It Started With a Taste
Title: It Started With a Taste
Pairings: Santana/Breadsticks, Santana/Brittany, Rachel/Quinn. Minor: Rachel/Bedazzler, Quinn/Bacon
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,300
Summary: Santana really likes Breadstix' breadsticks.
Author's Note: I couldn't resist. Companion/sequel to Match Made in Weird Hell but it's not absolutely necessary to read it.
Like most obsessions (only it’s totally NOT; can’t a person just really like something?!) it started with a taste. Just…a taste.
Santana Lopez was eight years old when Breadstix opened. Her dad got a reservation immediately (being one of Lima’s top doctors had its perks) and took the entire Lopez clan out to dinner. They sat at a big round table, large enough for the six of them, and Santana was on her best behavior. Her mother ordered her a plate of spaghetti and meatballs from the children’s menu for both her and her youngest brother. The waitress returned with salads for Santana’s parents and her oldest brothers and a cup of…well, she wasn’t sure what they were. They looked like sticks she might hit her brothers with and not like something that people should be eating.
“Mami,” Santana tugged on her mother’s sleeve, “can I have a stick?”
“Sure, mi’ja.”
The older Latina pulled a stick out of the cup and set it on the plate in front of her young daughter. Santana looked at it curiously, poked it a few times, and furrowed her eyebrows. It was hard like a regular stick and it didn’t look too special. She glanced across the table at her two oldest brothers, each with a stick and playing swordfight before they were stopped by her dad. Carlos, the oldest, growled and bit into his breadstick. His eyes went wide as he inspected what he’d just bitten.
“Holy crap! These are really good!”
Santana immediately picked up her stick and took a bite.
“Ay dios mío,” she gasped.
This stick, this…whatever it was, was quite possibly the best thing she’d tasted since her abuela made tamales from scratch that time the Lopez family went to Puerto Rico. One taste and Santana Lopez was addicted.
When she was fifteen she got the general manager fired for getting in the way of her and her breadsticks. Santana had found out that the restaurant was closing for two months to be renovated and she was not going to be deprived of her favorite food. By then she had figured out all of the flavors: garlic, parsley, butter, a hint of onion…all of which, combined with the crunchy breadstick, created a symphony of flavor in her mouth that was about as close to an orgasm as she could get.
-*-*-*-*-*-
“S-Santana…were you planning on eating anything other than-“
“Shut up, Berry.”
Rachel snapped her mouth shut and immediately started rifling through her purse, and then Quinn’s. The pair were sitting in a booth across from Brittany and Santana on a double date, as they did every now and then, waiting for their food. Quinn was practically drooling at the thought of her chicken carbonara with extra bacon that was on the way while Rachel checked her hair with Quinn’s (apparently newly, judging by her reaction) Bedazzled mirror.
“When did you do that?” Quinn sighed.
“Last week when you lied about going to the movies with Mercedes and instead went to the barbeque festival with Noah and Mike.”
“I apologized for that.”
“I was upset at the time, Quinn. You left your mirror on my nightstand and I had no other way to release my frustrations.”
“Oh my God, would you two stop acting like a married couple already?”
Santana grabbed her thirteenth breadstick of the night and started eating, attempting to drone out the sound of the other couple’s bickering. It worked, she noticed, because she heard crunching instead of talking. The crunching did nothing for having to watch them kiss to make up, though. She grabbed yet another breadstick when she nearly bit the tip of her finger off after having finished the other.
“Save some nibbling for me,” Brittany whispered in her ear. “You know I like it when you nibble. Like those fish when we get pedis.”
“Santana, that’s your fifteenth breadstick.”
“Shut up, Berry. It’s my fourteenth. Learn to count.”
“You stole one off of that couple’s,” Rachel pointed to the old man and woman glaring at their table, “table when we first got here.”
“It doesn’t count, I wasn’t sitting down.”
“You also stole three on the way to the bathroom,” Quinn noted. “And two on the way back.”
“So?”
“Santana, it’s a concern of mine and Quinn’s that you may be a little…obsessed with these breadsticks.”
“Oh look who’s freakin’ talking! Berrydazzler and Bacquinn!”
“Those are rather clever portmanteaus, but the point is that Quinn and I have never resorted to stealing to get a fix.”
“Uh…”
“We’ve never stolen from strangers to get a fix.”
Santana grabbed another breadstick and slouched in her seat. It’s not like those couples were going to eat their breadsticks. They were just sitting there. The delectable sticks weren’t being touched; they were being ignored. They were lonely and just begging to be eaten. Really, Santana was doing them a favor. Plus, she knew the restaurant threw them out and that was just fucking wrong. She tried to get them to save the sticks each night for her to pick up but even headquarters wouldn’t agree to that because of health codes. It was worse than wrong. It was a sin…she was almost 100% certain there was something in the Bible about it.
