fic: Personal Privilege - UNHCR
Title: Personal Privilege
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: Rated: M
Spoilers: None, AU
Summary: Santana meets Brittany at a collegiate Model United Nations conference.
A/N: This story is based on the world of Model United Nations. If you have never heard of MUN please google it before reading. Otherwise, enjoy.This is 100% a product of my experiences at conferences. Obviously, minus me hooking up with anyone as hot as Brittany or Santana. I apologize if this is too nerdy for some but I couldn't get it off my mind. This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever done competitive MUN.
"Quinn, unlock the damn door I need the iron."
Santana pounded on the door for the fifth or sixth time. Her roommate clearly didn't understand any kind of bathroom etiquette. It wasn't as if Santana wanted to spy on her in the shower. There was nothing there she hadn't seen several times before. Giving the door one last kick, she stomped back over to her bed and pulled out her binder. If Quinn was going to be a bitch, she might as well get prepared for Session I.
Today was the start of the most prestigious collegiate Model United Nations conference in the country, probably the world. Quinn and Santana had put in weeks of research and strategy preparation all for the next four days of debate. They were grateful that they'd been assigned to the UN High Commission on Refugees, an ECOSOC committee they both preferred. There would be very little fun and next to no sleep for either of them until Sunday, but the Best Delegation gavels they'd take home were well worth the sacrifice. Santana was going over their notes on micronutrient deficiencies in refugee populations when Quinn emerged from the bathroom, letting out a cloud of steam with her.
"Jesus Christ, I thought you drowned in there." Santana pushed past her to retrieve the iron from the counter. Stepping into the closet she pulled out a heavily wrinkled powder blue shirt and set it on the ironing board. "You know I need to iron my shirt or I'll look homeless."
Quinn looked up from the zipper of her pants. "Why don't you just wear the red one? It never needs to be ironed. She stepped into her heels and adjusted the string of pearls around her neck.
"Because, I'm saving it for tomorrow. Seriously Quinn, we've partnered on every dual delegation committee since freshman year. You know I save red for Friday and purple for Sunday."
"Well maybe if you were as anal about packing neatly as you are about your pointless wardrobe superstitions, your shirts wouldn't always look like they'd just been shrink wrapped. "
Santana looked down at her shirt, she was barely halfway done forcing the wrinkles out. Ironing was never her strong suit. It took a level of patience that was just beyond her. She eyed Quinn's suit. The creases in her pants were so sharp she could probably cut wood. Santana was loath to admit that Quinn was right, but admitting it might just play to her advantage. She heaved out an exaggerated sigh.
"You're right. I don't even see how I will finish this in time for Opening Ceremonies." She let her shoulders sag and tried to look as pitiful as possible. Quinn looked at her for a few moments before rolling her eyes and shoving her out of the way.
"Fine, I'll finish it for you. Go put the rest of your clothes on."
Santana was pulling on her stockings across the room, feeling quite proud of herself, when she heard Quinn say,
"Don't think I don't see what you just did. As payment, you'll be giving our opening speech." Before Santana could open her mouth to protest, Quinn held up the hand holding the iron to cut her off. "And you'll be taking the aisle seat."
Sometimes Santana wished she'd gotten stuck with a different partner.
As they sat side by side during Opening, Santana regretted asking Quinn to help her. She'd rather be stuck ironing every pillowcase in the hotel than listening to the keynote speaker. He was obviously only chosen because he was a professor at the university and the conference couldn't find anyone better. His brief stint as the UN Special Advisor to 'Who cares?' and as Director of the 'Center for Irrelevant Studies' wasn't nearly enough to make Santana interested in his speech. It was nearly six. At least the speech would be over soon. Committee started at seven so they couldn't hold them much longer, right?
She sent a quick text to Quinn.
This is almost as boring as listening you talk about your senior thesis.
Quinn shot her a dirty look and replied almost instantly.
Sorry, we can't all write about penis and get a degree for it.
Santana turned slightly in her chair to keep from elbowing her in the stomach. Quinn always knew just how to push her buttons.
For the last time, my thesis is on Phallic Symbolism in Classical Antiquity. And let's be real; you know way more about cock than I ever will.
Whatever. You're being rude. Pay attention.
With that, Quinn pointedly shut off her phone and returned her attention to the podium. Santana could never understand how she got so engrossed in these things, yet conference after conference she sat through the keynote speech with rapt attention. One time, Santana caught her taking notes. It was sickening. She leaned back in her chair and looked around, trying to keep from falling asleep. She snored and that kind of awkwardness was something she aimed to avoid. She was eyeing a few of the female cadets from West Point when her eye caught on a glimmer of gold. Sneaking, preposterously late, into Opening Ceremonies was a tall blonde with legs that seemed designed for the trim pantsuit she wore. Santana had always been jealous of Quinn's ability to wear pants without looking dumpy, but even she had nothing on this girl.
Santana's blatant staring was interrupted when the girl seemingly found her delegation and took a seat. She became an indistinguishable drop in the sea of heads bobbing along in either admiration or near comatose boredom.
When Opening ended and the conference was finally declared in-session, Santana filed out behind Quinn and followed her to their committee room. She made an effort to memorize the path so she could find it later. Quinn naturally had already taken the time to scope out the entire venue to find the quickest way to both their committee and the most convenient public spaces for collaboration. She was just crazy like that. They walked into the committee room about forty minutes before session was scheduled to start. Quinn was pleased to note that they were the first delegation there. Now was the crucial time to schmooze the other delegates and the dais while analyzing them for any weaknesses. Scoping out the competition was really the main point of Thursday night session. True debate and bloc formation wouldn't really start until Friday.
Santana was listening to a group of awkward novice delegates as they stated their incorrect opinions on malaria prevention when the girl from earlier strolled into the room. It was as if everything slowed down. The girl approached the front of the room with a tortuously slow pace. If anything, she was more attractive up close with her brilliant blue eyes and sunny blonde hair. Santana's sluggish brain couldn't process anything but how much those heels made her look like a goddess. A warrior goddess ready to conquer anything in her path. Belatedly, Santana realized that she stood quite literally in her way.
