fic?! from ME?!
Title: you and i have history (or don't you remember?)
Pairing: Finn/Santana, mentions of Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG13 to be safe
Warnings: Spoilers up to the end of Mash-off
Summary: He should feel guilty; he ruined her entire life.
ilu nerdork for betainggggg ;D
*
The instant the sound of her palm hitting his cheek echoes through the auditorium, she's brought back to herself. It's like she had been reacting instinctively--the deepest and most paranoid part of her just unleashing itself, unable to stand the idea of him telling anyone else.
(He didn't actually tell anyone, not to their face, not that she knows of--but he said it; he was the one who spoke so loudly it drowned out everything else in that hallway. She knows everyone heard, she knows it.)
"Santana, what happened?"
Someone asks it. She's not sure who, because she's not looking at anyone but Finn and his stupid, confused face. She's not listening to anyone but him, either, but he's not saying anything. He just looks at her, his hand on his reddening cheek. Santana thinks he looks angry, maybe even smug, but the part of her that isn't freaking the fuck out knows he just looks stunned and guilty.
(He should feel guilty; he ruined her entire life.)
She's not paying attention to anyone else because she's so mad; she's mad and she's scared and she's hurt and she's trying desperately to ignore the part of her that isn't any of those things. The part of her that feels the familiar twinge deep down, like when she used to actually notice guys.
And that, that is when she turns on her heel and runs.
Because she cannot, she will not go back there. Especially not for him; especially not now that her whole life is about to fall apart because she's a lesbian. If she's going to have to deal with that, she's going to be a lesbian, for god's sake.
She's completely, starry-eyed, head over heels, insert-your-own-cliché-here in love with Brittany. She will never, ever, ever want anyone else, girl or guy, and so the only logical answer is that she's gay. Right?
She thinks maybe she just gets off on hurting people--that would explain why slapping him turned her on a little. Maybe that part of her still doesn't believe in labels, while the rest of her has accepted--if only mentally--who she truly is.
Which is exactly why this is un-freakin'-acceptable.
Which is exactly why this is the worst possible time for Finn to come into the hallway where Santana's still standing, her head in her hands as she tries not to burst into sobs.
(She is so sick of crying.)
"Santana, look, I never meant--"
She turns, automatically taking large steps toward him. He shuts up real quick and moves back, keeping a safe distance. Good. It's the first smart thing he's done this year.
"You cannot be trying to explain yourself right now. I know you're not doing that, because not even you can be that stupid."
"I'm sor--"
"Uh-uh. No, no. You don't seem to get that you're not allowed to talk to me." She gives a watery, shaky laugh. "You're not even allowed to look at me."
Finn looks--if Santana can be honest about it--completely miserable. His cheek is still red, the faint imprint from her hand a mark of her anger, and--god, why is that actually hot?
Almost to retaliation against her stupid thoughts, she shoves him.
He stumbles back; looks even more shocked. Why does he bother? It's like that saying about the meaning of insanity, like he expects a different outcome when he insists on always being a jackass.
"Wh-what can I do? I promise, I'll try to help you with this however I can," he says, and it's just so Boy Scout that Santana can't even stand it. She walks right up to him again, gets all up in his space, and slides her hand down between his legs.
"Are you offering to try to 'fix' me? Because I think the first round is what turned me off dick in the first place." She injects as much venom in her words as she can, because it's different than all her earlier, usual insults, delivered with so much carelessness. This time, she hurts.
"Whoa, whoa!" He pushes at her arms ever-so-gently, like he thinks he’s the star of some romantic comedy. He probably does. She doesn't move away, but drops her hand. "I would never--I know you're--" He looks around and lowers his voice.
(He should have thought of doing that before.)
"--Gay. I'm not trying to--"
"Shut up, deep-fried twinkie." To her own horror, she's near tears again. There are not enough words to describe how little she wants to cry in front of him. "How long have you even known? Is that why--at the wedding--"
Oh hell no. She's not bringing that up, she is not talking about the brief moment she dropped a wall and actually considered dating him. That had obviously been a total lapse of her senses--some deep down, sick, sappy result of being stuck in a room with shiny, happy, lovestruck people. It had nothing to do with him, it had nothing to do with her, and it has nothing to do with why she's kissing him now.
