fic: This One's Gonna Leave A Mark [1/2]
TITLE 
This One's Gonna Leave A Mark
CHARACTERS: Santana Lopez/Rachel Berry.
WORDS: 11.7k [total]
RATING: NC-17.
DISCLAIMER: I don't owns the Glee.
SUMMARY: AU. She’d like to say that she’s forgotten about the girl, but she hasn’t.
Santana’s fucking tired and a little bit hung over. It’s blazing outside and she pushes her black wayfarers up onto her head as she toes the glass door of Spilled Ink open with the black Air Jordan V’s on her feet. Puck’s grinning at her before she can even say anything.
“Wild night, eh?” She rolls her eyes and drops her bag over the counter, next to Tina, the receptionist.
“Fuck off,” she groans. Tina just lets out this little laugh and looks back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match then slides a sheet of paper toward Santana.
“Your three o’clock cancelled and someone called to get a consultation for a sleeve.”
“Good shit,” she says. It’s as close to “thank you” as anyone’s getting from her. She takes the paper and then the Moleskine she writes her appointments in when Tina takes it out of her bag. “Let me get that Pepsi, too.”
Tina fishes it out and she heads toward her station, taking a swig of the soda. Puck grabs the black Bulls jersey she’s wearing from behind and pulls her over.
“You’re such a dick,” she tells him. Puck just kisses her cheek and snatches her drink while pushing her toward her set up. She rolls her eyes and sits in her chair, checks the text message Mike just sent her.
“The fuck did you get into last night?” Puck says.
“Your mom.” Puck scoffs and tips back her drink again. She just smirks and licks her lips then finger-combs her hair, which is still wavy because she wasn’t fucking with her flatiron this morning. “I went to this party in Bed-Stuy with Mike.”
“Get laid?” She grins because, duh, look at her. He pushes his fist out and she rolls her eyes but bumps it with her own anyway.
“If you two are done being inappropriate,” Holly says, appearing out of thin air. Legit, it’s her best skill. “I’d like to have a quick staff meeting in the back.” She doesn’t wait for them to answer, just walks back out of the room.
“What did you do this time?” Santana says bumping Puck’s shoulder and snatching her drink back.
“I didn’t do shit.” There’s only a thirty per cent chance that’s true.
The other artists, Matt, Z and Hugo, follow them to the back. Holly’s sitting on top of her desk when they get there.
Santana leans back against the far wall, they’re painted brick red and covered in large black and white photographs. Puck hops onto the all black pool table and swings his legs.
“Hola muchachos and Lopez,” Holly says, with her arms crossed. She’s smiling but it looks a little reserved and more than a little sad. She just kind of looks around the room then opens her mouth to say, “So, I’m selling the place and moving to LA.”
“Fuck,” Hugo says, stroking his goatee. He’s older, does all the piercings and has flecks of grey in his beard. “Are you serious?”
(He asks her question, so she stays quiet.)
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teases. “I’m ready to move on. I’ve been here for the last ten years and I need something new.”
Santana’s honestly not that surprised.
Even though Holly’s been stable here and steadily building the shop for the last decade, she’s always been kind of floaty. Spilled Ink isn’t her only business. She has a tapas restaurant in Brooklyn Heights and a t-shirt line that only produces new things in the spring. So, yeah, it’s not surprising but -
“Santana, how would you feel about taking ownership of Spilled and putting Puck as second in command?”
“What?” She sputters, eyes widening. It’s not that she’s never thought about having her own shop but she turned 23 a little over three months ago. So, no, she wasn’t thinking about it this soon. She makes good money here and she has a nice apartment in Brooklyn Heights and she’s comfortable but, fuck, owning this place would be a lot.
“The fish face thing? Not cute, sweetie,” Holly teases, sliding off her desk. “I think you and Puck can handle it.”
Santana just rolls her eyes while Puck snickers then “woops” from his place on the pool table. Z gives her this lazy little smile and Hugo just shrugs like it’s whatever. Matt’s grinning pretty wide.
“Lopez, hang back,” Holly says after she’s answered a few questions about her plans in California (to get a tan and go with the flow) and when she’s leaving (in a month). Santana lifts her eyebrows then moves to sit on Holly’s desk while the rest of the guys head back out into the shop talking animatedly about some chick both Hugo and Matt have slept with.
“Sup?” She asks, sneakers kicking back against the desk as she combs her fingers through her hair.
“I know you think I only run on impulse,” Holly says with this little smirk. “But, I’ve been thinking you’d own my shop since you were a fifteen-year-old little snot who called me a bitch and told me to step off.”
Santana grins. It’s not like Holly’s exaggerating. She might be understating actually, because her mouth was worse than it is now back then, when she thought it was just her against the world. She definitely didn’t take too kindly to strangers. Especially not ones who said, “Come with me,” after paying ten times what she usually got for her sketches. Her first thought was that she read gayer than she realized and this blonde bitch figured she could just pay for it. So, yeah, she knows she said worse than, “Bitch, step off.” Mostly because she said that to Puck last week and her language is better now. Seriously.
Regardless, Holly wasn’t a lady gay who liked lady gays of the baby variety and, after convincing Santana that she didn’t intend to fondle her, they ventured two blocks down to Spilled Ink and the rest was sort of history. Holly enrolling her in art classes and Puck’s mom taking her in and a bunch of learning balanced out with a surplus of fucking up.
“How much?”
“Just look at it like this, chica: if you were graduating college, I’d get you a present right? Instead, you graduated into being an almost good person with a terrible attitude, so, this is my present to you.”
“Holly you fucking know … You fucking know me. I can’t. No, I won’t do charity,” she doesn’t want to be getting mad, but she is anyway and her neck is warm and Holly’s just smiling at her unaffected.
“That’s fine, lady. You get $5,000 by Friday and the place is yours.”
“I do the fucking books, Holliday. This place is worth way more than that.”
“I’m the one selling. I set my own prices. 5k by Friday,” she says, patting Santana’s cheek with that smug smirk that Santana knows means she has no footing in this argument.
*
It doesn’t take much for her to get the money. She’s been good about saving up since she ended up on the stoop outside her building with a duffle bag on her shoulder and her mom still freaking in Spanish over catching her with Lyssa Thompson and saying she didn’t want to see her again.
It’s nothing but a trip to the bank on Friday morning after breakfast with Puck and Mike. She puts up all five thousand herself because it makes more sense for her to do so. Puck’s just getting promoted to manager and she’ll be full owner.
When she gets to the shop, Holly’s waiting for her with a fucking slice of chocolate cake. Seriously. She signs the deed and all she wants to do is like, get wasted and celebrate because she fucking owns Spilled Ink. Instead, she sits on the couch with this piece of chocolate heaven and listens as Puck yaps about all these ideas he has to Holly. Like, honestly? Most of them are actually good, but he’s been talking for like thirty minutes.