"Hi!" the blonde said, extending her hand eagerly. "I'm Brittany, representing France."
"Santana…Brazil."
Santana found herself capable of only one-word answers as the feel of warm fingers in hers caused every drop of moisture in her mouth to evaporate. She anxiously looked around for any lifeline at all to save her from staying here and trying to make intelligent conversation with Brittany, who seemed to have stepped straight off a runway just to torment Santana and her libido. Like a guardian angel sent from on high, Quinn swooped over and introduced herself to Brittany and her partner, a rather loud brunette who talked just a little too fast for Santana's liking. The three of them, plus Santana stood talking for a few moments about their preferred topic and broad policy ideas. If Quinn noticed Santana's uncharacteristic silence, she hid it very well.
Once she'd put more than three feet in between herself and Brittany, Santana finally was able to shook herself out of whatever trance she'd been in. When the time came, she delivered one of the best opening arguments of her career. Her deal with Quinn worked out well, since she dealt in reason, using specifics, dates and facts. Quinn on the other hand, was the statesman, going for hearts and minds and quite often using blatant manipulation. The majority of the other delegations seemed to be taking the latter approach, but with none of Quinn's poise and charisma. The contrast made Santana's forthright presentation stand out even more. She could see support in the eyes of a few delegations and was unsurprised that notes started pouring in as soon as she sat down.
Santana spent much of the rest of the session answering notes while Quinn lead the motion to set the agenda. In the end, the committee didn't vote to discuss the topic Santana favored, but she'd prepared thoroughly for both. The challenge would be to create the best bloc and neutralize the larger countries. By some fluke, which Quinn swore was political; they'd been assigned Brazil when their elite university team should represent a P5 country. The injustice enraged Quinn so badly that Santana had to repeatedly explain to her the merits of an emerging power like Brazil in such a humanitarian based committee.
By the end of Session I, they had a solid plan for the weekend. Santana compiled a list of allies; Quinn compiled a list of enemies. They discussed what they needed to research more and where they had an advantage. After hours of reading and organizing their ideas, they finally collapsed into bed, exhausted.
On Friday morning, Santana was once again presented with a win-lose situation. She once again cajoled Quinn into ironing for her; this time it was her jacket. But the downside was that it was raining and it wasn't the refreshing kind, it was the hot muggy, polluted kind that threatened to make her hair frizzy and made her sweat. As Santana fanned herself, she thought about how times like these made her wish she were a man. While humidity and opaque stockings were like torture when she was outside; the committee room was freezing. She just couldn't win.
She and Quinn went over their strategy as they walked, each outlining their goals for the day.
"Before we get started, I think it's fucking hilarious that the China delegation is two Asians. Classic."
"I'm pretty sure they're dating or hooking up. It's so unprofessional."
"Please Quinn, like that stopped you from shoving your hand down my pants all last year."
"That's beside the point. We never made out during unmoderated caucus. Now, if you can be serious, I'll let you make fun of all the other kids on Sunday."
Santana shrugged and turned back to her notes. Quinn took the fun out of everything. She checked off her list of observations from the previous night. "Ok, so the UK is just completely off policy, so we don't have to worry about them. India has people skills, but they only researched the topic A. One of the Russias is Filipino and doesn't speak English that well. I'm pretty sure she's an exchange student or like an immigrant."
Quinn nodded, pulling out her own list. "As Brazil we need to lock down the developing bloc. I'm going to take Africa and you try to get the Latin American countries behind you."
"Sounds good."
"Oh, one more thing. Did you notice how the two delegates from France don't get along too well?"
Santana hadn't really noticed anything about France besides how one girl was as attractive as the other was annoying. She shrugged, "I did notice that Loud France seemed very interested in flirting with our chair and Hot France wasn't too happy about it."
Quinn's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.
"Hot France, really?"
"Not like that, Quinn" Santana felt her ears and the back of her neck flush with embarrassment.
"Don't play games. I saw the way you practically drooled over her last night. Get it together. I need you to work with her so we can separate her from her partner. They are literally our only valid competition."
Santana nodded in agreement and promised herself she would get over whatever weird attraction she had for Hot France -Brittany. Quinn was right. This would be crucial for them to gavel. The cohesion of a dual delegation was just as important as their level of research and speaking skills. If both partners weren't on the same page, it could spell disaster for them, their bloc and their resolution. That was why she always partnered with Quinn. On a basic level, Quinn was the only person she could tolerate working closely with for a whole weekend. She suspected Quinn felt the same way. Their dynamic seemed odd since they argued, sniped, and griped at each other constantly but they were both in it to win and had gotten to the point that they could nearly read each others minds during caucus. Santana had never seen another delegation with that kind of chemistry, and that gave them a huge advantage.
By early afternoon on Friday, things were definitely going their way. Santana managed to control debate by keeping the committee focused on water sanitation. Literally no one could match her on that issue. She spent hours gleefully shooting down terrible ideas while Quinn spent time furiously answering notes and conducting meetings outside the room. Friday was about getting their ideas across. It was about shutting down Loud France, whose name was something with an R, every time she opened her mouth to annoyingly quote the UN Charter. Saturday was for smoothing feathers and that was most decisively Quinn's job. Or so Santana thought.
"You need to work on merging with France" Quinn said over coffee on Saturday morning. "Otherwise they'll keep poaching all the European countries."
Santana wanted to argue, but she knew it was true. She had to handle the merger because she was the most knowledgeable about the topic. Well, it was also true that a few of the other delegations no longer trusted Quinn. She was a sly conniving bitch, and Santana loved her for it, but that often meant Santana had to be the closer. She sat wondering which member of the French delegation she would have the most success with. She doubted her professionalism would last long with either, as she wanted to stab one and shove her tongue down the other's throat. Neither action would impress the chair.
The decision ended up being made for her when Brittany approached her during unmod.
"Hey, Brazil."
"Hi. Brittany, right? You can call me Santana."
"I know, silly." Brittany elbowed her gently. "But Rachel says I need to cultivate my professional distance."
