Me And My Girlfriend
Title: Me And My Girlfriend
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Summary: AU. In which radio host Rachel and singer Santana are huge, huge internet trolls.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: This is a belated birthday gift for rockinrye (aka: wife) who has been wanting this for a while. I give you fic in lieu of cookies.
"What are you doing?" she asks, sleep still clouding her eyes. Not too much, though, that she can't see Santana on her phone next to her in the hotel's bed.
"Nothing."
"What time is it?" Santana turns her iPhone so Rachel can see that it's 9:51 in the morning. Santana's naked from the waist up (well, likely the waist down, too, if she's woken up the way she went to sleep) and doing something on her phone again. "What are you doing?" Rachel repeats.
"Nothing. God. Relax, mom," Santana snaps.
God, this girl is so immature. Honestly, Rachel sees it more often than not. it's ridiculous that Santana hasn't gotten herself into trouble. She's such a brat, an entitled little snot, 90 per cent of the time. If she wasn't so talented, no one would even put up with her. Rachel included. Though the talent she's referring to isn't solely her musical ability.
This is the best sex Rachel's ever had in her life. Absolutely shocking, then, that it happens with someone so damn selfish.
Rachel turns over onto her side with her back to Santana and closes her eyes again. She doesn't appreciate being spoken to the way Santana speaks to everyone else, and she's explained that more than once.
The entire problem is that Santana gets everything she wants. Rachel includes herself in that. She should have known better than to get involved with a 'star', and until now she's been fine. She's never indulged in this kind of affair. She shouldn't have done it this time. Santana is just so, so hot, and Rachel...She wants her. She does. She hates that she does, but she can't avoid it.
Because god, somewhere underneath the surface there's a sweet girl. The girl who remembers Rachel's coffee order, and that she doesn't eat meat, and that she really hates mustard. She emails Rachel songs because she thinks she'll like them - and it's really quite funny, given that Rachel is a radio host and hears most things before Santana anyway. It's nice, though, the little reminders that Santana thinks of her on any given day, at any given moment.
(Because Rachel knows that Santana only drinks americanos, not drip coffee. She knows that Santana's family knows she's gay. She knows that her longest relationship was with her former best friend. She knows that Santana is terrified that people will hate the record she's working on because it's a little more mature than the last.)
"Don't do that," Santana says, leaning over, resting her hand on Rachel's hip over the covers. Rachel, of course, ignores all this. Santana's lips brush against her ear. "Rach, come back to me."
See?
Whether or not the sweetness is intentional, Rachel will take it.
"Put your phone down and pay attention to me," Rachel sort of whines, and Santana just chuckles, and then her bare thigh presses against the back of Rachel's, and there are kisses being trailed along the back of her shoulder.
"Here," Santana mumbles, and hands over her phone.
Rachel drops it onto the bedside table and lets the hand tugging at her hip push her onto her back.
... ... ...
By 1:00, it's all over the internet.
The photo Santana Lopez tweeted from a hotel room somewhere in New York. The curtains are open and the light is coming in, and there's someone sleeping in the bed next to her. You can't see anything, just blankets, really, but you can tell there's someone there, and god.
There's all sorts of speculation already as to who the body is. Everyone from Drake to Nick Jonas to Ed Westwick.
"Are you insane?" Rachel hisses when Santana steps out of the shower.
"Um."
Okay, so Santana is naked and her skin is all dewey from her shower, her hair wet, and the new tattoo on her hip...
"You tweeted a picture of me!" Santana rolls her eyes. "What if you'd..."
"Oh, my god. I'm not stupid. It's just your hip like, under the covers. You can't even see anything."
Rachel shakes her head and thrusts a hotel robe at Santana. "You're so reckless," she says seriously, and reaches for her bag. They need time apart. They obviously do. "One of these days it's going to get you into trouble, and even your charm and your good looks and your quick tongue won't be able to get you out of it."
She slams the door on Santana's comment about how much Rachel's enjoyed her quick tongue for the past couple days.
... ... ...
She's known Mike forever. Seriously. They grew up in the same small town together and practically became best friends when they moved to the city after high school. Mike's been a dancer for just about any artist you can imagine - actually, when he was dancing for Beyoncé, he was a huge, huge help in getting Rachel her first interview with Jay-Z.
Anyway, he's incredibly successful, and kind, and he's also one of the only people she'd trust with her life and her secrets.
It kills her that she hasn't told Mike about Santana, and that she won't. If it were just about her life, and her career, she'd have told him about it when it happened. She's not going to take Santana's livelihood into her own hands and start telling people a secret she's not sure Santana wants people to know.
All she expects in return is the same courtesy, really.
