for Quinn's refusal to "drop it" right away when she truly needed some encouragement -- and her ability to "read minds."
Quinn sat on the edge of the bed facing Santana. "One last thing, and then I'll drop if," she started. "Should you should maybe try to consider the end result of things more rather than making impulse decisions? Probably. But if you're waiting for me to call you a fuck-up, you'll have to keep waiting, because I never will. You're human, you make mistakes, and for every quality that needs work, you have 2 amazing ones, if not more; qualities that I love. So, don't be so hard on yourself."
Of course now that Santana needed those words of encouragement more than ever before, they were no where to be found.
Literally. In the weeks since Valentine's Day, it seemed like she and Quinn barely even saw each other anymore. At first, Santana would do her best to rush home after a long day of additional penance to that prick Jerry for "losing the Midwest deal." But if it wasn't enough of a challenge to catch Quinn awake, it was to catch her at all. Santana's mind traveled through purgatory and back wondering where the other girl was; if she was meeting girls, if she was seeing someone, and then she remembered that her thinking that way was what got her in trouble before with the whole Becca debacle, so she did everything possible to lengthen her time away from the apartment.
The rare times that they did end up at the same place at the same time, strangely, things were seemingly more civil than ever. Small talk was upheld, pleasant smiles were exchanged... a far cry from how things were at the beginning. In its own way, however, this startled Santana more than ever. Now, instead of being able to write off the awkwardness to unresolved feelings brewing under the surface, they felt more like roommates... friends. Not exes. Not even a reminder of everything they shared.
Hands bustling with files and other work materials, Santana arrived back at the apartment at noon. The last thing she wanted to do was fly to fucking God-forsaken Arizona for a week, but it was yet another consequence she had to deal with. She hadn't gotten a chance to mention to Quinn she'd be leaving yet, but she figured she'd worry about that later, since she still had to shower, change, and pack for her 3:35 flight.
Santana found showering to be one of life's simple joys, and a ritual of sorts she always took solace in. She always flung open and shut the bathroom door with a flair, stripped off her clothes in one swift motion, and examined herself in the mirror for a few moments before running the water.
What wasn't part of her ritual was Quinn barging through the door -- completely naked.
Quinn quickly crossed her legs and used her hands and arms to cover her upper body. "Ohhhh, my God! --"
" -- Holy shit! What are you doing home?" Santana jolted backward, mimicking the motion.
"Tuesday's my new day off! What are you doing home?" Quinn returned.
"Business trip. I fly out in a few hours," Santana answered, her heartbeat starting to deescalate.
"Oh," Quinn exhaled, appearing slightly disappointed. There was a moment of painfully awkward silence, and Santana was a bit surprised that Quinn hadn't raced out already, but she wasn't going to say anything. "Um, can you, hand me a towel?" she continued.
Santana turned to the rack behind her, grabbing Quinn's favorite towel before turning back to face her. Still, she paused before handing it over, momentarily hypnotized by the body she missed so much, not to mention some slight, yet noticeable changes. "You've filled out a bit," she commented.
The blonde raised her eyebrows and shifted so that her left arm was covering her upper body and reached for the towel with her right. "Wow, thanks," she scoffed, "That has to be the nicest way anyone's ever told me I'm getting fat."
The shorter girl pulled the towel back out of reach. A risk, she realized, but she wanted to make sure she was heard. "No! Not fat. I mean - it looks good. You're getting a nice shape." Santana absent-mindedly ran her hand over Quinn's bare hip, and before she could retract it, she couldn't help but notice the shuddered exhale that escaped the other girl's lips.
Quinn cleared her throat as her posture visibly relaxed. "Well, thanks. You look really good, too."
Santana suppressed a smile. She was glad her former girlfriend had noticed that she had started going to the gym to make up for her increasingly annoying and sedentary job. The fact that it lengthened her time away from the apartment, putting her at home usually after Quinn was asleep, was an additional motivation; it was easier to pretend the other girl wasn't ignoring her when she was passed out.
With a hard swallow, Santana lifted her remaining hand and gripped Quinn's other hip tightly, purposefully. She then let her burning brown eyes take their time working their way up the blonde's body until they finally locked with a smoky hazel gaze.
"Santana..." Quinn respired with a shiver, her tone ambiguous, but not enough to deter the Latina from at least trying to go for the thing she so desperately had been yearning for.
Leaning closer, Santana's eyes rolled back when their naked torsos connected, feeling immediate heat trapped between them. "Push me away if you don't want this..."
When she was close enough to feel Quinn's bated breath on her lips, she knew she had given the other girl ample time to protest, and with a deep exhale, crashed her mouth relentlessly into Quinn's.
