it doesn't really matter
Title: It Doesn’t Really Matter
Author: kalexico
Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1660
Summary: Based on this prompt by fall-into-life on my tumblr: Quinntana fight over Brittany being handsy and Santana not discouraging her enough for Quinn’s peace of mind. (Please?)
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Quinn doesn’t mean to be the jealous, possessive kind of girlfriend. It’s the kind she rolls her eyes at and doesn’t understand.
Deep down, she knows that Ms Pillsbury is right. She can’t deny that she’s afraid that the people close to her will leave her. So afraid, in fact, that she’s been known for pushing them away before they even got to the point where they could leave her, and hurt her all over again. Her parents kicking her out, the Puck thing, the Sam thing, the Finn thing.
When she looks back at it, she realizes she’s made a mess of it. But she really thought she’d left that behind when she finally got it together and admitted it to herself: she’s gay. Very, very gay.
An entire summer was spent between junior and senior year deliberating on this. Finally, she could admit to herself that those skirts have a great impact on her determination to be on the Cheerios.
And then she admitted it to Santana, and then Santana kissed her, and now they’re together.
It’s wonderful.
She loves Santana and Santana loves her. Santana also loves her body, which is a major plus to Quinn because she’s always been conscious about that, especially since Beth. Santana knows, without ever having been told. She likes to worship Quinn’s body.
Quinn is having the best sex of her life.
She also gets to see that side of Santana only Brittany knows, and it’s a pleasant surprise.
Overall, she’s happy.
Santana is happy as well. She claims to have the hottest piece of ass in all of Lima, Ohio on her arm - and she has her best friend back, without any hard feelings.
So, things should be great. Wonderful. Exhilerating.
But they’re not.
It’s another Glee club meeting, and once again Mr Schue has succeeded in finding a topic to ramble on about that absolutely nobody is interested in. She isn’t sitting next to Santana, because neither of them is ready to be out just yet and they’re not sure if they can keep their hands to themselves if they’re sitting too close together.
Quinn is glaring at a set of linked pinkies. She’s not sure whether she sees red or green, but she sure as hell doesn’t feel okay.
It’s moments like these she wished that they could come out to Glee club. They had made a deal - if they were still together in December, they’d tell them. Santana had been the one to cook that up.
She thinks back to that moment. To Santana’s warm hand on her cheek, and her intense gaze. In the meanwhile, we act like nothing’s changed. Like we’re just friends. That also means that Britt and I will be a two-shot.
Quinn is ready to explode when she notices how Brittany’s other hand tucks a strand of hair behind Santana’s ear, her fingers lingering.
Then that same hand moves to Santana’s arm, to her strong biceps, fluttering over them. Quinn swears she’s about to fucking lose it. (Being with Santana has caused Quinn to even think in profanities).
Brittany whispers something in Santana’s ear.
Quinn feels her temple throbbing.
Santana giggles.
Quinn’s muscles flex.
Santana doesn’t stop Brittany when she rests her head on her shoulder, her arm draped lazily around her waist. Quinn doesn’t know how much more of this she can stand. Every inch of her body is on fire with jealousy.
It’s not like it’s the first time, either.
Rachel Berry has just started a solo when Santana turns around, looks at Quinn, nods at Berry and rolls her eyes. Quinn gives her best death glare - the one she has perfected over the years. Santana frowns in confusion, question marks etched in her eyes.
Quinn raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Another trademark sign that she is not amused. Not in the slightest.
Santana gives another curious look, then shrugs and turns back to Brittany.
When Brittany rests a hand on Santana’s leg and rests it there, occasionally rubbing it, Quinn balls her fists and is quite sure that the imprints of her nails will be visible in the palms of her hands for a couple of days. Even her toes are curled.
“Quinn, are you okay?” Karofsky whispers.
Quinn rolls her eyes. Granted, the guy can sing, but she really wonders how on earth Santana got him to join Glee club. They all know he’s gay, because he’s kind of bad at hiding it sometimes. Especially when Finn, Puck, Mike, Kurt or Blaine perform. There’s only so many times you can say you were checking out what jeans they’re wearing (especially with Finn, Mike and Puck, who really don’t own that many pairs of jeans - and frankly, it’s not like Kurt ever wears jeans, god forbid he’d be dressed like a normal guy). And really, that’s not any less gay.
“I’m fine,” Quinn hisses. She tries to tear her eyes away from that hand on Santana’s leg, but she can’t. She kicks the leg of her chair in frustration.