She could go to her own place - the only reason they've been at the hotel this entire time is because it's already paid for, but Rachel does live here - she just doesn't want to be easily found, and considering Santana barely knows Mike exists, Rachel will be safe here, at his apartment in the Village.
She's sitting with him in his living room and he's telling her about his latest offer (Chris Brown's tour, and Mike's almost positive he's saying no, based upon morals alone) when Rachel's phone vibrates in her bag.
Okay, so because of her line of work, she has her phone set to notify her when certain musicians and celebrities tweet. It's stupid, but these are the types of things she needs to know. If Katy Perry and Lady Gaga are in some back and forth, Rachel has to know what's going on, no matter how banal the conversation.
This one is from Santana. The tweet reads 'For you' and there's a picture of her in a black tank, her hair and makeup done, holding a piece of paper that reads I'M SORRY in big block letters.
God. She couldn't have just apologized to Rachel. No, this girl insists on making such a spectacle of herself that she has to apologize in front of the entire world.
Rachel doesn't want to think that's cute.
"What are you smiling about?" Mike asks, and hands her a cup of coffee.
"Nothing." He knows her and knows it's a lie. She shows him the picture, for some unknown reason.
"God, she's hot," he sort of groans, pathetically. "Seriously. She's the kind of girl you'd just sit on the couch and have a beer with."
Santana hates beer.
Rachel laughs anyway. "I'm sure you're thinking of just casually hanging out with her like that," she says, and no, it doesn't really bother her that he or anyone else finds Santana attractive. If she had a problem with it, their relationship wouldn't work at all. Of course people are attracted to her.
"Whatever," Mike says, smiling, and sips his coffee. "So, what do I do if I don't do the Chris Brown tour?"
Rachel just stares at him. "Maintain the respect of your best friend?" she suggests.
She's always loved Mike's laugh. To be honest, she wouldn't hate having him in the city for a little while. She misses hanging out with him when he's gone.
And maybe she'll get up the nerve to tell him about she and Santana, eventually.
In the cab on her way back to the hotel, she retweets the picture, though she doesn't want to encourage this type of public spectacle. The thing is, almost everything with Santana is a public spectacle, and Rachel isn't too naive to realize it. And anyway, the girl is naked when Rachel walks into the hotel room, sprawled out on the bed with the curtains drawn and a pretty look on her face, and really, the important things are just between them.
... ... ...
She goes to L.A. for the American Music Awards, even though she thinks they're a joke and Christina Aguilera is hosting and Rachel despises her. She couldn't pass up the invite, though, or the chance for a few days away from New York, or with Santana. It's been a couple weeks and Rachel's sort of dying for (to be perfectly honest) Santana's mouth. These two weeks have been insanely stressful and she really wouldn't mind several orgasms to take her mind off it and ease her tension.
Her first night in L.A., Santana is in the studio working on her record, and as much as Rachel would really like to see how the girl acts when she's doing what she loves, she knows she can't just drop by. Seeing Santana on stage is totally different, because it has to be a big show. She knows, just from seeing Santana sing in her kitchen, or along with the radio, that she's really quite a bit more mellow than her live show suggests. Seeing Santana in a studio with candles burning or what have you would probably...
Well, Rachel doesn't really need any more reasons to like the girl.
Her dress for the show is a short, tight, leather one shoulder thing, and she's got bright red shoes she bought online a while ago when Santana said she'd look hot in them. She's got no idea what Santana's wearing, and she doesn't particularly care. They likely won't even see one another at the stupid show anyway.
The car that pulls up behind hers garners more of the attention - which is not even remotely surprising, considering she's a radio host and that's it - but she turns her head and sees Santana stepping out of the car wearing a teal blue dress, shoes that have a peacock feather pattern on them. Her hair loose and natural, the way it usually is when she doesn't have anything going on in a day, only there's obviously been a little more effort put into it tonight. She meets Rachel's eye and smiles, then walks right over and gives her a hug.
"Hey," she says, and they kiss each others' cheeks as if they haven't kissed one another, oh, everywhere else.
"Hi," Rachel replies. "You look gorgeous."
"Thanks. Like your dress, too." Rachel scoffs. Her dress is practically pathetic compared to Santana's masterpiece. "Santana, they're taking a lot of pictures of you looking at me like that."
Santana laughs, tips her head back and everything, and then shakes her head and goes, "We're both celebrities and we're at the same event. Obviously they're gonna take pictures."
Before Rachel can do anything about it, there's an arm around her waist and Santana's smiling next to her, a hundred flashes going off. The best Rachel can do is smile at hope she looks pretty next to this gorgeous girl.
They end up in Santana's house in Malibu after the show - which was every bit as lame and ridiculous as Rachel thought it would be - and she has her iPad out because she wanted to check her email. They've already...Well, it's been a while and they wanted each other, and there are two very expensive dresses strewn over the arm of a chair in the room. Santana's next to her, lying on her side and very obviously attempting to distract her and tempt her into another round of sex, which isn't exactly something she needs to be convinced is a good idea.