It was electrifying.
Nothing subdued about their frantic connection, Santana and Quinn began to melt, to fuse together with every heated kiss and fiery touch. The blonde was near-panting with a dizzy look in her eyes as pale limbs gave way to a more sturdy, tan-skinned foundation. Santana felt Quinn's will to stand on her own begin to deplete and with a hand behind the blonde's head, quickly backed her into the now closed bathroom door to provide the added support.
As the feeling of Quinn's tender lips against her neck created a delicious yet insatiable ache all over her body, Santana pressed herself even closer to the other girl, her knee brushing between Quinn's legs. Instantly, she was rewarded with a guttural groan from the blonde, her knee now covered in moisture.
"God, you're so wet," Santana couldn't help but utter.
She considered several times doing this "the right way" by taking Quinn and their heated connection to the bedroom, but part of her was terrified to move. This was the closest they had been in weeks, and it was Santana's one chance to remind Quinn of the magic that only the two of them together could create.
Dragging her fingertips down silky skin, Santana left a trail of goosebumps in tow until everything -- time, breathing, heartbeats -- seemed to stop when her right hand finally became reacquainted with Quinn's inner thigh for the first time in a long time.
When Santana entered Quinn, two fingers buried in eager, hot wetness, both of them sharply gasped.
She knew she had correctly remembered the exact pace, rhythm, and angle that drove Quinn wild when the blonde threw her head back against the bathroom door, high-pitched moans fleeing her involuntarily. "So... good," she whispered quietly, having completely given in to Santana's touch.
The gentle, almost frail tone in Quinn's voice sent a euphoric chill straight up Santana's back. She knew that tone. It wasn't the one Quinn used when they were forced to have a quickie before work or on a 15-minute lunch break. It wasn't the one Quinn used after sending sexually-charged text messages all day detailing how horny she was and everything she wanted to do to Santana when she got home. This was the tone that Quinn reserved for making love; for the utterances between soft, meaningful kisses brought on by a reaffirming of their powerful, mutual adoration for one another. Quinn still loved her. Quinn was still IN love with her.
Santana stilled her fingers inside of Quinn, withdrawing slowly before re-entering just as slowly and prompting hazel eyes to open and look her way, just as she hoped. She wanted their eyes to meet when she said this.
"Yes..." Santana breathed out shakily, "this IS so good."
Chapter: 5/8
Author: perfectly_vague
Rating: R (language, adult themes)
Disclaimer: I own zero rights to Glee.
Summary: Quinn's had it with Santana being a different person out in the world than she is behind closed doors. Same sucky summary... same request that you don't let it deter you! :p This is the result of one of the iTunes shuffle drabbles I posted not long ago. As always, any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy!
WARNING: This chapter contains explicit content. If that does not sound like your cup of tea, please do not read on.
"We're waiting, Santana!" Mrs. Lopez shouted at her daughter, who had just celebrated her 18th birthday a few days earlier.
Seated on a kitchen stool that felt barely an inch off the ground, Santana looked up at her parents, who were standing over her, with folded arms. "I told you," she mumbled, "it just seemed like a good idea at the time."
For the first time since the lecture began, Mr. Lopez cut in, his voice loud and thunderous as it tended to be when he wasn't in the mood for Santana's crap. "If you could have ever thought that sounded like a good idea, there must be something horribly wrong with your brain," he said, his features stony and serious. "Really. After everything your mother and I have given you, all our sacrifices and hard work to set a good example for you, even though we showed you so much leniency, and in return, you give us disrespect!"
"I didn't mean to --"
"Save it!" her father's voice boomed once more. "I will not accept such blatant lies! You cashed in every single savings bond that your family set aside for your education and spent it on foolishness, and then you try to tell us that you didn't think it would end poorly. Have none of our lessons gotten through to you over the years? Not a one?"
The word "foolishness" instantly made Santana's skin itch. She felt her eyes threaten to well up, and before they could, she stood from the chair and to closer eye level to her parents. They were wrong about her, and she had to try to make them see that. "I thought you guys taught me to be an individual who works hard to get what she wants! Sure, art might not be a path that you agree with or support, but I've worked HARD to get as good as I am, and I had to try and get my work seen! Don't I get any credit for taking that initiative?"
"And did your initiative that cost you thousands of dollars end up furthering your art fantasy?" Mrs. Lopez challenged.
Santana remained silent, as both Mr. and Mrs. Lopez already knew that the answer was no. She didn't dare tell them the part about finding out after the fact that it was actually no more than one of those online-based scams that requires an entrance fee to have your work "enhanced" and "anthologized" in a catalog, only to never follow through on the deal. Only Quinn knew that part of the story.