Karofsky follows her stare and nods knowingly. “It’s Santana, isn’t it?”
“Will you keep it down?” she bites.
Normally, she’s nice Quinn. But sometimes, the bitch inside of her roars her ugly head. Sometimes being a lot, because Brittany gets handsy a lot, and Quinn never likes it. At all.
“Oh please,” Karofsky whispers back. “It’s not like anyone can hear us over Berry’s loud voice.”
That’s true. But she’s not about to admit it.
“She loves you, you know,” Karofsky continues.
“Shut it,” she snaps. “Save it for later. Santana lent me some of those razorblades and I swear to God-”
“Alright, alright,” Karofsky says, putting his hands up in defeat. “Alright.”
Mr Schuester has the incredibly fresh idea of pairing them up by pulling names from the hat.
Karofsky pulls her name and she groans. She hopes to God he won’t try to talk to her about her relationship with Santana. She just knew making out behind the bleachers would get them in trouble. But all in all, she considers them lucky that Karofsky had been the one to see them, and not some other jock.
She really has to fight hard to keep lion Quinn down when Santana pulls Brittany’s name and does a fucking excited skip.
For the rest of the meeting, she can’t concentrate. She lets Karofsky ramble and leer at the guys. Her eyes are on Brittany, being so damn handsy.
When the meeting is over and most have filed out of the room, she walks up to Santana.
“Bleachers. Now,” she hisses through gritted teeth.
“What? I’d love for us to get our mack on, but I have history and you know how -”
“Now, Santana,” Quinn repeats vehemently. Santana pales, sensing the seriousness in her girlfriend’s tone, and follows her meekly outside.
Once they’ve reached the secluded spot, Quinn fixes Santana with a glare.
“Okay, what’s going on here?” Santana asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “You look like you’re about to explode.”
“I should fucking think so!” Quinn spits. “How would you feel if I did that with another girl?”
“Did what?” Santana asks, genuinely confused.
“What,” Quinn hisses, poking Santana’s shoulder. “The fuck” poke “do” poke “you think?” poke.
“I don’t get it,” Santana protests, rubbing her shoulder as she groans in pain. She looks genuinely scared of the look in Quinn’s eyes.
“Maybe if you could look away from Brittany for more than two seconds you would fucking understand how the fuck I feel!”
Santana knows that so many profanities mean she’s in a lot of trouble.
“I thought you understood we have to act like nothing changed!”
“I didn’t agree for her to be all over you!”
“It’s just… it’s the way Britt is, you know? She’s always been like that.”
“But you didn’t try to fucking stop her!” Quinn screams, tears welling up in her eyes. “You fucking enjoyed every second of it!”
“That’s not true,” Santana replies. “But if I’d try to stop it, she’d be confused. It’s easier to just carry on this way.”
“Easy? Easy for who? Do you think it’s easy for me to watch some hot blonde all over my girlfriend? A hot blonde that my girlfriend used to be in love with? What’s easy about that?”
“Look, Quinn, seriously - you know that I love you, so why are you worried?”
“Because she’s touching you!” Quinn bellows, tears now streaming down her face. “She’s touching you and you’re not even trying to stop her and I have to watch it, I have to sit there and I can’t do anything and I’m sick of it, Santana! I can’t stand it!”
She’s about to give Santana frustrated push when she feels strong arms enveloping her. Santana presses Quinn against her chest and strokes her hair. “You know I only love you,” she says calmly. “And that’s not going to change. Please, believe me when I say that I don’t plan on leaving you.”
The anger seems to have flooded out of Quinn and only the tears remain. Her face is buried in Santana’s neck and she’s crying like a baby.
“Quinniepuff,” Santana says.
Quinn looks up. It’s highly unusual for Santana to use this nickname. She only uses it when she’s in a goofy mood. When they’re both in a goofy mood. Those are the best times.
“Look at me,” Santana whispers.
Quinn obeys.
Santana cups Quinn’s jaw and looks into her watery hazel eyes. “Britt is handsy, but I only love you. I’m sorry this is so hard on you. I’ll try to keep it down, okay?”
“Okay,” Quinn answers meekly.
“Let’s have awesome make-up sex tonight,” Santana grins.
Quinn grins, too.
She doesn’t mean to be the jealous, possessive kind of girlfriend. It’s the kind she rolls her eyes at and doesn’t understand. But she finds it very hard to mind when this is what she gets in return.
Fin.