JustJared has quite a few pictures from the show, and obviously the arrivals. There's a picture of Santana on her own, then one of the two of them, and god, Rachel feels like a troll next to this woman sometimes.
"Look at you," she says, and turns her iPad so Santana can look.
"Look at us."
"Stop. You're...Well, at least this website knows who I am."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Everyone knows who you are."
"No they don't," Rachel laughs, and it's true and she knows it, and she's okay with it. Or she was, before she started getting her picture taken and then seeing it online with the caption 'Singer Santana Lopez and unknown female attendee'.
Santana kisses the outside of Rachel's elbow, and when she looks down she sees the girl staring up at her. "I know who you are."
It shouldn't be cute and it shouldn't make her feel better.
She turns off her iPad and sinks down in the bed a bit, kisses Santana because she's sweet and nice, when she wants to be. They take everything a little slower this time around.
... ... ...
When she's talking to her dads, she says something about 'my girlfriend', and this is the first they've heard of it, and she obviously can't tell them who it is, and god, is that even what Santana is? They've been doing this for months. Six, or so. They haven't talked about it, really, but she knows - Santana told her, when she asked - that neither of them is sleeping with anyone else. That's been enough for her. Sometimes she gets the impression that Santana's really scared of people finding out about her sexual orientation. Other times she thinks the girl plays a strange game of Russian roulette with it, like she really doesn't care. Rachel honestly believes it's a little bit of both. If not for the fact that she's 'famous' and trying to be a successful musician, Santana would likely be out and completely unapologetic about who she is. She's like that in every other aspect of her life.
She also really, really loves what she does, and she doesn't want to lose it, and Rachel can understand that, too.
She calls Santana, who she knows is doing press all day, and leaves a voicemail.
"Hey. It's me. I just...Look, I called you my girlfriend and really liked the way it sounded, okay? I don't want to startle you, or make you feel uncomfortable, but I just...God, I can't believe I'm doing this in a voicemail message. I'd like you to be my girlfriend, Santana. Officially. Call me back."
In an interview with Ellen (it airs after they've talked and everything, obviously), Santana is all smiles, in a way she usually isn't, and Ellen asks her what that's all about.
Santana says, "I just got the most adorable voicemail ever," and then dodges all Ellen's hilarious probing questions.
... ... ...
When she's in New York next, Santana doesn't even bother staying in the hotel her management has booked for her. This, of course, terrifies the hell out of her manager and her publicist. They obviously know about the relationship she's in and they keep ridiculously close tabs on her to make sure she's not doing anything that could 'out' her.
At this point, Rachel thinks Santana wants to be caught.
She leaves Santana alone in her apartment for a day while she's at work and Santana's taking a rare day off.
She keeps getting pictures on her Tumblr feed, though. She follows exactly 15 people, two of which are Santana and Mike, and the rest are musicians and actors, too. She thinks the whole website is rather silly, but occasionally it's entertaining, in a mindless sort of way.
The first picture is of the inside of Rachel's refrigerator. The caption reads 'Not my fridge.'
Then there's one of Rachel's bathroom counter and all her cosmetics. 'Not my makeup.'
There's one of Rachel's open closet. 'Not my clothes.'
At this point, Rachel texts her a message basically asking if she's trying to come out via Tumblr.
What she gets back is, 'PLEASE. AS IF I'D BE THE FIRST.'
That's not the point.
She posts a picture of herself tucked up into Rachel's bed, the sheets up so you can see that she's wearing only a dark purple tank top. Her eyes look incredible the way she's done her makeup, and her hair is in a braid over her shoulder.
The caption says 'Not my bed.'
It's got 15,000 notes by the time Rachel gets home to find Santana taking a nap and looking even more freaking beautiful than she did in the picture.
They're sitting on the couch watching some silly show Santana likes and Rachel's barely paying attention to anything, until she hears the camera on Santana's phone go off, and looks over to see that there's now a picture of the two of them on the screen.
Santana pulls Rachel a little closer as she saves the picture to her camera roll. "God, I'd love to post that and write 'My girl'," she says in this little voice. Rachel leans up and kisses the side of Santana's neck.
She says, "You could," because honestly, she doesn't know if anyone's ever told Santana that it'd be okay if people knew she's gay. She thinks they've all been pushing her to the back of the closet. It's the 21st century. Plenty of other stars are gay and successful. It's not career suicide to come out and be who you are.
"Is that permission?" Santana asks, and sounds nervous.