"Exactly," Mr. Lopez replied to Santana's silence. "So, you were arrogant, you were foolish, you were wasteful, and now you have nothing to show for it. Not to mention that valuable funding that could have gone toward your tuition is now gone."
Taking her seat once more, Santana sighed dejectedly. "I'm sorry."
"We're sorry, too," Mrs. Lopez stated flatly. "Your father and I haven't made a decision yet, but we are not going to pay back that money that you wasted away, so, either you take out loans or you get a job or you try for a scholarship, but you got into this situation, and you need to fix it somehow."
Without needing to be said, the conversation was over, and Santana stood in silence and walked upstairs to her room. It was one of the many times she learned that expectations of perfection mixed with a rebellious nature rarely ended well.
Standing directly inside the door to the bedroom they shared, Quinn pulled Santana into a hug, which she only half-reciprocated, body stiffening up in an attempt to once more suppress any threats of tears.
"I heard everything," Quinn spoke softly, "and for what it's worth, I think they were being too hard on you."
Walking over to the closet, Santana began mindlessly leafing through her clothes. "It's whatever," she said with a shrug.
Quinn crept behind Santana and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I know it's bothering you, even if you say it isn't," she gently prodded.
Instead of gratefulness, pride swelled within Santana as she shrugged off Quinn's embrace. "Quinn, it's not, like a big deal or anything. I'm just sick of being a fuck-up that's all."
Taking a step back, Quinn continued to attempt reason on her girlfriend. "Babe, you are not a fuck-up, okay? Not even close. You are one of the smartest, most talented --"
"Quinn, stop it, okay?! I DO fuck things up, all the time! I get in trouble with Figgins, like, weekly, I was always getting shit on Cheerios, my parents think I'm this juvenile discipline problem, even the freaking Glee club hates me. I don't need to, like, cry about it or anything, I'm just sick of it, that's all. Just fucking drop it," Santana barked, flinging herself backward on the bed and folding her arms tightly across her chest.
After the words left her mouth, she wished, as usual, that she had thought a little more before acting, especially since she didn't miss the look of discouragement flash through Quinn's eyes. But even if she would never admit it aloud, Santana was always silently grateful for Quinn's refusal to "drop it" right away when she truly needed some encouragement -- and her ability to "read minds."
Quinn sat on the edge of the bed facing Santana. "One last thing, and then I'll drop if," she started. "Should you should maybe try to consider the end result of things more rather than making impulse decisions? Probably. But if you're waiting for me to call you a fuck-up, you'll have to keep waiting, because I never will. You're human, you make mistakes, and for every quality that needs work, you have 2 amazing ones, if not more; qualities that I love. So, don't be so hard on yourself."
Of course now that Santana needed those words of encouragement more than ever before, they were no where to be found.
Literally. In the weeks since Valentine's Day, it seemed like she and Quinn barely even saw each other anymore. At first, Santana would do her best to rush home after a long day of additional penance to that prick Jerry for "losing the Midwest deal." But if it wasn't enough of a challenge to catch Quinn awake, it was to catch her at all. Santana's mind traveled through purgatory and back wondering where the other girl was; if she was meeting girls, if she was seeing someone, and then she remembered that her thinking that way was what got her in trouble before with the whole Becca debacle, so she did everything possible to lengthen her time away from the apartment.
The rare times that they did end up at the same place at the same time, strangely, things were seemingly more civil than ever. Small talk was upheld, pleasant smiles were exchanged... a far cry from how things were at the beginning. In its own way, however, this startled Santana more than ever. Now, instead of being able to write off the awkwardness to unresolved feelings brewing under the surface, they felt more like roommates... friends. Not exes. Not even a reminder of everything they shared.
Hands bustling with files and other work materials, Santana arrived back at the apartment at noon. The last thing she wanted to do was fly to fucking God-forsaken Arizona for a week, but it was yet another consequence she had to deal with. She hadn't gotten a chance to mention to Quinn she'd be leaving yet, but she figured she'd worry about that later, since she still had to shower, change, and pack for her 3:35 flight.
Santana found showering to be one of life's simple joys, and a ritual of sorts she always took solace in. She always flung open and shut the bathroom door with a flair, stripped off her clothes in one swift motion, and examined herself in the mirror for a few moments before running the water.
What wasn't part of her ritual was Quinn barging through the door -- completely naked.
Quinn quickly crossed her legs and used her hands and arms to cover her upper body. "Ohhhh, my God! --"
" -- Holy shit! What are you doing home?" Santana jolted backward, mimicking the motion.