And this is the worst possible decision she could have made, this right here, her fingers sliding into his hair to pull him down, her body pressing close to his. The growing heat is just from anger, obviously; it has nothing to do with the way her tongue feels against his, the way the gloss on her lips smears marks over his dry ones. It definitely has nothing to do with the way his fingertips curl around her hips, not pushing her away at all.
(Once a cheater, always a cheater, and hey, they have more in common than she thought!)
"Dammit!" She pushes away, sounding more annoyed than sad. She has the answer she was looking for now, but it's not the one she wanted.
Finn looks, as always, dumb. Dumbfounded, whatever, same thing.
"I--" He falters, then asks in a hushed tone, "Am I like, your dude-exception?"
There's a pause, then Santana laughs again. This time at least she's a little amused, even, because god, he's an idiot.
"No. That's so stupid I can't even think of a clever insult to call you right now."
Finn actually looks a little annoyed, and Santana thinks maybe he'll grow a spine for once, but then he says, "Santana, you don't...you don't have to worry so much. Kurt found someone, right? You will, too."
And the thing is, he actually sounds like he cares, like he's not being condescending as hell right now. He looks at her like he's afraid she's going to cry or hit him, but he's ready for it.
She can see right through him.
"Finn," she starts, speaking slowly and clearly. "I do have someone. Brittany and me? We're together. Dating. We're girlfriends." She can see exactly when it sinks in, and holy shit did that feel good to actually say out loud. She actually smiles a little, and that's when Finn's expression turns from unsure to intrigued to happy, then finally to guilty. Again.
"You--oh wow, Santana, I'm really sorry for what I sa...id..." He trails off, the growing confusion making its way back to its comfortable home. "Wait, then why did you just kiss me?"
His poor brain must be close to overflowing now, so Santana's going to take pity on him even though her life is still crumbling around her.
"I was testing something, and you helped."
That's all she says, then she turns around and walks away, chin held high.
Let him wonder. Let him watch her hips sway and let him know that he will never get another shot at that, because she is in love. She's a one-girl girl now.
And just because she can still appreciate an attractive male, just because she may be into a hot kiss even if it’s attached to boy-mouth, just because she kinda wanted to keep that hot kiss going...it doesn't make her not gay.
(Right?)
Pairing: Finn/Santana, mentions of Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG13 to be safe
Warnings: Spoilers up to the end of Mash-off
Summary: He should feel guilty; he ruined her entire life.
ilu nerdork for betainggggg ;D
*
The instant the sound of her palm hitting his cheek echoes through the auditorium, she's brought back to herself. It's like she had been reacting instinctively--the deepest and most paranoid part of her just unleashing itself, unable to stand the idea of him telling anyone else.
(He didn't actually tell anyone, not to their face, not that she knows of--but he said it; he was the one who spoke so loudly it drowned out everything else in that hallway. She knows everyone heard, she knows it.)
"Santana, what happened?"
Someone asks it. She's not sure who, because she's not looking at anyone but Finn and his stupid, confused face. She's not listening to anyone but him, either, but he's not saying anything. He just looks at her, his hand on his reddening cheek. Santana thinks he looks angry, maybe even smug, but the part of her that isn't freaking the fuck out knows he just looks stunned and guilty.
(He should feel guilty; he ruined her entire life.)
She's not paying attention to anyone else because she's so mad; she's mad and she's scared and she's hurt and she's trying desperately to ignore the part of her that isn't any of those things. The part of her that feels the familiar twinge deep down, like when she used to actually notice guys.
And that, that is when she turns on her heel and runs.
Because she cannot, she will not go back there. Especially not for him; especially not now that her whole life is about to fall apart because she's a lesbian. If she's going to have to deal with that, she's going to be a lesbian, for god's sake.
She's completely, starry-eyed, head over heels, insert-your-own-cliché-here in love with Brittany. She will never, ever, ever want anyone else, girl or guy, and so the only logical answer is that she's gay. Right?
She thinks maybe she just gets off on hurting people--that would explain why slapping him turned her on a little. Maybe that part of her still doesn't believe in labels, while the rest of her has accepted--if only mentally--who she truly is.
Which is exactly why this is un-freakin'-acceptable.
Which is exactly why this is the worst possible time for Finn to come into the hallway where Santana's still standing, her head in her hands as she tries not to burst into sobs.
(She is so sick of crying.)