She’s kind of glad when Tina walks in and says, “Hey, ‘Tana,” and beckons her with her hand. She closes the lid on her cake, shoots a glare from Puck to her box that says don’t touch my shit then dusts her hands over her shorts.
Mike’s supposed to be bringing her some Thai but he’s running late. He owes her so hard.
“Sup?” She asks leaning against the door that separates the main area from the back room.
“I have a tat for you. Z and Matt are booked up. It’s a quick one.”
“Aiight. Gimme like five minutes.” Tina just nods and says she’ll do some of the consult for her, which is perfect. Shit, maybe Tina needs a raise. “Got a tat,” she says to Holly who comes over and puts a hand on her shoulder then reaches to pinch her cheek. She ducks away from the touch with a grin and says, “Cool it, Holliday.”
“You’re cute,” Holly says. “Take care of my shop, okay?” She nods because she plans to. She gives Holly a pretty serious look when she does it and Holly’s smile stretches out slowly. Santana can’t pretend she won’t miss her. She’s been around here since she was just a knucklehead who could draw tattooing grapefruits.
“Aiight. Gotta run this quickie,” she says, grinning.
“I bet,” Puck says, tugging a string off his camo shorts. She rolls her eyes and slips through the door and back out into the shop. She peels off the blue flannel shirt she’s wearing and tucks it into a drawer at her station then meets Tina at the front where she’s standing with a blonde guy who could use a haircut and a short girl with brown hair and eyes and insanely short dress that still makes her look cute and not, well …
“Hey,” she says, leaning on her forearm against the desk. “Who am I doing?” The girl raises her hand, it’s tiny, and says “Me!” in this little singsong voice. Santana nods. “Cool. What are you looking to get?”
“A small gold star on my hip.”
“Yeah? Our minimum is $80 no matter how small.” She warns because, yeah, they’re not a cheap shop. There’s some serious talent here and the best equipment available. The girl just nods and says that Tina told her and it’s a little expensive but she still wants it. The blonde dude is just kind of there, with this little grin on his big mouth. “’K. I’ll do a few sketches so we can figure out the size and then we’ll get you done up.”
“You should totally get the Super Mario star,” Mouth says, holding up his necklace. It’s the star with eyes from Super Mario Bros. made of those beads you like, melt, dangling off a little silver chain. It takes a lot of effort not to laugh, especially at the way the girl rolls her eyes and then gapes at him like he’s completely crazy.
“Sam there’s no way I’d ever get that on my body.” The girl looks at Santana like she wants back up. “It’s ludicrous, right?”
Santana grins, “My boy Mike has the star and one of the mushrooms on his sleeve.”
The girl’s face falls a little and her lip actually juts out, “I didn’t mean to be offensive. I’m sorry.”
Santana just laughs, “It’s fine. I told him it was a dumb ass idea when I tattooed it on him. You’d be surprised to see what some people ask for.”
The girl cracks a small smile but her cheeks are still a little red from embarrassment. She tucks her hair behind her ear and leans up on her toes a little to see what Santana’s drawing on the counter. “S’your name?”
“Rachel. Rachel Berry.” She nods then slides the paper over to her. “Yours?”
“Santana.”
“Pretty.” She says with this little grin. Rachel licks her lips then bites down on the top one as her finger traces over the five different stars on the sheet. She settles her nail, painted hot pink, over the middle size. “This one.”
“Alright. Let me transfer this to the paper and then we’ll get it on you. You have on shorts?” She asks, looking down at the girl’s dress. Rachel’s cheeks go a little pink as she nods.
*
So, yeah, shorts? Understatement of the year. She didn’t mean boyshorts but if Rachel’s fine lifting her dress and rolling the little black lacy things down to get her tattoo then Santana’s cool too. She’s seen her fair share of skin here, but it’s not usually attached to legs that fucking nice. She pushes that thought out of her head because Rachel’s chest is heaving and Sam is snickering.
“It’s not funny, Sam!” She says, squeezing her eyes shut. Santana hasn’t done anything yet and the girl is freaking. She’s used to that, too, but it’s not like she wants to sit and wait for her to like, get over the fear. Normally, she’d suggest someone just suck that shit up, but …
“She didn’t even turn it on though. Calm down.” Mouth says.
“I am calm.”
“You’re not,” Santana supplies, rolling her shoulders. Rachel sort of narrows her eyes at her then. Santana shrugs. “It’s the truth. Just take a few breaths. I’ll be gentle,” she teases, rolling her eyes. Her knee bumps against Rachel’s thigh and the girl tilts onto her side a little more.
“Gentle?”
“As gentle as I can be,” Santana says. She’s not going to lie and tell her it won’t hurt. “It’ll be quick, too. It’s tiny.”
“Okay.”
Rachel does a pretty good job. There’s one tear and Santana’s sure she’s going to like bite through her own lip. Santana has to press down on her thigh to stop the girl’s foot from shaking but she does better than Santana expected her to with the way she was sort of freaking beforehand.
When Rachel’s not biting her lip, she’s talking about how she’s getting the star because she’s just graduated from Tisch in the spring and got her first role in a Broadway show today. She’s not the lead or anything and she only gets to sing two lines of a song without accompaniment but it’s something and she’s excited. Apparently stars are her “thing”.
Rachel asks Sam to cover her while she looks at the tattoo in the wall mirror. Santana’s just finished cleaning up her station when Rachel wanders back over from the counter after paying with this little grin on her face.
“Was I gentle enough?” Santana prods.
“I’ve had softer,” Rachel says.
So maybe she chokes on her Pepsi a little but she recovers quickly and just smirks, bites her lip and says, “I did my best.”
“It’s lovely,” Rachel says and then the girl’s kissing her cheek and saying, “Thanks.”
She doesn’t have time to respond to that because Rachel says, “Oh my word. I’m sorry. I just … I kiss people a lot. Not that I go around kissing people but I-Sorry.”
She just laughs and fights the urge to touch her cheek.
“It’s okay. You’re welcome.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” Rachel says in response, scrunching her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. The Sam guy just laughs in the corner where he’s going between watching them and talking to Puck. Santana’s not even going to chance a glance at Puck because then she’ll be laughing and Rachel’s still red and her fingers are curling around the hem of her dress.
“Don’t be. People can’t help themselves around me,” she teases. Rachel’s tongue is right between her teeth and she rolls her eyes up and is about to say something that Santana’s pretty curious about.
“Tana!” Mike calls from the door. She rolls her eyes. Now he wants to bring her food.
“You ready, Sam?” Rachel asks. He nods. “Thanks again.” Then Rachel’s pushing her way out the door, dragging Sam by the hand, and Mike’s thrusting the takeout bag into her arms.
She heads to the back to work on her drunken noodles while Puck teases her about macking on her customers. Whatever. She’ll never be mad at getting kissed by a pretty girl.