Admittedly, she did. She was way too friendly and open for this kind of cutthroat competition. Santana had seen her flitting from bloc to bloc, sharing ideas and quite literally taking the MUN spirit of collaboration to heart. Clearly no one ever told her that honest interest in the topics wasn't the most important factor in winning. Santana found her idealism very endearing but knew she'd use it to her advantage if possible.
"Rachel says quite a lot."
Brittany giggled, but refrained from agreeing. Santana found her loyalty to such an awful partner honorable. She saw Quinn across the room vigorously leading a discussion amongst the other Latin American nations. It was time to get to business. They had just one session left to pull a successful merger.
"I think we should discuss merging to create the most comprehensive resolution." Santana put on her most serious face and struggled to keep her eyes on Brittany's and not on the long white column of her throat. Or how the way Brittany leaned forward to hear her in the crowded room offered a glimpse directly down her shirt. Or the fact that she was wearing a skirt today and her legs seemed to go on forever. A subtle cough drew her eyes back up. She felt her face start to heat up when Brittany smiled at her with such a knowing gleam in her eyes. Santana had been caught rather overtly checking her out.
She trained her eyes back to her draft resolution and kept them there. Avoiding Brittany's eyes didn't really help block out the warmth from her body or the scent of her perfume, but it worked well enough to allow Santana to function while they spliced and fused their respective DRs into one joint document. At some point, Quinn and Rachel stepped over to oversee the process. After a bit more discussion of the finer policy points, they were ready to submit. They walked the flash drive up to the dais and handed it to the chair, a really tall, pasty-looking guy who alternated between leering at Quinn and having moderately disgusting eyesex with Rachel. As they returned to their seats, Brittany grabbed her arm.
"I really enjoyed working with you," her eyes were filled with the kind of sincerity you rarely saw in Model UN.
"Me too." Santana hated the way her voice practically squeaked. She quickly returned to her seat feeling Brittany's gaze on her the entire time.
She and Rachel presented their bloc's resolution. Rachel, while crazy irritating, was able to give very impassioned speeches and Santana had to admit they played well off each other. She caught Quinn's eye during a lull in the Q&A period and winked. They were doing so well. Until Santana made the mistake of looking in Brittany's direction. Brittany sat on the aisle and chose that moment to uncross and recross her legs. Santana spluttered for a good five sections before Rachel jumped in. Quinn gave her a hardcore WTF look. Brittany just smiled. Oh, she knew what she was doing. She had Santana's number and was clearly enjoying playing with her. When the banging of the gavel announced the end of the session, she walked right up to Santana.
"I hope I'll see you at the delegate dance." she purred, walking away as Santana just nodded at her retreating back.
With Session V over, Quinn and Santana rushed back to their room to change. The important part of the conference was done. Awards would be decided tonight and no matter how much people tried to pretend that Sunday mattered, all you really had to do was show up. Though, with the amount of booze Santana made a point of consuming at each conference, that in and of itself was a challenge. More than once, Quinn had to peel her off the bathroom floor and pour about a gallon of coffee down her throat before dragging her to committee.
These potential dangers didn't stop either of them from cracking open the bottle of tequila hidden in their luggage. They both preferred its tangy sting to the cheap vodka and rum the rest of the team was drinking downstairs. Their plan was to drink enough of the good stuff so that they wouldn't mind the bad stuff later.
"I can't believe you forgot the limes again. You're useless to me, you know that right?" Santana slammed two shot glasses on the table to emphasize her point.
"I didn't forget, I just told you that I'm not going to put produce in my luggage with my clothes. Do you know how many of my shirts are pure silk?"
This was a recurring argument with them. Santana had the fake ID because Quinn was much to proper to search out the "sort of people" who could get her one. For someone who drank as much as she did, she had a lot of rules to what she would and wouldn't do to get booze. Santana didn't have that problem.
"I bought the bottle, Quinn. Would it kill you to think of me over all that shit you bought from the Betty Draper collection at Nordstrom's"
"Are you saying you can't do tequila shots without lime? Isn't that treason where you come from?"
Rather than respond to the insult, Santana registered the challenge in Quinn's eyes. They had always been like this, picking and poking at each other. She decided then and there that her goal for the night would be to get Quinn absolutely trashed. And then draw a huge penis all across that pretty face of hers. Smiling at her partner, Santana raised her glass.
"Salud!"
About three hours later, Santana began to question the wisdom of pouring tequila down Quinn's throat and then forcing her to chase it with only high-fives. At MUN events like this, they stayed closer together than usual. The rest of their delegation almost always had some kind of coup or internal drama by this point and could not be relied upon to provide safety in numbers. Early in their sophomore year, after many many mistakes, they'd created a two-man buddy system that extended far beyond holding hands. They'd gotten quite a reputation on the circuit but in reality, at least seventy percent of their hook-ups were drunken attempts to repel the creepers that skulked around the delegate dance looking for easy marks.
Now, Quinn was drunk off her ass and had abandoned Santana about twenty minutes ago for a dark corner and a West Point cadet. Santana was stuck in the swell of bodies, sweating and agitated, dancing with an obnoxious douchebag who for some inexplicable reason kept his blazer on in the sweltering heat. His hands wandered just far enough to annoy her, but not far enough to give her an excuse to punch him. She would have sworn he was gay until he brazenly ran his eyes over her body before asking her to dance. Honestly, the first time his hand grazed where it shouldn't have, she was too shocked to react.
The song ended and she stepped forward, fully intending to walk away from him without another word. She got about four steps before a hand at her waist tugged her back. She whipped her head around expecting to see a pleased smirk on a smarmy meerkat face, but instead was met with blue eyes and an awful lot of blonde hair. The grip on her waist tightened contrasting the gentle but firm hand with the larger one previously resting there. She inhaled deeply and felt her back brush against a body that was decidedly feminine. Finally her mind cut through the haze of heat, alcohol and confusion.
"Brittany?"
"Santana. I've been looking for you."