Not that anyone really cares about her, but Rachel has been out the entire time she's been a radio host. It makes no difference in her job, and people don't ever even mention it, because it really doesn't matter or have any bearing on how she makes her living. Of course, she has intelligent conversations with musicians, actors and the occasional politician about equality and human rights, but that's different. The questions aren't about her. It's not like her show will lose listeners if people find out she's with Santana. And if it does, she bids them good riddance.
She slips her fingers between Santana's and leans up for a kiss.
She says, "When you're ready," and Santana kisses her again.
... ... ...
Santana comes on the show again, and it's honestly incredibly difficult to act like Rachel doesn't know her as well as she does. Santana's manager tried to intervene and stop the interview from happening, but Santana put him in his place rather quickly. Rachel really enjoyed watching that.
This time, Santana's wearing skinny jeans and a Derek Jeter jersey, and Rachel does not know how one wears something so ridiculous and still manages to look sexy as hell.
She takes a picture in the booth during a commercial break, and posts it to her Twitter. Her tweet is something along the lines of, 'L.A. eat your heart out. Your girl's a Yankees fan!' and god, she feels irrationally smug about that. Santana retweets the picture seconds later and confirms that it's true, that she loves the Yankees.
When they come off commercial, Rachel smiles at Santana as she says, "We're back, with the girl from the west who loves New York baseball."
Santana leans towards the mic, looks Rachel in the eye, and goes, "Yeah, well, New York's awesome, and there are a couple things here I keep coming back for."
... ... ...
Some club in Vegas offers to hold Santana's birthday celebration, and Rachel finds herself invited. It makes sense, obviously, since they're friends, as far as the rest of the world knows.
It just means that there are a few more photos of the two of them floating around on the internet, because they show up together - no one seems to notice or think that's strange - and pose together on the 'red carpet'.
They hold hands and dance all night, and honestly, the fact that no one posts any speculation as to whether or not they're together is actually sort of funny. It's a double standard, of course, because two straight actors, a man and a woman, can't even look at one another without being an 'item'.
Rachel actually gets a little thrill from it, if she's being honest. She can act however she wants with Santana in public, and no one seems to care if they sit close, or if Santana (because she is this much of a brat) smears icing from her cake onto Rachel's collarbone, then wipes it away and licks it off her finger.
And they have really, really dirty sex in Santana's hotel room with the balcony door open. Rachel likes that, too.
... ... ...
They're in a used record store in Brooklyn and Santana takes a photo of her from behind. She's wearing a cheap floral dress from Forever 21, and Santana posts the picture to Tumblr and says, 'Love this dress'.
It's true and Rachel knows it. Why do you think she's wearing it?
"You're going to get yourself into trouble," she says as they browse through the jazz section.
Santana shrugs her shoulders and says, "Maybe I don't give a fuck anymore."
They're the only customers in the store, and the guy behind the register is playing something on his phone, so Rachel leans in for a kiss that catches Santana off guard and makes her blush, and god she can be cute sometimes.
... ... ...
No one, Santana, Rachel, Santana's management, etc., included expects Santana to say what she says in an interview with Vogue.
"My girlfriend's sense of style is actually really great."
It's simple and not entirely incriminating, but then the media does some digging, looks at pictures Santana has posted. They put two and two together on that photo of the womens' clothing Rachel's closet and the fact that Santana was sleeping in a woman's bed. They analyze the curve of Rachel's waist in that picture from ages ago in that hotel room. They talk about Santana's lyrics, and her past, and...
"I fucking hate everyone," Santana says on the phone, and she's crying, and god, it's sort of breaking Rachel's heart. "Fucking vultures. Like, I can't just be happy? Why the fuck does it matter who it's with?"
"Santana..."
"No, this is fucking garbage. Just because I love a girl it's this big fucking issue. The world sucks. This sucks."
Rachel's tearing up too, partly because Santana's so upset and hurting, and partly because the girl just sort of confessed her love in an angry rant.
"Where are you?"
"Home."
"Do you want me to come..."
"Yeah, right," Santana scoffs. "Have you showing up here. Great idea."
Rachel closes her eyes. "Don't lash out at me because you're upset."
There's a sigh, then a mumbled apology - which Rachel knows means Santana actually means it (she's all bravado and bluster unless it's important) - and Rachel just waits, because she doesn't want to say the wrong thing, and she can't think of the right thing.
"I just thought I'd get to tell them on my own terms, you know? Not because some asshole reporter reads too much into the word girlfriend."
"I'm sorry."
Rachel's own story is completely different. She knew all through high school that she liked girls. She had boyfriends, too, but she knew she was at the very least bisexual, until she was 17 and her boyfriend wanted to have sex with her and she'd shut down every time his hand came anywhere close to even the tops of her thighs. Obviously that alone didn't make her realize that she was only attracted to women. There were other factors. Anyway, she told her dads, who fully supported her, but she kept it to herself to finish out high school. The minute she got to New York, though, she was unafraid to say who she was, if it came up. So no, she never had the experience of being outed, or really 'coming out', ever. She can't imagine how Santana feels right now, and she won't pretend she totally understands.