*
She moved into her own studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights at 18 with a little help from Holly, who knew the owner. Not having to worry about Puck eating her Lucky Charms or needing to keep her tequila wrapped in a flannel tucked into the suitcase she kept packed and ready just incase Mrs. Puckerman was fed up with her (which she knew reasonably would never happen) was an oddly relieving feeling. She paid a discounted rate for her first two years but by twenty she was telling Manny that she could handle the pay everyone else in the building was paying. That? That was the best feeling.
So, yeah, taking ownership of the shop at such a low rate made her a little nervous and a little upset because she’s been about proving she could handle things since getting kicked out. She’s got a lot of pride because she could still be on the streets drawing pictures to make ends meet and hopping from couch to couch but she had people like Holly and Ellen Puckerman to look out for her.
She’s nursing a beer and watching a rerun of Golden Girls (whatever, they’re funny) when Mike sends her a text about party he’s DJ’ing at the Brooklyn Museum. She’s basically been chilling and watching TV all day and going to a party (with an open bar) doesn’t seem like the worst thing that’s ever been suggested. She tells him she’ll come and he says he’ll pick her up since he has to drive his equipment over. It works for her because she’d rather brave the traffic than the subways tonight.
She gets up for a shower now because she has to do something to her hair and it needs to be washed. She flips through her closet for a dress, remembers one she ordered from Asos not too long ago and hasn’t worn and lays it on out her bed.
She flat-irons her hair while she’s still in her bra and panties and prays to the heavens she isn’t clumsy tonight because she doesn’t need a burn on her shoulder like the last time she was too lazy to put on a t-shirt. She survives it and comes out looking pretty damn hot, if you ask her. It’s sleek and shiny around her face and against her skin and she keeps her make up light.
Her dress is this goldenrod shade that works well with her skin. It’s short and tight with cap sleeves and small, round cutouts on the sides. If anyone’s looking at the skin peeking out (of course they are) they can see just a hint of the branch of cherry blossoms that curls around her left side. She goes with a pair of black pumps and Mike lets out this stupid ass low howl when she slips into his passenger seat.
“Haven’t seen you like this in a while,” he comments. It’s true. She’s been chill all summer, wearing cut-offs and sneakers because it’s too damn hot to have fabric so close to her skin.
“Whatever,” she says anyway, then turns up the volume on his radio because Juicy is on and there’s no way she’s missing it. He just smirks and pokes at the skin on her side then yelps when she slugs him.
*
She’s sipping a Blue Motherfucker when a little hand taps her shoulder. She’s pretty sure that every thought that passes through her head shows on her face when she turns around and sees Rachel, the girl she tattooed like two months ago, in this strapless green dress. She’s also pretty sure Rachel knows how fucking sexy her legs are because they’re on display and stilted on these heels that Santana’s assuming make her ass look awesome.
(She’ll check if she gets the chance.)
Rachel’s hair is all wavy, which, well, Santana thought she was attractive in the shop, but she would not mind like pushing her against the brick wall a few feet away and, you know, touching her. Basically, she fucking looks good.
Rachel’s grinning at her like she knows something Santana doesn’t when she says, “You’re Santana.”
“And you’re Rachel,” she responds with raising her brow.
“You remembered,” Rachel says before sipping her drink. It looks like a Long Island and Santana decides she likes her more just because of that.
“I mean, you did kiss me,” she teases. Rachel glares then smiles again and asks Santana what she’s doing here. “I don’t know if I introduced you to Mike, but he’s one of my best friends. He’s the DJ.” She points to where Mike is in the booth twenty feet away, one headphone on and the other off, rocking his body with this grin she only ever sees when he’s in the zone.
“Oh, he’s really good,” Rachel says tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and smiling in his direction. Santana nods, says he’s pretty fucking dope because it’s true.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came out with a few my ex-classmates before I leave town.”
“You’re moving?” She totally didn’t mean to sound disappointed.
“Oh, no,” Rachel says, then licks her lips and, well, she should do that again. “My show is traveling, so I’ll be in Chicago for the next six weeks.”
“Dope.”
Rachel sighs, “Yeah. I’ll miss the city though. I love it here.”
“Born here?” Rachel shakes her head and scrunches her nose and says, “Ohio. You?”
“Grew up in Bed-Stuy. You seem like you’re from here.”
Rachel smiles like Santana’s said something really sweet and tells her thanks. Santana sips her drink and she’s pretty sure Rachel’s eyes are on her lips when she says, “You know, you don’t have a lot of tattoos for someone who makes a living of putting them on people.”
So, she’s looking. Cool.
Santana just smirks, waves at Mike over Rachel’s shoulder because he’s pointing at her then looks back at Rachel with a grin. “Who says I don’t have a lot?”
“I only see the one on the inside of your wrist.” Santana rotates her right hand, so it’s on display, and then holds it out. It’s the first tat she got at sixteen. She and Puck decided to practice on each other though both of them were still supposed to be working with citrus.
It’s not perfect (the one she did on Puck is better of course) but it means something. Like, a testament to just how far they’ve come. How she figured out translating the perfect lines she could do on paper to skin and how Puck became like, the ninja of shading. They’ve considered touching them up but she kind of digs how much they suck, so she hasn’t bothered it.
“Just means you can’t see ‘em,” she says in response. Rachel hums and bites her lip then says, “Touché.”
“You can kind of see this one,” Santana says turning her body and lifting her arm. Rachel’s fingers are on her skin in no time, tracing the little bit of cherry blossom visible through the cutout.
“It’s pretty.”
“It’s huge, is what it is,” she says. “Curls around my side and stops on my spine.”
“Oh?” She nods and Rachel’s fingers dance over the flower one more time before she pulls back. “Wish I could see it.”
“I mean, I’m not an exhibitionist but-“
“Santana,” Rachel says quickly with a little grin, hitting her shoulder.
She just shrugs and asks if Rachel wants another drink. She heads to the bar for both of them and some of Rachel’s friends are there when she comes back. Puck shows up, too, kisses her cheek and whispers about getting her mack on. She just rolls her eyes and introduces him to everyone, talks them up until Rachel says she has to go because she’s got an early flight. She wishes the girl luck, and means it, then drags Puck to the DJ booth to see Mike with her.
“Um, why aren’t you tapping that?”
“What? She’s like, straight.”
Puck laughs in her face. “You have like the worst gaydar for a lesbian.”
“That’s offensive,” she says, rolling her eyes, but like, some chicks are just flirty. Doesn’t mean Rachel’s actually into girls. “And she’s like gonna be gone for like, two months.”
“Whatever. I thought you were a champ. You pussied out.”
“There’s about six things wrong with that statement,” she tells him, rolling her eyes, but she’s sort of wondering why she didn’t put any real effort in.
She’s definitely interested.
*
She’d like to say that she’s forgotten about the girl, but she hasn’t.