Just like that, Brittany walked her a few steps from the center of the room and began to lead her as the next song picked up. Santana had danced closely with people before, both girls and guys. Some could even say she was something of an expert at grinding but never had it felt so intimate as moving with Brittany to the beat. Even over the vibration of the speakers, she could feel each breath Brittany took; feel the press of her ribcage expanding. With each rise and fall, the tension coursing through her body increased.
Brittany's hands held her firmly, more than guiding her but instead holding them together so they moved as one. After a few moments, her hands strayed from Santana's hips down to her upper thighs and up to just under her breasts before descending again. Every so often Brittany's fingertips would graze the hem of her sinfully short dress and skate along her skin. Upon hearing Santana gasp, she pressed down harder.
While distracted, Santana failed to notice Brittany slowly moving them to the edge of the room until she felt warm lips on the back of her neck. She jolted forward before being pulled back once again. She felt Brittany's chuckle before she heard it, the rumble against her back, and the hot puff of air in her ear. Brittany linked her hands around Santana's midsection, giving her just enough room to turn around.
When she looked up, the heat in Brittany's eyes sent her heart pounding. The throbbing settled low in her belly as Brittany leaned against the wall and nudged Santana towards her, pressing her lips along Santana's neck and her thigh in between her legs. The pressure nearly caused Santana to cry out and she rocked herself lightly while Brittany's tongue danced across her skin. Unable to stand it, Santana grasped handfuls of blonde hair and pulled Brittany's lips to hers, using more teeth than anything else in her desperation. She actually did whine when Brittany separated their mouths.
"I've wanted to do that since Opening when I couldn't make it on time and you couldn't keep your eyes off my ass"
Any embarrassment Santana might have felt paled next to the memory of how good she'd felt just moments before.
"Well who told you to stop?" Santana's voice was raspy with arousal. She couldn't control the erratic way her body continued to press down onto Brittany's.
"Well, I'm pretty sure this is illegal. Also, that kid over there with the 'fro is watching us and its kind of killing the mood."
Rather than look for the voyeur, who was almost definitely the kid with glasses and dandruff that wore the same suit to every conference and sexually propositioned anything in a skirt, Santana said the only thing that came to her mind.
"Come to my room."
In the elevator, Santana stood further from Brittany than necessary, hoping the other occupants couldn't somehow sense what they were up to. She was still pretty sure that elderly couple could see right through her was judging her. She stepped off at her floor, quickly striding down the hall to her door while Brittany trailed behind her. Once the door was closed, she went to turn on the lights when Brittany stopped her.
Brittany pulled them into the center of the room, somehow managing to avoid the suitcase left open at the foot of the bed. She laid Santana down on the mattress and slowly worked her dress over her head. When Santana lay in only her bra and panties, she reached for Brittany and attempted to unfasten her belt but strong hands clasped her wrists, stilling her movements.
"No."
Her hands were pressed above her head. Brittany's warm tongue traced the outline of her breast before her teeth bit down on the flesh just above the edge of lace.
"Stay."
Santana grabbed onto the pillow as Brittany made quick work of the rest of her clothes. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could vaguely make out Brittany shifting back to remove her own clothes. She could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Santana waited for Brittany's weight to settle on top of her, but it never came. Instead she felt feather soft lips on her chest, her stomach, and her thighs. She squirmed and the mouth pressed down harder, burning a scorching path along each rib before returning to her mouth. Santana needed more.
"Britt…please."
Brittany kissed her deeply, silencing her, her tongue forceful in a way that her mouth wasn't. She trailed kisses to Santana's ear before whispering.
"Shh. I've waited for days to get my mouth on you. The time for talking is over,"
Santana whimpered as Brittany trailed her tongue down her arm, focusing on the sensitive skin at the crook of her elbow and down to her wrist. She moved lower, drawing long patterns up her thighs and biting down when Santana fidgeted too much. Santana tried to keep quiet as Brittany's teasing moved closer and closer to where she needed it most. Her hips canted upwards searching for any kind of friction.
Brittany held her down and moved closer. She shifted Santana's leg up over her shoulder and used gentle fingers to spread her and hold her open. It was the first time Brittany had used her hands since undressing her and Santana nearly came just from the unfamiliar sensation. She had less than a second to think before Brittany's tongue was on her. Its conquest was as fervent and enthusiastic as its earlier exploration was unhurried and methodical. Santana's heavy moans and unintelligible curses made a mockery of her attempt to remain silent.
Santana woke up alone with a pounding headache. She looked over and saw Quinn sprawled fully clothed across her bed and thanked God for that small favor. A quick glance at her cell pone let her know that they had exactly half an hour before committee started. She drug herself out of bed and shook Quinn awake. Quinn appeared to be in worse shape so Santana headed to the bathroom while she pulled herself together. They were officially twenty minutes late when they left the room. Santana decided to go without a blazer since she couldn't bring herself to bully Quinn into ironing it for her. Thankfully, her blouse had long sleeves and a relatively high collar and covered most of the marks she'd discovered in the shower. There really wasn't much she could do with what Brittany had done to her neck, so she just wore her hair down.
They slunk into the committee room and found seats near the back. The committee was fairly large and they were all the way by the back wall so she can't spot Brittany. Santana sent a note to the dais indicating that they were present. She leaned against the wall and Quinn leaned against her. Quinn was mostly silent the entire morning. It was like the sound of her own voice caused her pain. They managed another hour before the chair announced that he would let them out early. Not wanting to deal with the crush of people trying to leave, they waited until the room was mostly empty. Santana heard a grating voice that could only be Loud France. Quinn pressed her face firmly into Santana's shoulder as if hiding would make Rachel speak more softly.
Santana kept her eyes trained on Rachel, looking for her partner. Brittany was a few steps behind her, looking tired but not at all as if she had a hangover or crept back to her room in a walk of shame at some point that morning. She was smiling and when she caught Santana's eye her grin widened and she winked before trailing Rachel out of the room.
At Closing Ceremonies, after France won Outstanding Delegation and Brazil won Best and Brittany politely shook hands with Quinn, she pulled Santana in for a hug. Pressing close, she licked a hot path under Santana's ear tracing over one of the marks she'd left.