"God, I should've just kept my mouth shut."
Rachel doesn't know why she smiles. "I like that you thought of me when they asked who the most stylish people you know are."
She can almost hear Santana's eye roll, she swears. "So not the point."
"I know that," Rachel says, because Santana will pout if she thinks Rachel's making this about her. "You know this will all work out, right? It'll be okay."
There's a pause long enough that it makes Rachel pull her phone away from her ear to make sure they haven't been disconnected.
Santana says, "Don't be lame," and Rachel knows the girl will be fine.
... ... ...
There's a lot of press - obviously there's a lot of press - and Santana, Rachel will be the first to say, handles it all incredibly well. There are criticisms, of course, from both sides. People who think being gay is 'wrong' (god, Rachel would love to slap people every once in a while, you know?) and people who think Santana did a disservice to the community by not coming out sooner. Really? Really? It's absolutely ridiculous, which Santana says, in not so many words, in an interview. Basically she asks why she should have to talk about things before she's ready just because she happens to have the good fortune to also be a singer.
It blows over, though, for the most part. Santana, it seems, talks to every television host and gossip rag there is, and Rachel tries to ignore as much of it as she can. It's not because she doesn't care, or because it isn't important to her, but she knows Santana and why she did what she did, and how she feels about it. So no, she doesn't need to see Santana on Leno and listen to his borderline offensive jokes.
She does watch the Jimmy Fallon interview, but that's because she really just loves him, and the members of The Roots are some of her favourite people. Also, Jimmy doesn't talk about it at all, because he's a class act, and keeps it to the music. Santana makes some quip about how she's been flying under the radar a bit lately, and Jimmy laughs and says, "Yeah, you're practically invisible these days." That's it, though. Rachel loves him a little more for that.
It's also the thing that brings her back to New York. (Well, Fallon, Letterman, MTV, etc., etc.) Rachel hasn't actually seen Santana since all this happened.
(Since Santana accidentally said she loved Rachel and hasn't repeated that since.)
Rachel is not so needy that she needs to hear it again, and she honestly doesn't know if she can say them herself at this point. She cares about Santana more than she's cared about anyone she's dated in a long time, and she doesn't want their relationship to end. She's okay with them taking it slowly, which they've been doing, and she's definitely okay with Santana loving her, or at least liking her enough to slip and say she loves her.
When Santana texts her 'Why are you not in my bed. God.' Rachel rolls her eyes, but heads for Santana's hotel anyway.
She does not know what point Santana is trying to make when she pulls Rachel into the room and kisses her right away, then pushes her back onto the mattress and kisses her soft and slow until her hands are, rather patiently actually, tugging at the straps of Rachel's dress.
"Fuck," Santana breathes once Rachel's naked from the waist up. "Fuck, I fucking missed you."
Rachel giggles and pushes Santana's hair back. "Once more without the swearing," she teases, and Santana nips at Rachel's bottom lip.
"I want you," Santana says, her hand sneaking up under Rachel's dress.
Feeling a little breathless, Rachel just says, "Okay," and lets herself relax back against the bed so Santana can do what she pleases.
God, she enjoys it, too.
Later in the evening, they're facing one another in the hotel bed. Santana's phone rings, but she reaches over to silence it and ignore the call. Rachel's is somewhere in her bag and the battery was dying on the way over, so it's likely turned itself off. She doesn't care much.
"I missed you, too," she says quietly.
"Obviously."
"I'm serious." She swipes the pad of her thumb over Santana's red polished nail. "I was worried."
"I'm fine," Santana says, and shifts her leg so her thigh brushes against Rachel's.
"I know that. That doesn't mean I can't worry."
Santana rolls her eyes, but grabs Rachel's hand. "You should be somebody's mom, saying shit like that."
She knows it's a bad idea - it's a horrible idea - but she can't help thinking about it, a little. She's young, and Santana is even younger, and this relationship isn't nearly serious enough to even consider it.
But...
"Do you think about that?" she asks before she can stop herself. "Kids?"
Santana says, "Sometimes," and then, "Shut up," and kisses Rachel for a while, until they're both ready for sleep.
The next day, at her meet and greet, Santana gets her photo taken with a three year old girl who apparently sings and dances to her music at home.
Rachel posts the picture on the radio station's website. Santana doesn't say anything about that.
... ... ...
Santana tweets 'Yes, I have a girlfriend' when a fan asks her if she's really in a relationship.