It’s not like she’s been pining or anything. It’s just that maybe a few of the times she’s put her hands between her own legs, she’s thought about Rachel’s and how soft her fingers felt when she touched her skin.
Whatever, it’s not like she’s in love or anything. So, that explains why her stomach jumps when she looks up from her place behind the counter to see Rachel, leaning over it, chest pushing up over the forearm she has resting there.
“Hey,” Santana says leaning back in her chair and tapping her pen. Rachel smiles brightly and says hi. “You come to give me another kiss?”
The girl just rolls her eyes and licks her lips (Santana’s pretty sure she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it) then gives Santana this glare that doesn’t do anything but make her laugh. “Just messin’, babe.”
“I’m here with, Sam,” Rachel says, fingers tugging at the end of the fish braid draping over her shoulder.
She’s got on this little navy blue bodycon skirt with a chambray shirt tucked into it. Her nails are yellow this time and there’s a tiny owl ring on her right ringer finger.
“He’s getting that Super Mario tattoo from Puck,” she tells Santana then leans on her elbows against the counter and tips her head to where Sam’s talking to Puck about the sketch and kind of rolls her eyes.
“Yeah? Seems fitting,” she muses. “Dorito?”
Rachel shakes her head, “No, thank you.”
Santana just shrugs and rolls the bag up. “You heal good?”
“I think so. I did everything you said to.”
“Best way to do it,” Rachel gives her an amused look. “Want me to look at it?”
Rachel nods and Santana gets up from her seat, puts her hands on the opposite end of the counter then lifts herself over it. There’s a little door to get out but she prefers this way and Holly’s not around to chew her out about it anymore.
Rachel lifts her shirt and pushes the band of her skirt down just enough for Santana to get a good look at it. It looks fine. It healed well and most of the color was retained. She traces it with her fingertip. “S’good.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I tell no lies.”
Rachel giggles. “Are you always this truthful?”
“Mm,” she says like she’s thinking on it. She sucks in a breath then lets it out. “Most of the time.”
“I’ll take it,” Rachel says then her eyes leaves Santana’s face and settle on her shoulder. “You didn’t have this last time.”
Santana looks where Rachel is. “The sleeve? Yeah. Puck started it for me about a month ago.”
“It’s really elaborate.”
“Yeah it is,” she says, a little dumbly. It’s been something she’s wanted since she enrolled in art classes. Japanese style tattooing’s always intrigued her and she’s been sketching the idea for what seems like years. She probably still wouldn’t have started if Puck hadn’t told her to boss up and do it, which, he’s an idiot but whatever.
“What’s it mean?” Rachel asks, fingers gliding over the lines of one of the clouds. Santana’s eyes follow her fingers. It’s just a bunch of lines now; a little shading done where black is necessary.
“Long story.”
“Sam’s got a while.”
“You’re good. I’ll bite.” Rachel smirks then tilts her head to the side like she’s waiting. “S’Japanese.”
“I got that.”
“Hey, some people don’t.” She shrugs.
“I’m not most people.” Yeah, most people are not this hot. “Quit stalling. I’m curious,” she says, poking the tip of one of the waves.
Santana just laughs and peels her sleeve up the rest of the way then starts explaining what’s covering her skin from her right shoulder to a little above her elbow.
“Are you supposed to be the tiger or the dragon?” Rachel asks dragging a nail over the expanse of the dragon winding it’s way around the tiger. Santana can’t help but envision it when it’s in color and Puck’s the best she’s ever seen when it comes to shading. She has no worries that it’ll turn out awesome.
“Who says I’m in this?”
“You don’t seem like the type of person who’d get something this elaborate for fun.”
Well.
“It’s about balance. But right now? I’d go with the tiger.” Rachel nods and squints at the tattoo outline like she’s trying to picture it finished.
“What colors are you going to use?” Rachel asks curiously. She actually sounds like she cares what the end product will be.
“The dragon’s going to be purple and grey and the tiger will be, you know, tiger colored.”
“It could be a white tiger.”
“It’s not. There’s a bunch of other colors that’ll go into it too.” Rachel just hums and curls her fingers around Santana’s bicep. Santana watches her fingers flex and bites her lip, pushing her hip into the counter.
“You’re pretty strong.”
“I work out,” she jokes.
“I can see that.”
Of course she can.
“Found your four o’clock on my way in,” Tina says.
“Shoulda left him outside,” Santana says looking at Mike. He frowns at her and holds his drink out of her reach when she goes to grab for it. “We’re finishing this shit today. I’m tired of looking at your mug.”
“It’s on my back!”
“Still tired of looking,” she says. “My bad, Rach. I mean, Rachel. This is my best friend Mike. Mike, this is Rachel. She has awesome taste in tattoo artists.”
Mike grins and holds his hand out, “So, Puck tattooed you?”
“You’re an asshole.”
Rachel laughs and shakes his hand. “I guess I should’ve gone to Puck then.”
“Naa,” she drawls out. “M’better,” she adds, snatch a Starburst out of Mike’s palm.
“She’s evil,” Mike stage whispers to Rachel. The girl just smiles and gives Santana the once over like she’s appraising her.
“She doesn’t seem too bad.”
“She hasn’t had any tequila.”
“You done talking shit about the person who’ll be running a needle over your skin for the next three hours, Miyagi?”
“Yep.”
“Thought so.” She rolls her eyes and pushes him toward her station. “You can like come over here if you want. I’ll pull up a chair for you,” she says to Rachel.
“Really?”
“’Course,” she says and steals the extra stool from Hugo’s station because he’s out for the day. Sam lets out a groan from where Puck is tattooing and Rachel laughs and says he owes her fifty bucks for making a noise.
She talks to the girl about her experience in Chicago while she does the last bits of shading on Mike’s back piece. She’s doing a good job focusing on her work and talking to the hottest girl ever until Rachel says, “I was hoping you could do me today.”
She sort of stabs Mike and her mouth opens and closes a few times as Mike moves away from her and looks back at her with a scowl. “Sorry,” she tells him, rubs some excess ink away then turns to Rachel and says, “What?”
Rachel’s blushing when she finally looks at the girl, “I meant, I kind of wanted to get another tattoo today.”
“Oh. I can probably, uh, squeeze you in tomorrow.”
Rachel laughs, “I’m sorry for…”
“No. No. It’s fine. I just,” she shakes head. “No worries, but I can definitely do you, just not today.” Rachel’s inhaling and biting her lip when she looks over. “I’m booked up.”
“Okay,” Rachel says, her little foot taps against the side of the stool a few times and Santana just kind of smiles and turns back to Mike who’s a lot more tense than before.
“Sorry, Chang,” she says before starting back up again.
Rachel’s gone before she finishes him up. She says she’s meeting up with cast mates for an early dinner and Sam’s done, so really there’s no reason to stay. Though Santana can’t pretend she wouldn’t have minded the continued company.