"I'll see you at the next conference."
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: Rated: M
Spoilers: None, AU
Summary: Santana meets Brittany at a collegiate Model United Nations conference.
A/N: This story is based on the world of Model United Nations. If you have never heard of MUN please google it before reading. Otherwise, enjoy.This is 100% a product of my experiences at conferences. Obviously, minus me hooking up with anyone as hot as Brittany or Santana. I apologize if this is too nerdy for some but I couldn't get it off my mind. This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever done competitive MUN.
"Quinn, unlock the damn door I need the iron."
Santana pounded on the door for the fifth or sixth time. Her roommate clearly didn't understand any kind of bathroom etiquette. It wasn't as if Santana wanted to spy on her in the shower. There was nothing there she hadn't seen several times before. Giving the door one last kick, she stomped back over to her bed and pulled out her binder. If Quinn was going to be a bitch, she might as well get prepared for Session I.
Today was the start of the most prestigious collegiate Model United Nations conference in the country, probably the world. Quinn and Santana had put in weeks of research and strategy preparation all for the next four days of debate. They were grateful that they'd been assigned to the UN High Commission on Refugees, an ECOSOC committee they both preferred. There would be very little fun and next to no sleep for either of them until Sunday, but the Best Delegation gavels they'd take home were well worth the sacrifice. Santana was going over their notes on micronutrient deficiencies in refugee populations when Quinn emerged from the bathroom, letting out a cloud of steam with her.
"Jesus Christ, I thought you drowned in there." Santana pushed past her to retrieve the iron from the counter. Stepping into the closet she pulled out a heavily wrinkled powder blue shirt and set it on the ironing board. "You know I need to iron my shirt or I'll look homeless."
Quinn looked up from the zipper of her pants. "Why don't you just wear the red one? It never needs to be ironed. She stepped into her heels and adjusted the string of pearls around her neck.
"Because, I'm saving it for tomorrow. Seriously Quinn, we've partnered on every dual delegation committee since freshman year. You know I save red for Friday and purple for Sunday."
"Well maybe if you were as anal about packing neatly as you are about your pointless wardrobe superstitions, your shirts wouldn't always look like they'd just been shrink wrapped. "
Santana looked down at her shirt, she was barely halfway done forcing the wrinkles out. Ironing was never her strong suit. It took a level of patience that was just beyond her. She eyed Quinn's suit. The creases in her pants were so sharp she could probably cut wood. Santana was loath to admit that Quinn was right, but admitting it might just play to her advantage. She heaved out an exaggerated sigh.
"You're right. I don't even see how I will finish this in time for Opening Ceremonies." She let her shoulders sag and tried to look as pitiful as possible. Quinn looked at her for a few moments before rolling her eyes and shoving her out of the way.
"Fine, I'll finish it for you. Go put the rest of your clothes on."
Santana was pulling on her stockings across the room, feeling quite proud of herself, when she heard Quinn say,
"Don't think I don't see what you just did. As payment, you'll be giving our opening speech." Before Santana could open her mouth to protest, Quinn held up the hand holding the iron to cut her off. "And you'll be taking the aisle seat."
Sometimes Santana wished she'd gotten stuck with a different partner.
As they sat side by side during Opening, Santana regretted asking Quinn to help her. She'd rather be stuck ironing every pillowcase in the hotel than listening to the keynote speaker. He was obviously only chosen because he was a professor at the university and the conference couldn't find anyone better. His brief stint as the UN Special Advisor to 'Who cares?' and as Director of the 'Center for Irrelevant Studies' wasn't nearly enough to make Santana interested in his speech. It was nearly six. At least the speech would be over soon. Committee started at seven so they couldn't hold them much longer, right?
She sent a quick text to Quinn.
This is almost as boring as listening you talk about your senior thesis.
Quinn shot her a dirty look and replied almost instantly.
Sorry, we can't all write about penis and get a degree for it.
Santana turned slightly in her chair to keep from elbowing her in the stomach. Quinn always knew just how to push her buttons.
For the last time, my thesis is on Phallic Symbolism in Classical Antiquity. And let's be real; you know way more about cock than I ever will.
Whatever. You're being rude. Pay attention.
With that, Quinn pointedly shut off her phone and returned her attention to the podium. Santana could never understand how she got so engrossed in these things, yet conference after conference she sat through the keynote speech with rapt attention. One time, Santana caught her taking notes. It was sickening. She leaned back in her chair and looked around, trying to keep from falling asleep. She snored and that kind of awkwardness was something she aimed to avoid. She was eyeing a few of the female cadets from West Point when her eye caught on a glimmer of gold. Sneaking, preposterously late, into Opening Ceremonies was a tall blonde with legs that seemed designed for the trim pantsuit she wore. Santana had always been jealous of Quinn's ability to wear pants without looking dumpy, but even she had nothing on this girl.
Santana's blatant staring was interrupted when the girl seemingly found her delegation and took a seat. She became an indistinguishable drop in the sea of heads bobbing along in either admiration or near comatose boredom.
When Opening ended and the conference was finally declared in-session, Santana filed out behind Quinn and followed her to their committee room. She made an effort to memorize the path so she could find it later. Quinn naturally had already taken the time to scope out the entire venue to find the quickest way to both their committee and the most convenient public spaces for collaboration. She was just crazy like that. They walked into the committee room about forty minutes before session was scheduled to start. Quinn was pleased to note that they were the first delegation there. Now was the crucial time to schmooze the other delegates and the dais while analyzing them for any weaknesses. Scoping out the competition was really the main point of Thursday night session. True debate and bloc formation wouldn't really start until Friday.
Santana was listening to a group of awkward novice delegates as they stated their incorrect opinions on malaria prevention when the girl from earlier strolled into the room. It was as if everything slowed down. The girl approached the front of the room with a tortuously slow pace. If anything, she was more attractive up close with her brilliant blue eyes and sunny blonde hair. Santana's sluggish brain couldn't process anything but how much those heels made her look like a goddess. A warrior goddess ready to conquer anything in her path. Belatedly, Santana realized that she stood quite literally in her way.