“Santana thinks the breadsticks get lonely and they tell her to eat them. Kinda like I do.”
To keep from yelling at her girlfriend, Santana grabbed two more breadsticks and started cramming them into her mouth. She might’ve gotten drunk one night and told Brittany her theory on the lonesome breadsticks which earned her a quirked eyebrow and a “huh?” from the girl that was absolutely sure her cat was capable of reading.
“They get…lonely?” the sincerely concerned question came from Rachel. “I-I will admit I’ve had the occasional inanimate object speak to me and order for me to Bedazzle it or its friends but it doesn’t happen often.”
“Shumph uph.”
“Bacon doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys.”
“Wow. I’m like the only normal one out of all of you.”
Silence. Santana slowly turned to look at her girlfriend as Brittany drew the straw in her cherry Coke to her lips. God, Brittany was right. Rachel and her Bedazzled sweater plus Quinn drooling over the dish that was being placed in front of her were, as Santana had once said, “a match made in weird Hell”. And fuck if she wasn’t just like them.
“Hey,” Brittany elbowed her. “Food.”
“I’m…kinda full.”
“You did eat twenty-two breadsticks,” Rachel noted as she cut into a vegan meatball.
“They’re delicious, okay?!”
“I still love you and your sweet lady kisses,” Brittany said with a shrug. “Even if you are crazy.”
“I’m not -“
“Yeah, you are.”
Santana snapped her head back to look across the table at the other couple, their faces innocent as they chewed (and Quinn’s something akin to what she probably looked like when…ew, no). Her retort was cut off when Brittany’s ponytail appeared in front of her face and Santana watched the blonde push the singular meatball on the plate in her direction with her nose. Brittany’s smile was wide when she came back up.
“Like Lady and the Tramp.”
Santana shook her head with a smile and grabbed a breadstick to wipe a little of the red sauce from Brittany’s nose and scarfed down yet another breadstick.
“Twenty-three,” Quinn mumbled. “I can’t even eat that much bacon. I think you’re more obsessed than I am.”
“Shut up, Fabray.”
Santana grabbed another breadstick and dipped the tip of it in the marinara sauce on the shared plate between she and Brittany before getting the waitress’ attention to bring more to the table. Again. For the third time that night. God, she loved those breadsticks.
Pairings: Santana/Breadsticks, Santana/Brittany, Rachel/Quinn. Minor: Rachel/Bedazzler, Quinn/Bacon
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,300
Summary: Santana really likes Breadstix' breadsticks.
Author's Note: I couldn't resist. Companion/sequel to Match Made in Weird Hell but it's not absolutely necessary to read it.
Like most obsessions (only it’s totally NOT; can’t a person just really like something?!) it started with a taste. Just…a taste.
Santana Lopez was eight years old when Breadstix opened. Her dad got a reservation immediately (being one of Lima’s top doctors had its perks) and took the entire Lopez clan out to dinner. They sat at a big round table, large enough for the six of them, and Santana was on her best behavior. Her mother ordered her a plate of spaghetti and meatballs from the children’s menu for both her and her youngest brother. The waitress returned with salads for Santana’s parents and her oldest brothers and a cup of…well, she wasn’t sure what they were. They looked like sticks she might hit her brothers with and not like something that people should be eating.
“Mami,” Santana tugged on her mother’s sleeve, “can I have a stick?”
“Sure, mi’ja.”
The older Latina pulled a stick out of the cup and set it on the plate in front of her young daughter. Santana looked at it curiously, poked it a few times, and furrowed her eyebrows. It was hard like a regular stick and it didn’t look too special. She glanced across the table at her two oldest brothers, each with a stick and playing swordfight before they were stopped by her dad. Carlos, the oldest, growled and bit into his breadstick. His eyes went wide as he inspected what he’d just bitten.
“Holy crap! These are really good!”
Santana immediately picked up her stick and took a bite.
“Ay dios mío,” she gasped.
This stick, this…whatever it was, was quite possibly the best thing she’d tasted since her abuela made tamales from scratch that time the Lopez family went to Puerto Rico. One taste and Santana Lopez was addicted.
When she was fifteen she got the general manager fired for getting in the way of her and her breadsticks. Santana had found out that the restaurant was closing for two months to be renovated and she was not going to be deprived of her favorite food. By then she had figured out all of the flavors: garlic, parsley, butter, a hint of onion…all of which, combined with the crunchy breadstick, created a symphony of flavor in her mouth that was about as close to an orgasm as she could get.
-*-*-*-*-*-
“S-Santana…were you planning on eating anything other than-“
“Shut up, Berry.”