Part 2.
This One's Gonna Leave A Mark
CHARACTERS: Santana Lopez/Rachel Berry.
WORDS: 11.7k [total]
RATING: NC-17.
DISCLAIMER: I don't owns the Glee.
SUMMARY: AU. She’d like to say that she’s forgotten about the girl, but she hasn’t.
Santana’s fucking tired and a little bit hung over. It’s blazing outside and she pushes her black wayfarers up onto her head as she toes the glass door of Spilled Ink open with the black Air Jordan V’s on her feet. Puck’s grinning at her before she can even say anything.
“Wild night, eh?” She rolls her eyes and drops her bag over the counter, next to Tina, the receptionist.
“Fuck off,” she groans. Tina just lets out this little laugh and looks back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match then slides a sheet of paper toward Santana.
“Your three o’clock cancelled and someone called to get a consultation for a sleeve.”
“Good shit,” she says. It’s as close to “thank you” as anyone’s getting from her. She takes the paper and then the Moleskine she writes her appointments in when Tina takes it out of her bag. “Let me get that Pepsi, too.”
Tina fishes it out and she heads toward her station, taking a swig of the soda. Puck grabs the black Bulls jersey she’s wearing from behind and pulls her over.
“You’re such a dick,” she tells him. Puck just kisses her cheek and snatches her drink while pushing her toward her set up. She rolls her eyes and sits in her chair, checks the text message Mike just sent her.
“The fuck did you get into last night?” Puck says.
“Your mom.” Puck scoffs and tips back her drink again. She just smirks and licks her lips then finger-combs her hair, which is still wavy because she wasn’t fucking with her flatiron this morning. “I went to this party in Bed-Stuy with Mike.”
“Get laid?” She grins because, duh, look at her. He pushes his fist out and she rolls her eyes but bumps it with her own anyway.
“If you two are done being inappropriate,” Holly says, appearing out of thin air. Legit, it’s her best skill. “I’d like to have a quick staff meeting in the back.” She doesn’t wait for them to answer, just walks back out of the room.
“What did you do this time?” Santana says bumping Puck’s shoulder and snatching her drink back.
“I didn’t do shit.” There’s only a thirty per cent chance that’s true.
The other artists, Matt, Z and Hugo, follow them to the back. Holly’s sitting on top of her desk when they get there.
Santana leans back against the far wall, they’re painted brick red and covered in large black and white photographs. Puck hops onto the all black pool table and swings his legs.
“Hola muchachos and Lopez,” Holly says, with her arms crossed. She’s smiling but it looks a little reserved and more than a little sad. She just kind of looks around the room then opens her mouth to say, “So, I’m selling the place and moving to LA.”
“Fuck,” Hugo says, stroking his goatee. He’s older, does all the piercings and has flecks of grey in his beard. “Are you serious?”
(He asks her question, so she stays quiet.)
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teases. “I’m ready to move on. I’ve been here for the last ten years and I need something new.”
Santana’s honestly not that surprised.
Even though Holly’s been stable here and steadily building the shop for the last decade, she’s always been kind of floaty. Spilled Ink isn’t her only business. She has a tapas restaurant in Brooklyn Heights and a t-shirt line that only produces new things in the spring. So, yeah, it’s not surprising but -
“Santana, how would you feel about taking ownership of Spilled and putting Puck as second in command?”
“What?” She sputters, eyes widening. It’s not that she’s never thought about having her own shop but she turned 23 a little over three months ago. So, no, she wasn’t thinking about it this soon. She makes good money here and she has a nice apartment in Brooklyn Heights and she’s comfortable but, fuck, owning this place would be a lot.
“The fish face thing? Not cute, sweetie,” Holly teases, sliding off her desk. “I think you and Puck can handle it.”
Santana just rolls her eyes while Puck snickers then “woops” from his place on the pool table. Z gives her this lazy little smile and Hugo just shrugs like it’s whatever. Matt’s grinning pretty wide.
“Lopez, hang back,” Holly says after she’s answered a few questions about her plans in California (to get a tan and go with the flow) and when she’s leaving (in a month). Santana lifts her eyebrows then moves to sit on Holly’s desk while the rest of the guys head back out into the shop talking animatedly about some chick both Hugo and Matt have slept with.
“Sup?” She asks, sneakers kicking back against the desk as she combs her fingers through her hair.
“I know you think I only run on impulse,” Holly says with this little smirk. “But, I’ve been thinking you’d own my shop since you were a fifteen-year-old little snot who called me a bitch and told me to step off.”
Santana grins. It’s not like Holly’s exaggerating. She might be understating actually, because her mouth was worse than it is now back then, when she thought it was just her against the world. She definitely didn’t take too kindly to strangers. Especially not ones who said, “Come with me,” after paying ten times what she usually got for her sketches. Her first thought was that she read gayer than she realized and this blonde bitch figured she could just pay for it. So, yeah, she knows she said worse than, “Bitch, step off.” Mostly because she said that to Puck last week and her language is better now. Seriously.
Regardless, Holly wasn’t a lady gay who liked lady gays of the baby variety and, after convincing Santana that she didn’t intend to fondle her, they ventured two blocks down to Spilled Ink and the rest was sort of history. Holly enrolling her in art classes and Puck’s mom taking her in and a bunch of learning balanced out with a surplus of fucking up.
“How much?”
“Just look at it like this, chica: if you were graduating college, I’d get you a present right? Instead, you graduated into being an almost good person with a terrible attitude, so, this is my present to you.”
“Holly you fucking know … You fucking know me. I can’t. No, I won’t do charity,” she doesn’t want to be getting mad, but she is anyway and her neck is warm and Holly’s just smiling at her unaffected.
“That’s fine, lady. You get $5,000 by Friday and the place is yours.”
“I do the fucking books, Holliday. This place is worth way more than that.”
“I’m the one selling. I set my own prices. 5k by Friday,” she says, patting Santana’s cheek with that smug smirk that Santana knows means she has no footing in this argument.
*
It doesn’t take much for her to get the money. She’s been good about saving up since she ended up on the stoop outside her building with a duffle bag on her shoulder and her mom still freaking in Spanish over catching her with Lyssa Thompson and saying she didn’t want to see her again.
It’s nothing but a trip to the bank on Friday morning after breakfast with Puck and Mike. She puts up all five thousand herself because it makes more sense for her to do so. Puck’s just getting promoted to manager and she’ll be full owner.
When she gets to the shop, Holly’s waiting for her with a fucking slice of chocolate cake. Seriously. She signs the deed and all she wants to do is like, get wasted and celebrate because she fucking owns Spilled Ink. Instead, she sits on the couch with this piece of chocolate heaven and listens as Puck yaps about all these ideas he has to Holly. Like, honestly? Most of them are actually good, but he’s been talking for like thirty minutes.