"Hi!" the blonde said, extending her hand eagerly. "I'm Brittany, representing France."
"Santana…Brazil."
Santana found herself capable of only one-word answers as the feel of warm fingers in hers caused every drop of moisture in her mouth to evaporate. She anxiously looked around for any lifeline at all to save her from staying here and trying to make intelligent conversation with Brittany, who seemed to have stepped straight off a runway just to torment Santana and her libido. Like a guardian angel sent from on high, Quinn swooped over and introduced herself to Brittany and her partner, a rather loud brunette who talked just a little too fast for Santana's liking. The three of them, plus Santana stood talking for a few moments about their preferred topic and broad policy ideas. If Quinn noticed Santana's uncharacteristic silence, she hid it very well.
Once she'd put more than three feet in between herself and Brittany, Santana finally was able to shook herself out of whatever trance she'd been in. When the time came, she delivered one of the best opening arguments of her career. Her deal with Quinn worked out well, since she dealt in reason, using specifics, dates and facts. Quinn on the other hand, was the statesman, going for hearts and minds and quite often using blatant manipulation. The majority of the other delegations seemed to be taking the latter approach, but with none of Quinn's poise and charisma. The contrast made Santana's forthright presentation stand out even more. She could see support in the eyes of a few delegations and was unsurprised that notes started pouring in as soon as she sat down.
Santana spent much of the rest of the session answering notes while Quinn lead the motion to set the agenda. In the end, the committee didn't vote to discuss the topic Santana favored, but she'd prepared thoroughly for both. The challenge would be to create the best bloc and neutralize the larger countries. By some fluke, which Quinn swore was political; they'd been assigned Brazil when their elite university team should represent a P5 country. The injustice enraged Quinn so badly that Santana had to repeatedly explain to her the merits of an emerging power like Brazil in such a humanitarian based committee.
By the end of Session I, they had a solid plan for the weekend. Santana compiled a list of allies; Quinn compiled a list of enemies. They discussed what they needed to research more and where they had an advantage. After hours of reading and organizing their ideas, they finally collapsed into bed, exhausted.
On Friday morning, Santana was once again presented with a win-lose situation. She once again cajoled Quinn into ironing for her; this time it was her jacket. But the downside was that it was raining and it wasn't the refreshing kind, it was the hot muggy, polluted kind that threatened to make her hair frizzy and made her sweat. As Santana fanned herself, she thought about how times like these made her wish she were a man. While humidity and opaque stockings were like torture when she was outside; the committee room was freezing. She just couldn't win.
She and Quinn went over their strategy as they walked, each outlining their goals for the day.
"Before we get started, I think it's fucking hilarious that the China delegation is two Asians. Classic."
"I'm pretty sure they're dating or hooking up. It's so unprofessional."
"Please Quinn, like that stopped you from shoving your hand down my pants all last year."
"That's beside the point. We never made out during unmoderated caucus. Now, if you can be serious, I'll let you make fun of all the other kids on Sunday."
Santana shrugged and turned back to her notes. Quinn took the fun out of everything. She checked off her list of observations from the previous night. "Ok, so the UK is just completely off policy, so we don't have to worry about them. India has people skills, but they only researched the topic A. One of the Russias is Filipino and doesn't speak English that well. I'm pretty sure she's an exchange student or like an immigrant."
Quinn nodded, pulling out her own list. "As Brazil we need to lock down the developing bloc. I'm going to take Africa and you try to get the Latin American countries behind you."
"Sounds good."
"Oh, one more thing. Did you notice how the two delegates from France don't get along too well?"
Santana hadn't really noticed anything about France besides how one girl was as attractive as the other was annoying. She shrugged, "I did notice that Loud France seemed very interested in flirting with our chair and Hot France wasn't too happy about it."
Quinn's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.
"Hot France, really?"
"Not like that, Quinn" Santana felt her ears and the back of her neck flush with embarrassment.
"Don't play games. I saw the way you practically drooled over her last night. Get it together. I need you to work with her so we can separate her from her partner. They are literally our only valid competition."
Santana nodded in agreement and promised herself she would get over whatever weird attraction she had for Hot France -Brittany. Quinn was right. This would be crucial for them to gavel. The cohesion of a dual delegation was just as important as their level of research and speaking skills. If both partners weren't on the same page, it could spell disaster for them, their bloc and their resolution. That was why she always partnered with Quinn. On a basic level, Quinn was the only person she could tolerate working closely with for a whole weekend. She suspected Quinn felt the same way. Their dynamic seemed odd since they argued, sniped, and griped at each other constantly but they were both in it to win and had gotten to the point that they could nearly read each others minds during caucus. Santana had never seen another delegation with that kind of chemistry, and that gave them a huge advantage.
By early afternoon on Friday, things were definitely going their way. Santana managed to control debate by keeping the committee focused on water sanitation. Literally no one could match her on that issue. She spent hours gleefully shooting down terrible ideas while Quinn spent time furiously answering notes and conducting meetings outside the room. Friday was about getting their ideas across. It was about shutting down Loud France, whose name was something with an R, every time she opened her mouth to annoyingly quote the UN Charter. Saturday was for smoothing feathers and that was most decisively Quinn's job. Or so Santana thought.
"You need to work on merging with France" Quinn said over coffee on Saturday morning. "Otherwise they'll keep poaching all the European countries."
Santana wanted to argue, but she knew it was true. She had to handle the merger because she was the most knowledgeable about the topic. Well, it was also true that a few of the other delegations no longer trusted Quinn. She was a sly conniving bitch, and Santana loved her for it, but that often meant Santana had to be the closer. She sat wondering which member of the French delegation she would have the most success with. She doubted her professionalism would last long with either, as she wanted to stab one and shove her tongue down the other's throat. Neither action would impress the chair.
The decision ended up being made for her when Brittany approached her during unmod.
"Hey, Brazil."
"Hi. Brittany, right? You can call me Santana."
"I know, silly." Brittany elbowed her gently. "But Rachel says I need to cultivate my professional distance."