The internet practically explodes with speculation, and Rachel's producer wants her to talk about it on her show, and then as soon as she's off air and she's checking her missed calls, she listens to a voicemail from Santana that's literally two minutes straight of laughter.
They eat Chinese in Rachel's bed and Santana takes a picture of Rachel's hand as it reaches for the last egg roll. There's a bit of Rachel's bare calf in the picture, too, but nothing distinguishing. She doesn't really care. She doesn't think Santana does, either.
It's not something they've talked about.
... ... ...
'Birthday present ideas for a girl who has everything. GO.'
Rachel rolls her eyes. 'You should try something that comes from the heart' is what she replies, amid all sorts of other tweets, some of which aren't entirely terrible.
'Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart.'
Laughing to herself as she walks down a busy New York street isn't something she tries to make a habit of, but her girlfriend is in Paris and apparently shopping for her birthday present. Rachel loves presents and hates surprises, so she's interested in seeing how this all plays out.
Eventually, Santana tweets 'Okay. Jewelry. Got it.'
And Rachel texts her for the rest of the night for more hints, which she doesn't get.
What she does get is a ridiculously expensive Cartier watch she hates to admit she loves as much as she does. It's not her fault. There are diamonds and roman numerals and it's a gift, and it would be rude not to be grateful, and to show that gratitude as best she knows how.
Santana snaps a picture of Rachel's wrist with the watch on it and writes 'She likes it ;)'.
Rachel's naked, save for the watch, and she doesn't even flinch or give Santana a lecture on taking appropriate pictures. And anyway, it's she who can't keep her hands to herself this time, working her fingers between Santana's legs while the girl messes about on her phone.
... ... ...
New Year's Eve, Santana's performing in Times Square and Rachel's radio station is hosting its own event. It's indoors, too, which makes it infinitely better. Rachel's never honestly understood the appeal of being outside in the cold in January for something like this. She did the Times Square New Year's Eve the first year she lived in New York, and that was enough for her. It's scary, honestly, a crowd that big. Add in alcohol and party hats and it's just not something she cares to do ever again in her life.
She's busy, so she doesn't even get a chance to watch the livestream of Santana's performance on her phone or anything. It's fine. She's seen Santana perform a hundred times before. She'd rather they were at her apartment enjoying the start of the new year together, but she obviously understands that they each have obligations.
It's nearing 2:30 a.m. when Rachel lets herself into Santana's hotel room. She wasn't going to come, but sometime around 1:00, she got a text that told her to 'get here whenever'. It was the same distance to go to her place or this hotel, and here, she doesn't have to sleep alone and she can spend some time with her girlfriend before Santana leaves for a recording session in Toronto.
Santana is sleeping (naked, because she always does) and the covers are bundled up around her, her cheek pressed against the crisp white pillow case.
Rachel slips into the bed and Santana doesn't wake up, but lets out a tiny sound when she feels someone taking her hand.
Rachel snaps a picture of their hands, fingers woven together, uses a pretty Instagram filter, and posts it to Tumblr with the caption, 'Best way to ring in the New Year.'
She was going to write something about how much she loves the girl, but, well, Santana should hear that from the source.
"You troll," Santana says in the morning when they're drinking coffee and each on their iPads checking reviews and commentary from last night.
"What?"
"That picture." Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Did you think they wouldn't recognize the watch?"
Rachel's heart falls and she feels like she can't breathe. How could she have been so stupid? Well, it was late and she was exhausted and overwhelmed with feelings for this woman, but still. This isn't the way she wants people to find out they're together. God, she doesn't care if anyone ever finds out they're together. Santana's a little reckless with how she shares her life online, but even she's never actually done anything this stupid.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel says sincerely, and Santana rolls her eyes and kisses her. "I didn't..."
"Who cares? They know I have a girlfriend. So what if they know it's you?"
Rachel just looks at her dubiously. "You're okay with that? With everyone knowing and asking you questions about it?" Santana just shrugs her shoulder. "Santana, I'm..."
"They ask me questions about it anyway," the girl explains. "Now they'll just like, be able to picture who I go to bed with at night." They look at each other for a moment, and god, that sounds terrible. "Fuck. They're totally gonna imagine us together."
"They'll photoshop us into pictures."
"Probably like, porn stills."
"This is a disaster," Rachel sighs, leaning back against the bed.
Santana's hand slides over Rachel's stomach beneath the covers, then a little lower, until her thumb is... "So let's beat them to it."
That sounds dangerous. "What?" Rachel breathes out. God, it's seriously difficult to concentrate when Santana's hand is this close to her center. "Are you suggesting we..."
"Oh, my god," Santana groans. "It's not like I'm suggesting a fucking sex tape or anything." Her thumb presses down between Rachel's legs. "Wanna go out for lunch?"
"I don't want you to stop touching me."