She’s kind of glad when Tina walks in and says, “Hey, ‘Tana,” and beckons her with her hand. She closes the lid on her cake, shoots a glare from Puck to her box that says don’t touch my shit then dusts her hands over her shorts.
Mike’s supposed to be bringing her some Thai but he’s running late. He owes her so hard.
“Sup?” She asks leaning against the door that separates the main area from the back room.
“I have a tat for you. Z and Matt are booked up. It’s a quick one.”
“Aiight. Gimme like five minutes.” Tina just nods and says she’ll do some of the consult for her, which is perfect. Shit, maybe Tina needs a raise. “Got a tat,” she says to Holly who comes over and puts a hand on her shoulder then reaches to pinch her cheek. She ducks away from the touch with a grin and says, “Cool it, Holliday.”
“You’re cute,” Holly says. “Take care of my shop, okay?” She nods because she plans to. She gives Holly a pretty serious look when she does it and Holly’s smile stretches out slowly. Santana can’t pretend she won’t miss her. She’s been around here since she was just a knucklehead who could draw tattooing grapefruits.
“Aiight. Gotta run this quickie,” she says, grinning.
“I bet,” Puck says, tugging a string off his camo shorts. She rolls her eyes and slips through the door and back out into the shop. She peels off the blue flannel shirt she’s wearing and tucks it into a drawer at her station then meets Tina at the front where she’s standing with a blonde guy who could use a haircut and a short girl with brown hair and eyes and insanely short dress that still makes her look cute and not, well …
“Hey,” she says, leaning on her forearm against the desk. “Who am I doing?” The girl raises her hand, it’s tiny, and says “Me!” in this little singsong voice. Santana nods. “Cool. What are you looking to get?”
“A small gold star on my hip.”
“Yeah? Our minimum is $80 no matter how small.” She warns because, yeah, they’re not a cheap shop. There’s some serious talent here and the best equipment available. The girl just nods and says that Tina told her and it’s a little expensive but she still wants it. The blonde dude is just kind of there, with this little grin on his big mouth. “’K. I’ll do a few sketches so we can figure out the size and then we’ll get you done up.”
“You should totally get the Super Mario star,” Mouth says, holding up his necklace. It’s the star with eyes from Super Mario Bros. made of those beads you like, melt, dangling off a little silver chain. It takes a lot of effort not to laugh, especially at the way the girl rolls her eyes and then gapes at him like he’s completely crazy.
“Sam there’s no way I’d ever get that on my body.” The girl looks at Santana like she wants back up. “It’s ludicrous, right?”
Santana grins, “My boy Mike has the star and one of the mushrooms on his sleeve.”
The girl’s face falls a little and her lip actually juts out, “I didn’t mean to be offensive. I’m sorry.”
Santana just laughs, “It’s fine. I told him it was a dumb ass idea when I tattooed it on him. You’d be surprised to see what some people ask for.”
The girl cracks a small smile but her cheeks are still a little red from embarrassment. She tucks her hair behind her ear and leans up on her toes a little to see what Santana’s drawing on the counter. “S’your name?”
“Rachel. Rachel Berry.” She nods then slides the paper over to her. “Yours?”
“Santana.”
“Pretty.” She says with this little grin. Rachel licks her lips then bites down on the top one as her finger traces over the five different stars on the sheet. She settles her nail, painted hot pink, over the middle size. “This one.”
“Alright. Let me transfer this to the paper and then we’ll get it on you. You have on shorts?” She asks, looking down at the girl’s dress. Rachel’s cheeks go a little pink as she nods.
*
So, yeah, shorts? Understatement of the year. She didn’t mean boyshorts but if Rachel’s fine lifting her dress and rolling the little black lacy things down to get her tattoo then Santana’s cool too. She’s seen her fair share of skin here, but it’s not usually attached to legs that fucking nice. She pushes that thought out of her head because Rachel’s chest is heaving and Sam is snickering.
“It’s not funny, Sam!” She says, squeezing her eyes shut. Santana hasn’t done anything yet and the girl is freaking. She’s used to that, too, but it’s not like she wants to sit and wait for her to like, get over the fear. Normally, she’d suggest someone just suck that shit up, but …
“She didn’t even turn it on though. Calm down.” Mouth says.
“I am calm.”
“You’re not,” Santana supplies, rolling her shoulders. Rachel sort of narrows her eyes at her then. Santana shrugs. “It’s the truth. Just take a few breaths. I’ll be gentle,” she teases, rolling her eyes. Her knee bumps against Rachel’s thigh and the girl tilts onto her side a little more.
“Gentle?”
“As gentle as I can be,” Santana says. She’s not going to lie and tell her it won’t hurt. “It’ll be quick, too. It’s tiny.”
“Okay.”
Rachel does a pretty good job. There’s one tear and Santana’s sure she’s going to like bite through her own lip. Santana has to press down on her thigh to stop the girl’s foot from shaking but she does better than Santana expected her to with the way she was sort of freaking beforehand.
When Rachel’s not biting her lip, she’s talking about how she’s getting the star because she’s just graduated from Tisch in the spring and got her first role in a Broadway show today. She’s not the lead or anything and she only gets to sing two lines of a song without accompaniment but it’s something and she’s excited. Apparently stars are her “thing”.
Rachel asks Sam to cover her while she looks at the tattoo in the wall mirror. Santana’s just finished cleaning up her station when Rachel wanders back over from the counter after paying with this little grin on her face.
“Was I gentle enough?” Santana prods.
“I’ve had softer,” Rachel says.
So maybe she chokes on her Pepsi a little but she recovers quickly and just smirks, bites her lip and says, “I did my best.”
“It’s lovely,” Rachel says and then the girl’s kissing her cheek and saying, “Thanks.”
She doesn’t have time to respond to that because Rachel says, “Oh my word. I’m sorry. I just … I kiss people a lot. Not that I go around kissing people but I-Sorry.”
She just laughs and fights the urge to touch her cheek.
“It’s okay. You’re welcome.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” Rachel says in response, scrunching her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. The Sam guy just laughs in the corner where he’s going between watching them and talking to Puck. Santana’s not even going to chance a glance at Puck because then she’ll be laughing and Rachel’s still red and her fingers are curling around the hem of her dress.
“Don’t be. People can’t help themselves around me,” she teases. Rachel’s tongue is right between her teeth and she rolls her eyes up and is about to say something that Santana’s pretty curious about.
“Tana!” Mike calls from the door. She rolls her eyes. Now he wants to bring her food.
“You ready, Sam?” Rachel asks. He nods. “Thanks again.” Then Rachel’s pushing her way out the door, dragging Sam by the hand, and Mike’s thrusting the takeout bag into her arms.
She heads to the back to work on her drunken noodles while Puck teases her about macking on her customers. Whatever. She’ll never be mad at getting kissed by a pretty girl.