Admittedly, she did. She was way too friendly and open for this kind of cutthroat competition. Santana had seen her flitting from bloc to bloc, sharing ideas and quite literally taking the MUN spirit of collaboration to heart. Clearly no one ever told her that honest interest in the topics wasn't the most important factor in winning. Santana found her idealism very endearing but knew she'd use it to her advantage if possible.
"Rachel says quite a lot."
Brittany giggled, but refrained from agreeing. Santana found her loyalty to such an awful partner honorable. She saw Quinn across the room vigorously leading a discussion amongst the other Latin American nations. It was time to get to business. They had just one session left to pull a successful merger.
"I think we should discuss merging to create the most comprehensive resolution." Santana put on her most serious face and struggled to keep her eyes on Brittany's and not on the long white column of her throat. Or how the way Brittany leaned forward to hear her in the crowded room offered a glimpse directly down her shirt. Or the fact that she was wearing a skirt today and her legs seemed to go on forever. A subtle cough drew her eyes back up. She felt her face start to heat up when Brittany smiled at her with such a knowing gleam in her eyes. Santana had been caught rather overtly checking her out.
She trained her eyes back to her draft resolution and kept them there. Avoiding Brittany's eyes didn't really help block out the warmth from her body or the scent of her perfume, but it worked well enough to allow Santana to function while they spliced and fused their respective DRs into one joint document. At some point, Quinn and Rachel stepped over to oversee the process. After a bit more discussion of the finer policy points, they were ready to submit. They walked the flash drive up to the dais and handed it to the chair, a really tall, pasty-looking guy who alternated between leering at Quinn and having moderately disgusting eyesex with Rachel. As they returned to their seats, Brittany grabbed her arm.
"I really enjoyed working with you," her eyes were filled with the kind of sincerity you rarely saw in Model UN.
"Me too." Santana hated the way her voice practically squeaked. She quickly returned to her seat feeling Brittany's gaze on her the entire time.
She and Rachel presented their bloc's resolution. Rachel, while crazy irritating, was able to give very impassioned speeches and Santana had to admit they played well off each other. She caught Quinn's eye during a lull in the Q&A period and winked. They were doing so well. Until Santana made the mistake of looking in Brittany's direction. Brittany sat on the aisle and chose that moment to uncross and recross her legs. Santana spluttered for a good five sections before Rachel jumped in. Quinn gave her a hardcore WTF look. Brittany just smiled. Oh, she knew what she was doing. She had Santana's number and was clearly enjoying playing with her. When the banging of the gavel announced the end of the session, she walked right up to Santana.
"I hope I'll see you at the delegate dance." she purred, walking away as Santana just nodded at her retreating back.
With Session V over, Quinn and Santana rushed back to their room to change. The important part of the conference was done. Awards would be decided tonight and no matter how much people tried to pretend that Sunday mattered, all you really had to do was show up. Though, with the amount of booze Santana made a point of consuming at each conference, that in and of itself was a challenge. More than once, Quinn had to peel her off the bathroom floor and pour about a gallon of coffee down her throat before dragging her to committee.
These potential dangers didn't stop either of them from cracking open the bottle of tequila hidden in their luggage. They both preferred its tangy sting to the cheap vodka and rum the rest of the team was drinking downstairs. Their plan was to drink enough of the good stuff so that they wouldn't mind the bad stuff later.
"I can't believe you forgot the limes again. You're useless to me, you know that right?" Santana slammed two shot glasses on the table to emphasize her point.
"I didn't forget, I just told you that I'm not going to put produce in my luggage with my clothes. Do you know how many of my shirts are pure silk?"
This was a recurring argument with them. Santana had the fake ID because Quinn was much to proper to search out the "sort of people" who could get her one. For someone who drank as much as she did, she had a lot of rules to what she would and wouldn't do to get booze. Santana didn't have that problem.
"I bought the bottle, Quinn. Would it kill you to think of me over all that shit you bought from the Betty Draper collection at Nordstrom's"
"Are you saying you can't do tequila shots without lime? Isn't that treason where you come from?"
Rather than respond to the insult, Santana registered the challenge in Quinn's eyes. They had always been like this, picking and poking at each other. She decided then and there that her goal for the night would be to get Quinn absolutely trashed. And then draw a huge penis all across that pretty face of hers. Smiling at her partner, Santana raised her glass.
"Salud!"
About three hours later, Santana began to question the wisdom of pouring tequila down Quinn's throat and then forcing her to chase it with only high-fives. At MUN events like this, they stayed closer together than usual. The rest of their delegation almost always had some kind of coup or internal drama by this point and could not be relied upon to provide safety in numbers. Early in their sophomore year, after many many mistakes, they'd created a two-man buddy system that extended far beyond holding hands. They'd gotten quite a reputation on the circuit but in reality, at least seventy percent of their hook-ups were drunken attempts to repel the creepers that skulked around the delegate dance looking for easy marks.
Now, Quinn was drunk off her ass and had abandoned Santana about twenty minutes ago for a dark corner and a West Point cadet. Santana was stuck in the swell of bodies, sweating and agitated, dancing with an obnoxious douchebag who for some inexplicable reason kept his blazer on in the sweltering heat. His hands wandered just far enough to annoy her, but not far enough to give her an excuse to punch him. She would have sworn he was gay until he brazenly ran his eyes over her body before asking her to dance. Honestly, the first time his hand grazed where it shouldn't have, she was too shocked to react.
The song ended and she stepped forward, fully intending to walk away from him without another word. She got about four steps before a hand at her waist tugged her back. She whipped her head around expecting to see a pleased smirk on a smarmy meerkat face, but instead was met with blue eyes and an awful lot of blonde hair. The grip on her waist tightened contrasting the gentle but firm hand with the larger one previously resting there. She inhaled deeply and felt her back brush against a body that was decidedly feminine. Finally her mind cut through the haze of heat, alcohol and confusion.
"Brittany?"
"Santana. I've been looking for you."