Santana smirks, then turns and slips her thigh between Rachel's and presses down. Rachel can feel that the girl is wet against her. "Yeah, okay, but after this."
"Santana," Rachel moans, because there is one single finger inside her now, and she's not thinking about lunch.
"I'll hold your hand when we're walking and shit. We'll...Shit, baby, you want it, huh?" Santana laughs the slightest bit, but Rachel cannot be blamed for the way she's rolling her hips, because she needs more than one single finger and a thumb barely grazing her nerves. "I love how wet you get for me."
"Santana, if you don't fuck me properly sometime within the next two minutes, I'll..."
Santana presses two fingers into Rachel, hard, and says, "You'll what?" when Rachel's threat is broken off by a moan. They kiss, and Rachel's hand ends up on the back of Santana's neck to keep her close. The girl grinds against Rachel's thigh a bit, works her fingers at the exact pace she knows Rachel loves. "C'mon, baby. We'll go out later. Let them see us. Fuck, I want them to know."
Rachel can barely follow one conversation right now, let alone two, but she changes the subject, the slightest bit, and brushes her lips against Santana's as she speaks.
"I love you. Okay. I want..."
She can't even finish, because Santana's tongue is in her mouth. Her hand has stilled, but Rachel doesn't mind. This is more important than that.
Santana still finishes her, of course, and then comes apart on Rachel's tongue in what feels like record time. It's a good thing, because people are likely already speculating about them, and if they want to do this on their own terms, they really do need to get outside now, instead of giving people enough time to add up all the pieces.
It takes two blocks for the first paparazzo to see them and snap pictures, and by the third block, there are easily 25 of them and Santana's holding Rachel's hand tightly as they walk and try to ignore the attention.
Santana leans over, kisses Rachel's cheek and whispers, "Love you, too," once they're inside the restaurant.
... ... ...
"Your girlfriend's super hot." Santana laughs at the interviewer, and a picture of her and Rachel is put up on the screen. "Seriously. Like, that is not a face for radio."
Rachel smiles as she watches the television, this satellite feed of a show airing live on MuchMusic in Canada. The picture is sort of cute, actually, of them walking out of a Starbucks yesterday before Santana had to leave for the airport. Rachel's got her arm around Santana's waist and the girl is stealing a sip of Rachel's latté.
"She's okay," Santana says, and the live audience laughs. "No, but really. She's awesome."
"How long have you two been together?"
Santana scoffs and it looks like she's blushing. "Um. A long time? I don't honestly even know. It's not really one of those things that matters to us, you know?"
The interviewer gives her a cheeky smile. "So what does matter?"
Rachel can tell this young guy is absolutely thrilled to get the first official interview with Santana after they went public with their relationship. Rachel knows it's a huge deal for him, and she thinks he's handling it really well. He's getting his information without prying or being a jerk, and yes, she's focusing on this rather than worrying about Santana's answer to his simple question.
Santana smiles a bit and looks to the ground. "I dunno. She's like, unnaturally patient. I'm a serious pain in the ass, and she'll just wait it out until I'm done." The crowd laughs again. "We just get each other, or something. And um, I like that she likes me."
"That's kinda sweet," the host says, and Santana looks like she's about to turn red. "And uh, you bought her a forty thousand dollar watch, so you must like her a bit, too."
Rachel's dreading going to work and dealing with this publicly, but the way she sees it, if Santana can do it, so can she. And really, they've been sort of public about this the whole time, they just weren't naming names. Santana's penchant for sharing her 'photography' on the internet had them teetering on the edge of everyone knowing long before Rachel tipped them over. They're both to blame, though neither of them is pointing fingers.
Rachel texts Santana 'Love you' at the end of her day, because it's mostly been about them, and she wants to say it.
She gets back 'Sorry who is this?' and rolls her eyes and wonders what on earth she sees in this woman anyway.
(The 'ILY too.' comes moments later and serves as a nice reminder.)
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Summary: AU. In which radio host Rachel and singer Santana are huge, huge internet trolls.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: This is a belated birthday gift for rockinrye (aka: wife) who has been wanting this for a while. I give you fic in lieu of cookies.
"What are you doing?" she asks, sleep still clouding her eyes. Not too much, though, that she can't see Santana on her phone next to her in the hotel's bed.
"Nothing."
"What time is it?" Santana turns her iPhone so Rachel can see that it's 9:51 in the morning. Santana's naked from the waist up (well, likely the waist down, too, if she's woken up the way she went to sleep) and doing something on her phone again. "What are you doing?" Rachel repeats.
"Nothing. God. Relax, mom," Santana snaps.