"Tuesday's my new day off! What are you doing home?" Quinn returned.
"Business trip. I fly out in a few hours," Santana answered, her heartbeat starting to deescalate.
"Oh," Quinn exhaled, appearing slightly disappointed. There was a moment of painfully awkward silence, and Santana was a bit surprised that Quinn hadn't raced out already, but she wasn't going to say anything. "Um, can you, hand me a towel?" she continued.
Santana turned to the rack behind her, grabbing Quinn's favorite towel before turning back to face her. Still, she paused before handing it over, momentarily hypnotized by the body she missed so much, not to mention some slight, yet noticeable changes. "You've filled out a bit," she commented.
The blonde raised her eyebrows and shifted so that her left arm was covering her upper body and reached for the towel with her right. "Wow, thanks," she scoffed, "That has to be the nicest way anyone's ever told me I'm getting fat."
The shorter girl pulled the towel back out of reach. A risk, she realized, but she wanted to make sure she was heard. "No! Not fat. I mean - it looks good. You're getting a nice shape." Santana absent-mindedly ran her hand over Quinn's bare hip, and before she could retract it, she couldn't help but notice the shuddered exhale that escaped the other girl's lips.
Quinn cleared her throat as her posture visibly relaxed. "Well, thanks. You look really good, too."
Santana suppressed a smile. She was glad her former girlfriend had noticed that she had started going to the gym to make up for her increasingly annoying and sedentary job. The fact that it lengthened her time away from the apartment, putting her at home usually after Quinn was asleep, was an additional motivation; it was easier to pretend the other girl wasn't ignoring her when she was passed out.
With a hard swallow, Santana lifted her remaining hand and gripped Quinn's other hip tightly, purposefully. She then let her burning brown eyes take their time working their way up the blonde's body until they finally locked with a smoky hazel gaze.
"Santana..." Quinn respired with a shiver, her tone ambiguous, but not enough to deter the Latina from at least trying to go for the thing she so desperately had been yearning for.
Leaning closer, Santana's eyes rolled back when their naked torsos connected, feeling immediate heat trapped between them. "Push me away if you don't want this..."
When she was close enough to feel Quinn's bated breath on her lips, she knew she had given the other girl ample time to protest, and with a deep exhale, crashed her mouth relentlessly into Quinn's.
It was electrifying.
Nothing subdued about their frantic connection, Santana and Quinn began to melt, to fuse together with every heated kiss and fiery touch. The blonde was near-panting with a dizzy look in her eyes as pale limbs gave way to a more sturdy, tan-skinned foundation. Santana felt Quinn's will to stand on her own begin to deplete and with a hand behind the blonde's head, quickly backed her into the now closed bathroom door to provide the added support.
As the feeling of Quinn's tender lips against her neck created a delicious yet insatiable ache all over her body, Santana pressed herself even closer to the other girl, her knee brushing between Quinn's legs. Instantly, she was rewarded with a guttural groan from the blonde, her knee now covered in moisture.
"God, you're so wet," Santana couldn't help but utter.
She considered several times doing this "the right way" by taking Quinn and their heated connection to the bedroom, but part of her was terrified to move. This was the closest they had been in weeks, and it was Santana's one chance to remind Quinn of the magic that only the two of them together could create.
Dragging her fingertips down silky skin, Santana left a trail of goosebumps in tow until everything -- time, breathing, heartbeats -- seemed to stop when her right hand finally became reacquainted with Quinn's inner thigh for the first time in a long time.
When Santana entered Quinn, two fingers buried in eager, hot wetness, both of them sharply gasped.
She knew she had correctly remembered the exact pace, rhythm, and angle that drove Quinn wild when the blonde threw her head back against the bathroom door, high-pitched moans fleeing her involuntarily. "So... good," she whispered quietly, having completely given in to Santana's touch.
The gentle, almost frail tone in Quinn's voice sent a euphoric chill straight up Santana's back. She knew that tone. It wasn't the one Quinn used when they were forced to have a quickie before work or on a 15-minute lunch break. It wasn't the one Quinn used after sending sexually-charged text messages all day detailing how horny she was and everything she wanted to do to Santana when she got home. This was the tone that Quinn reserved for making love; for the utterances between soft, meaningful kisses brought on by a reaffirming of their powerful, mutual adoration for one another. Quinn still loved her. Quinn was still IN love with her.
Santana stilled her fingers inside of Quinn, withdrawing slowly before re-entering just as slowly and prompting hazel eyes to open and look her way, just as she hoped. She wanted their eyes to meet when she said this.
"Yes..." Santana breathed out shakily, "this IS so good."