Rachel snapped her mouth shut and immediately started rifling through her purse, and then Quinn’s. The pair were sitting in a booth across from Brittany and Santana on a double date, as they did every now and then, waiting for their food. Quinn was practically drooling at the thought of her chicken carbonara with extra bacon that was on the way while Rachel checked her hair with Quinn’s (apparently newly, judging by her reaction) Bedazzled mirror.
“When did you do that?” Quinn sighed.
“Last week when you lied about going to the movies with Mercedes and instead went to the barbeque festival with Noah and Mike.”
“I apologized for that.”
“I was upset at the time, Quinn. You left your mirror on my nightstand and I had no other way to release my frustrations.”
“Oh my God, would you two stop acting like a married couple already?”
Santana grabbed her thirteenth breadstick of the night and started eating, attempting to drone out the sound of the other couple’s bickering. It worked, she noticed, because she heard crunching instead of talking. The crunching did nothing for having to watch them kiss to make up, though. She grabbed yet another breadstick when she nearly bit the tip of her finger off after having finished the other.
“Save some nibbling for me,” Brittany whispered in her ear. “You know I like it when you nibble. Like those fish when we get pedis.”
“Santana, that’s your fifteenth breadstick.”
“Shut up, Berry. It’s my fourteenth. Learn to count.”
“You stole one off of that couple’s,” Rachel pointed to the old man and woman glaring at their table, “table when we first got here.”
“It doesn’t count, I wasn’t sitting down.”
“You also stole three on the way to the bathroom,” Quinn noted. “And two on the way back.”
“So?”
“Santana, it’s a concern of mine and Quinn’s that you may be a little…obsessed with these breadsticks.”
“Oh look who’s freakin’ talking! Berrydazzler and Bacquinn!”
“Those are rather clever portmanteaus, but the point is that Quinn and I have never resorted to stealing to get a fix.”
“Uh…”
“We’ve never stolen from strangers to get a fix.”
Santana grabbed another breadstick and slouched in her seat. It’s not like those couples were going to eat their breadsticks. They were just sitting there. The delectable sticks weren’t being touched; they were being ignored. They were lonely and just begging to be eaten. Really, Santana was doing them a favor. Plus, she knew the restaurant threw them out and that was just fucking wrong. She tried to get them to save the sticks each night for her to pick up but even headquarters wouldn’t agree to that because of health codes. It was worse than wrong. It was a sin…she was almost 100% certain there was something in the Bible about it.
“Santana thinks the breadsticks get lonely and they tell her to eat them. Kinda like I do.”
To keep from yelling at her girlfriend, Santana grabbed two more breadsticks and started cramming them into her mouth. She might’ve gotten drunk one night and told Brittany her theory on the lonesome breadsticks which earned her a quirked eyebrow and a “huh?” from the girl that was absolutely sure her cat was capable of reading.
“They get…lonely?” the sincerely concerned question came from Rachel. “I-I will admit I’ve had the occasional inanimate object speak to me and order for me to Bedazzle it or its friends but it doesn’t happen often.”
“Shumph uph.”
“Bacon doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys.”
“Wow. I’m like the only normal one out of all of you.”
Silence. Santana slowly turned to look at her girlfriend as Brittany drew the straw in her cherry Coke to her lips. God, Brittany was right. Rachel and her Bedazzled sweater plus Quinn drooling over the dish that was being placed in front of her were, as Santana had once said, “a match made in weird Hell”. And fuck if she wasn’t just like them.
“Hey,” Brittany elbowed her. “Food.”
“I’m…kinda full.”
“You did eat twenty-two breadsticks,” Rachel noted as she cut into a vegan meatball.
“They’re delicious, okay?!”
“I still love you and your sweet lady kisses,” Brittany said with a shrug. “Even if you are crazy.”
“I’m not -“
“Yeah, you are.”
Santana snapped her head back to look across the table at the other couple, their faces innocent as they chewed (and Quinn’s something akin to what she probably looked like when…ew, no). Her retort was cut off when Brittany’s ponytail appeared in front of her face and Santana watched the blonde push the singular meatball on the plate in her direction with her nose. Brittany’s smile was wide when she came back up.
“Like Lady and the Tramp.”
Santana shook her head with a smile and grabbed a breadstick to wipe a little of the red sauce from Brittany’s nose and scarfed down yet another breadstick.
“Twenty-three,” Quinn mumbled. “I can’t even eat that much bacon. I think you’re more obsessed than I am.”
“Shut up, Fabray.”
Santana grabbed another breadstick and dipped the tip of it in the marinara sauce on the shared plate between she and Brittany before getting the waitress’ attention to bring more to the table. Again. For the third time that night. God, she loved those breadsticks.