*
She moved into her own studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights at 18 with a little help from Holly, who knew the owner. Not having to worry about Puck eating her Lucky Charms or needing to keep her tequila wrapped in a flannel tucked into the suitcase she kept packed and ready just incase Mrs. Puckerman was fed up with her (which she knew reasonably would never happen) was an oddly relieving feeling. She paid a discounted rate for her first two years but by twenty she was telling Manny that she could handle the pay everyone else in the building was paying. That? That was the best feeling.
So, yeah, taking ownership of the shop at such a low rate made her a little nervous and a little upset because she’s been about proving she could handle things since getting kicked out. She’s got a lot of pride because she could still be on the streets drawing pictures to make ends meet and hopping from couch to couch but she had people like Holly and Ellen Puckerman to look out for her.
She’s nursing a beer and watching a rerun of Golden Girls (whatever, they’re funny) when Mike sends her a text about party he’s DJ’ing at the Brooklyn Museum. She’s basically been chilling and watching TV all day and going to a party (with an open bar) doesn’t seem like the worst thing that’s ever been suggested. She tells him she’ll come and he says he’ll pick her up since he has to drive his equipment over. It works for her because she’d rather brave the traffic than the subways tonight.
She gets up for a shower now because she has to do something to her hair and it needs to be washed. She flips through her closet for a dress, remembers one she ordered from Asos not too long ago and hasn’t worn and lays it on out her bed.
She flat-irons her hair while she’s still in her bra and panties and prays to the heavens she isn’t clumsy tonight because she doesn’t need a burn on her shoulder like the last time she was too lazy to put on a t-shirt. She survives it and comes out looking pretty damn hot, if you ask her. It’s sleek and shiny around her face and against her skin and she keeps her make up light.
Her dress is this goldenrod shade that works well with her skin. It’s short and tight with cap sleeves and small, round cutouts on the sides. If anyone’s looking at the skin peeking out (of course they are) they can see just a hint of the branch of cherry blossoms that curls around her left side. She goes with a pair of black pumps and Mike lets out this stupid ass low howl when she slips into his passenger seat.
“Haven’t seen you like this in a while,” he comments. It’s true. She’s been chill all summer, wearing cut-offs and sneakers because it’s too damn hot to have fabric so close to her skin.
“Whatever,” she says anyway, then turns up the volume on his radio because Juicy is on and there’s no way she’s missing it. He just smirks and pokes at the skin on her side then yelps when she slugs him.
*
She’s sipping a Blue Motherfucker when a little hand taps her shoulder. She’s pretty sure that every thought that passes through her head shows on her face when she turns around and sees Rachel, the girl she tattooed like two months ago, in this strapless green dress. She’s also pretty sure Rachel knows how fucking sexy her legs are because they’re on display and stilted on these heels that Santana’s assuming make her ass look awesome.
(She’ll check if she gets the chance.)
Rachel’s hair is all wavy, which, well, Santana thought she was attractive in the shop, but she would not mind like pushing her against the brick wall a few feet away and, you know, touching her. Basically, she fucking looks good.
Rachel’s grinning at her like she knows something Santana doesn’t when she says, “You’re Santana.”
“And you’re Rachel,” she responds with raising her brow.
“You remembered,” Rachel says before sipping her drink. It looks like a Long Island and Santana decides she likes her more just because of that.
“I mean, you did kiss me,” she teases. Rachel glares then smiles again and asks Santana what she’s doing here. “I don’t know if I introduced you to Mike, but he’s one of my best friends. He’s the DJ.” She points to where Mike is in the booth twenty feet away, one headphone on and the other off, rocking his body with this grin she only ever sees when he’s in the zone.
“Oh, he’s really good,” Rachel says tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and smiling in his direction. Santana nods, says he’s pretty fucking dope because it’s true.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came out with a few my ex-classmates before I leave town.”
“You’re moving?” She totally didn’t mean to sound disappointed.
“Oh, no,” Rachel says, then licks her lips and, well, she should do that again. “My show is traveling, so I’ll be in Chicago for the next six weeks.”
“Dope.”
Rachel sighs, “Yeah. I’ll miss the city though. I love it here.”
“Born here?” Rachel shakes her head and scrunches her nose and says, “Ohio. You?”
“Grew up in Bed-Stuy. You seem like you’re from here.”
Rachel smiles like Santana’s said something really sweet and tells her thanks. Santana sips her drink and she’s pretty sure Rachel’s eyes are on her lips when she says, “You know, you don’t have a lot of tattoos for someone who makes a living of putting them on people.”
So, she’s looking. Cool.
Santana just smirks, waves at Mike over Rachel’s shoulder because he’s pointing at her then looks back at Rachel with a grin. “Who says I don’t have a lot?”
“I only see the one on the inside of your wrist.” Santana rotates her right hand, so it’s on display, and then holds it out. It’s the first tat she got at sixteen. She and Puck decided to practice on each other though both of them were still supposed to be working with citrus.
It’s not perfect (the one she did on Puck is better of course) but it means something. Like, a testament to just how far they’ve come. How she figured out translating the perfect lines she could do on paper to skin and how Puck became like, the ninja of shading. They’ve considered touching them up but she kind of digs how much they suck, so she hasn’t bothered it.
“Just means you can’t see ‘em,” she says in response. Rachel hums and bites her lip then says, “Touché.”
“You can kind of see this one,” Santana says turning her body and lifting her arm. Rachel’s fingers are on her skin in no time, tracing the little bit of cherry blossom visible through the cutout.
“It’s pretty.”
“It’s huge, is what it is,” she says. “Curls around my side and stops on my spine.”
“Oh?” She nods and Rachel’s fingers dance over the flower one more time before she pulls back. “Wish I could see it.”
“I mean, I’m not an exhibitionist but-“
“Santana,” Rachel says quickly with a little grin, hitting her shoulder.
She just shrugs and asks if Rachel wants another drink. She heads to the bar for both of them and some of Rachel’s friends are there when she comes back. Puck shows up, too, kisses her cheek and whispers about getting her mack on. She just rolls her eyes and introduces him to everyone, talks them up until Rachel says she has to go because she’s got an early flight. She wishes the girl luck, and means it, then drags Puck to the DJ booth to see Mike with her.
“Um, why aren’t you tapping that?”
“What? She’s like, straight.”
Puck laughs in her face. “You have like the worst gaydar for a lesbian.”
“That’s offensive,” she says, rolling her eyes, but like, some chicks are just flirty. Doesn’t mean Rachel’s actually into girls. “And she’s like gonna be gone for like, two months.”
“Whatever. I thought you were a champ. You pussied out.”
“There’s about six things wrong with that statement,” she tells him, rolling her eyes, but she’s sort of wondering why she didn’t put any real effort in.
She’s definitely interested.
*
She’d like to say that she’s forgotten about the girl, but she hasn’t.