Just like that, Brittany walked her a few steps from the center of the room and began to lead her as the next song picked up. Santana had danced closely with people before, both girls and guys. Some could even say she was something of an expert at grinding but never had it felt so intimate as moving with Brittany to the beat. Even over the vibration of the speakers, she could feel each breath Brittany took; feel the press of her ribcage expanding. With each rise and fall, the tension coursing through her body increased.
Brittany's hands held her firmly, more than guiding her but instead holding them together so they moved as one. After a few moments, her hands strayed from Santana's hips down to her upper thighs and up to just under her breasts before descending again. Every so often Brittany's fingertips would graze the hem of her sinfully short dress and skate along her skin. Upon hearing Santana gasp, she pressed down harder.
While distracted, Santana failed to notice Brittany slowly moving them to the edge of the room until she felt warm lips on the back of her neck. She jolted forward before being pulled back once again. She felt Brittany's chuckle before she heard it, the rumble against her back, and the hot puff of air in her ear. Brittany linked her hands around Santana's midsection, giving her just enough room to turn around.
When she looked up, the heat in Brittany's eyes sent her heart pounding. The throbbing settled low in her belly as Brittany leaned against the wall and nudged Santana towards her, pressing her lips along Santana's neck and her thigh in between her legs. The pressure nearly caused Santana to cry out and she rocked herself lightly while Brittany's tongue danced across her skin. Unable to stand it, Santana grasped handfuls of blonde hair and pulled Brittany's lips to hers, using more teeth than anything else in her desperation. She actually did whine when Brittany separated their mouths.
"I've wanted to do that since Opening when I couldn't make it on time and you couldn't keep your eyes off my ass"
Any embarrassment Santana might have felt paled next to the memory of how good she'd felt just moments before.
"Well who told you to stop?" Santana's voice was raspy with arousal. She couldn't control the erratic way her body continued to press down onto Brittany's.
"Well, I'm pretty sure this is illegal. Also, that kid over there with the 'fro is watching us and its kind of killing the mood."
Rather than look for the voyeur, who was almost definitely the kid with glasses and dandruff that wore the same suit to every conference and sexually propositioned anything in a skirt, Santana said the only thing that came to her mind.
"Come to my room."
In the elevator, Santana stood further from Brittany than necessary, hoping the other occupants couldn't somehow sense what they were up to. She was still pretty sure that elderly couple could see right through her was judging her. She stepped off at her floor, quickly striding down the hall to her door while Brittany trailed behind her. Once the door was closed, she went to turn on the lights when Brittany stopped her.
Brittany pulled them into the center of the room, somehow managing to avoid the suitcase left open at the foot of the bed. She laid Santana down on the mattress and slowly worked her dress over her head. When Santana lay in only her bra and panties, she reached for Brittany and attempted to unfasten her belt but strong hands clasped her wrists, stilling her movements.
"No."
Her hands were pressed above her head. Brittany's warm tongue traced the outline of her breast before her teeth bit down on the flesh just above the edge of lace.
"Stay."
Santana grabbed onto the pillow as Brittany made quick work of the rest of her clothes. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could vaguely make out Brittany shifting back to remove her own clothes. She could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Santana waited for Brittany's weight to settle on top of her, but it never came. Instead she felt feather soft lips on her chest, her stomach, and her thighs. She squirmed and the mouth pressed down harder, burning a scorching path along each rib before returning to her mouth. Santana needed more.
"Britt…please."
Brittany kissed her deeply, silencing her, her tongue forceful in a way that her mouth wasn't. She trailed kisses to Santana's ear before whispering.
"Shh. I've waited for days to get my mouth on you. The time for talking is over,"
Santana whimpered as Brittany trailed her tongue down her arm, focusing on the sensitive skin at the crook of her elbow and down to her wrist. She moved lower, drawing long patterns up her thighs and biting down when Santana fidgeted too much. Santana tried to keep quiet as Brittany's teasing moved closer and closer to where she needed it most. Her hips canted upwards searching for any kind of friction.
Brittany held her down and moved closer. She shifted Santana's leg up over her shoulder and used gentle fingers to spread her and hold her open. It was the first time Brittany had used her hands since undressing her and Santana nearly came just from the unfamiliar sensation. She had less than a second to think before Brittany's tongue was on her. Its conquest was as fervent and enthusiastic as its earlier exploration was unhurried and methodical. Santana's heavy moans and unintelligible curses made a mockery of her attempt to remain silent.
Santana woke up alone with a pounding headache. She looked over and saw Quinn sprawled fully clothed across her bed and thanked God for that small favor. A quick glance at her cell pone let her know that they had exactly half an hour before committee started. She drug herself out of bed and shook Quinn awake. Quinn appeared to be in worse shape so Santana headed to the bathroom while she pulled herself together. They were officially twenty minutes late when they left the room. Santana decided to go without a blazer since she couldn't bring herself to bully Quinn into ironing it for her. Thankfully, her blouse had long sleeves and a relatively high collar and covered most of the marks she'd discovered in the shower. There really wasn't much she could do with what Brittany had done to her neck, so she just wore her hair down.
They slunk into the committee room and found seats near the back. The committee was fairly large and they were all the way by the back wall so she can't spot Brittany. Santana sent a note to the dais indicating that they were present. She leaned against the wall and Quinn leaned against her. Quinn was mostly silent the entire morning. It was like the sound of her own voice caused her pain. They managed another hour before the chair announced that he would let them out early. Not wanting to deal with the crush of people trying to leave, they waited until the room was mostly empty. Santana heard a grating voice that could only be Loud France. Quinn pressed her face firmly into Santana's shoulder as if hiding would make Rachel speak more softly.
Santana kept her eyes trained on Rachel, looking for her partner. Brittany was a few steps behind her, looking tired but not at all as if she had a hangover or crept back to her room in a walk of shame at some point that morning. She was smiling and when she caught Santana's eye her grin widened and she winked before trailing Rachel out of the room.
At Closing Ceremonies, after France won Outstanding Delegation and Brazil won Best and Brittany politely shook hands with Quinn, she pulled Santana in for a hug. Pressing close, she licked a hot path under Santana's ear tracing over one of the marks she'd left.
"I'll see you at the next conference."