"Santana, look, I never meant--"
She turns, automatically taking large steps toward him. He shuts up real quick and moves back, keeping a safe distance. Good. It's the first smart thing he's done this year.
"You cannot be trying to explain yourself right now. I know you're not doing that, because not even you can be that stupid."
"I'm sor--"
"Uh-uh. No, no. You don't seem to get that you're not allowed to talk to me." She gives a watery, shaky laugh. "You're not even allowed to look at me."
Finn looks--if Santana can be honest about it--completely miserable. His cheek is still red, the faint imprint from her hand a mark of her anger, and--god, why is that actually hot?
Almost to retaliation against her stupid thoughts, she shoves him.
He stumbles back; looks even more shocked. Why does he bother? It's like that saying about the meaning of insanity, like he expects a different outcome when he insists on always being a jackass.
"Wh-what can I do? I promise, I'll try to help you with this however I can," he says, and it's just so Boy Scout that Santana can't even stand it. She walks right up to him again, gets all up in his space, and slides her hand down between his legs.
"Are you offering to try to 'fix' me? Because I think the first round is what turned me off dick in the first place." She injects as much venom in her words as she can, because it's different than all her earlier, usual insults, delivered with so much carelessness. This time, she hurts.
"Whoa, whoa!" He pushes at her arms ever-so-gently, like he thinks he’s the star of some romantic comedy. He probably does. She doesn't move away, but drops her hand. "I would never--I know you're--" He looks around and lowers his voice.
(He should have thought of doing that before.)
"--Gay. I'm not trying to--"
"Shut up, deep-fried twinkie." To her own horror, she's near tears again. There are not enough words to describe how little she wants to cry in front of him. "How long have you even known? Is that why--at the wedding--"
Oh hell no. She's not bringing that up, she is not talking about the brief moment she dropped a wall and actually considered dating him. That had obviously been a total lapse of her senses--some deep down, sick, sappy result of being stuck in a room with shiny, happy, lovestruck people. It had nothing to do with him, it had nothing to do with her, and it has nothing to do with why she's kissing him now.
And this is the worst possible decision she could have made, this right here, her fingers sliding into his hair to pull him down, her body pressing close to his. The growing heat is just from anger, obviously; it has nothing to do with the way her tongue feels against his, the way the gloss on her lips smears marks over his dry ones. It definitely has nothing to do with the way his fingertips curl around her hips, not pushing her away at all.
(Once a cheater, always a cheater, and hey, they have more in common than she thought!)
"Dammit!" She pushes away, sounding more annoyed than sad. She has the answer she was looking for now, but it's not the one she wanted.
Finn looks, as always, dumb. Dumbfounded, whatever, same thing.
"I--" He falters, then asks in a hushed tone, "Am I like, your dude-exception?"
There's a pause, then Santana laughs again. This time at least she's a little amused, even, because god, he's an idiot.
"No. That's so stupid I can't even think of a clever insult to call you right now."
Finn actually looks a little annoyed, and Santana thinks maybe he'll grow a spine for once, but then he says, "Santana, you don't...you don't have to worry so much. Kurt found someone, right? You will, too."
And the thing is, he actually sounds like he cares, like he's not being condescending as hell right now. He looks at her like he's afraid she's going to cry or hit him, but he's ready for it.
She can see right through him.
"Finn," she starts, speaking slowly and clearly. "I do have someone. Brittany and me? We're together. Dating. We're girlfriends." She can see exactly when it sinks in, and holy shit did that feel good to actually say out loud. She actually smiles a little, and that's when Finn's expression turns from unsure to intrigued to happy, then finally to guilty. Again.
"You--oh wow, Santana, I'm really sorry for what I sa...id..." He trails off, the growing confusion making its way back to its comfortable home. "Wait, then why did you just kiss me?"
His poor brain must be close to overflowing now, so Santana's going to take pity on him even though her life is still crumbling around her.
"I was testing something, and you helped."
That's all she says, then she turns around and walks away, chin held high.
Let him wonder. Let him watch her hips sway and let him know that he will never get another shot at that, because she is in love. She's a one-girl girl now.
And just because she can still appreciate an attractive male, just because she may be into a hot kiss even if it’s attached to boy-mouth, just because she kinda wanted to keep that hot kiss going...it doesn't make her not gay.
(Right?)