It’s not like she’s been pining or anything. It’s just that maybe a few of the times she’s put her hands between her own legs, she’s thought about Rachel’s and how soft her fingers felt when she touched her skin.
Whatever, it’s not like she’s in love or anything. So, that explains why her stomach jumps when she looks up from her place behind the counter to see Rachel, leaning over it, chest pushing up over the forearm she has resting there.
“Hey,” Santana says leaning back in her chair and tapping her pen. Rachel smiles brightly and says hi. “You come to give me another kiss?”
The girl just rolls her eyes and licks her lips (Santana’s pretty sure she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it) then gives Santana this glare that doesn’t do anything but make her laugh. “Just messin’, babe.”
“I’m here with, Sam,” Rachel says, fingers tugging at the end of the fish braid draping over her shoulder.
She’s got on this little navy blue bodycon skirt with a chambray shirt tucked into it. Her nails are yellow this time and there’s a tiny owl ring on her right ringer finger.
“He’s getting that Super Mario tattoo from Puck,” she tells Santana then leans on her elbows against the counter and tips her head to where Sam’s talking to Puck about the sketch and kind of rolls her eyes.
“Yeah? Seems fitting,” she muses. “Dorito?”
Rachel shakes her head, “No, thank you.”
Santana just shrugs and rolls the bag up. “You heal good?”
“I think so. I did everything you said to.”
“Best way to do it,” Rachel gives her an amused look. “Want me to look at it?”
Rachel nods and Santana gets up from her seat, puts her hands on the opposite end of the counter then lifts herself over it. There’s a little door to get out but she prefers this way and Holly’s not around to chew her out about it anymore.
Rachel lifts her shirt and pushes the band of her skirt down just enough for Santana to get a good look at it. It looks fine. It healed well and most of the color was retained. She traces it with her fingertip. “S’good.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I tell no lies.”
Rachel giggles. “Are you always this truthful?”
“Mm,” she says like she’s thinking on it. She sucks in a breath then lets it out. “Most of the time.”
“I’ll take it,” Rachel says then her eyes leaves Santana’s face and settle on her shoulder. “You didn’t have this last time.”
Santana looks where Rachel is. “The sleeve? Yeah. Puck started it for me about a month ago.”
“It’s really elaborate.”
“Yeah it is,” she says, a little dumbly. It’s been something she’s wanted since she enrolled in art classes. Japanese style tattooing’s always intrigued her and she’s been sketching the idea for what seems like years. She probably still wouldn’t have started if Puck hadn’t told her to boss up and do it, which, he’s an idiot but whatever.
“What’s it mean?” Rachel asks, fingers gliding over the lines of one of the clouds. Santana’s eyes follow her fingers. It’s just a bunch of lines now; a little shading done where black is necessary.
“Long story.”
“Sam’s got a while.”
“You’re good. I’ll bite.” Rachel smirks then tilts her head to the side like she’s waiting. “S’Japanese.”
“I got that.”
“Hey, some people don’t.” She shrugs.
“I’m not most people.” Yeah, most people are not this hot. “Quit stalling. I’m curious,” she says, poking the tip of one of the waves.
Santana just laughs and peels her sleeve up the rest of the way then starts explaining what’s covering her skin from her right shoulder to a little above her elbow.
“Are you supposed to be the tiger or the dragon?” Rachel asks dragging a nail over the expanse of the dragon winding it’s way around the tiger. Santana can’t help but envision it when it’s in color and Puck’s the best she’s ever seen when it comes to shading. She has no worries that it’ll turn out awesome.
“Who says I’m in this?”
“You don’t seem like the type of person who’d get something this elaborate for fun.”
Well.
“It’s about balance. But right now? I’d go with the tiger.” Rachel nods and squints at the tattoo outline like she’s trying to picture it finished.
“What colors are you going to use?” Rachel asks curiously. She actually sounds like she cares what the end product will be.
“The dragon’s going to be purple and grey and the tiger will be, you know, tiger colored.”
“It could be a white tiger.”
“It’s not. There’s a bunch of other colors that’ll go into it too.” Rachel just hums and curls her fingers around Santana’s bicep. Santana watches her fingers flex and bites her lip, pushing her hip into the counter.
“You’re pretty strong.”
“I work out,” she jokes.
“I can see that.”
Of course she can.
“Found your four o’clock on my way in,” Tina says.
“Shoulda left him outside,” Santana says looking at Mike. He frowns at her and holds his drink out of her reach when she goes to grab for it. “We’re finishing this shit today. I’m tired of looking at your mug.”
“It’s on my back!”
“Still tired of looking,” she says. “My bad, Rach. I mean, Rachel. This is my best friend Mike. Mike, this is Rachel. She has awesome taste in tattoo artists.”
Mike grins and holds his hand out, “So, Puck tattooed you?”
“You’re an asshole.”
Rachel laughs and shakes his hand. “I guess I should’ve gone to Puck then.”
“Naa,” she drawls out. “M’better,” she adds, snatch a Starburst out of Mike’s palm.
“She’s evil,” Mike stage whispers to Rachel. The girl just smiles and gives Santana the once over like she’s appraising her.
“She doesn’t seem too bad.”
“She hasn’t had any tequila.”
“You done talking shit about the person who’ll be running a needle over your skin for the next three hours, Miyagi?”
“Yep.”
“Thought so.” She rolls her eyes and pushes him toward her station. “You can like come over here if you want. I’ll pull up a chair for you,” she says to Rachel.
“Really?”
“’Course,” she says and steals the extra stool from Hugo’s station because he’s out for the day. Sam lets out a groan from where Puck is tattooing and Rachel laughs and says he owes her fifty bucks for making a noise.
She talks to the girl about her experience in Chicago while she does the last bits of shading on Mike’s back piece. She’s doing a good job focusing on her work and talking to the hottest girl ever until Rachel says, “I was hoping you could do me today.”
She sort of stabs Mike and her mouth opens and closes a few times as Mike moves away from her and looks back at her with a scowl. “Sorry,” she tells him, rubs some excess ink away then turns to Rachel and says, “What?”
Rachel’s blushing when she finally looks at the girl, “I meant, I kind of wanted to get another tattoo today.”
“Oh. I can probably, uh, squeeze you in tomorrow.”
Rachel laughs, “I’m sorry for…”
“No. No. It’s fine. I just,” she shakes head. “No worries, but I can definitely do you, just not today.” Rachel’s inhaling and biting her lip when she looks over. “I’m booked up.”
“Okay,” Rachel says, her little foot taps against the side of the stool a few times and Santana just kind of smiles and turns back to Mike who’s a lot more tense than before.
“Sorry, Chang,” she says before starting back up again.
Rachel’s gone before she finishes him up. She says she’s meeting up with cast mates for an early dinner and Sam’s done, so really there’s no reason to stay. Though Santana can’t pretend she wouldn’t have minded the continued company.
Part 2.