God, this girl is so immature. Honestly, Rachel sees it more often than not. it's ridiculous that Santana hasn't gotten herself into trouble. She's such a brat, an entitled little snot, 90 per cent of the time. If she wasn't so talented, no one would even put up with her. Rachel included. Though the talent she's referring to isn't solely her musical ability.
This is the best sex Rachel's ever had in her life. Absolutely shocking, then, that it happens with someone so damn selfish.
Rachel turns over onto her side with her back to Santana and closes her eyes again. She doesn't appreciate being spoken to the way Santana speaks to everyone else, and she's explained that more than once.
The entire problem is that Santana gets everything she wants. Rachel includes herself in that. She should have known better than to get involved with a 'star', and until now she's been fine. She's never indulged in this kind of affair. She shouldn't have done it this time. Santana is just so, so hot, and Rachel...She wants her. She does. She hates that she does, but she can't avoid it.
Because god, somewhere underneath the surface there's a sweet girl. The girl who remembers Rachel's coffee order, and that she doesn't eat meat, and that she really hates mustard. She emails Rachel songs because she thinks she'll like them - and it's really quite funny, given that Rachel is a radio host and hears most things before Santana anyway. It's nice, though, the little reminders that Santana thinks of her on any given day, at any given moment.
(Because Rachel knows that Santana only drinks americanos, not drip coffee. She knows that Santana's family knows she's gay. She knows that her longest relationship was with her former best friend. She knows that Santana is terrified that people will hate the record she's working on because it's a little more mature than the last.)
"Don't do that," Santana says, leaning over, resting her hand on Rachel's hip over the covers. Rachel, of course, ignores all this. Santana's lips brush against her ear. "Rach, come back to me."
See?
Whether or not the sweetness is intentional, Rachel will take it.
"Put your phone down and pay attention to me," Rachel sort of whines, and Santana just chuckles, and then her bare thigh presses against the back of Rachel's, and there are kisses being trailed along the back of her shoulder.
"Here," Santana mumbles, and hands over her phone.
Rachel drops it onto the bedside table and lets the hand tugging at her hip push her onto her back.
... ... ...
By 1:00, it's all over the internet.
The photo Santana Lopez tweeted from a hotel room somewhere in New York. The curtains are open and the light is coming in, and there's someone sleeping in the bed next to her. You can't see anything, just blankets, really, but you can tell there's someone there, and god.
There's all sorts of speculation already as to who the body is. Everyone from Drake to Nick Jonas to Ed Westwick.
"Are you insane?" Rachel hisses when Santana steps out of the shower.
"Um."
Okay, so Santana is naked and her skin is all dewey from her shower, her hair wet, and the new tattoo on her hip...
"You tweeted a picture of me!" Santana rolls her eyes. "What if you'd..."
"Oh, my god. I'm not stupid. It's just your hip like, under the covers. You can't even see anything."
Rachel shakes her head and thrusts a hotel robe at Santana. "You're so reckless," she says seriously, and reaches for her bag. They need time apart. They obviously do. "One of these days it's going to get you into trouble, and even your charm and your good looks and your quick tongue won't be able to get you out of it."
She slams the door on Santana's comment about how much Rachel's enjoyed her quick tongue for the past couple days.
... ... ...
She's known Mike forever. Seriously. They grew up in the same small town together and practically became best friends when they moved to the city after high school. Mike's been a dancer for just about any artist you can imagine - actually, when he was dancing for Beyoncé, he was a huge, huge help in getting Rachel her first interview with Jay-Z.
Anyway, he's incredibly successful, and kind, and he's also one of the only people she'd trust with her life and her secrets.
It kills her that she hasn't told Mike about Santana, and that she won't. If it were just about her life, and her career, she'd have told him about it when it happened. She's not going to take Santana's livelihood into her own hands and start telling people a secret she's not sure Santana wants people to know.
All she expects in return is the same courtesy, really.
She could go to her own place - the only reason they've been at the hotel this entire time is because it's already paid for, but Rachel does live here - she just doesn't want to be easily found, and considering Santana barely knows Mike exists, Rachel will be safe here, at his apartment in the Village.
She's sitting with him in his living room and he's telling her about his latest offer (Chris Brown's tour, and Mike's almost positive he's saying no, based upon morals alone) when Rachel's phone vibrates in her bag.
Okay, so because of her line of work, she has her phone set to notify her when certain musicians and celebrities tweet. It's stupid, but these are the types of things she needs to know. If Katy Perry and Lady Gaga are in some back and forth, Rachel has to know what's going on, no matter how banal the conversation.
This one is from Santana. The tweet reads 'For you' and there's a picture of her in a black tank, her hair and makeup done, holding a piece of paper that reads I'M SORRY in big block letters.
God. She couldn't have just apologized to Rachel. No, this girl insists on making such a spectacle of herself that she has to apologize in front of the entire world.
Rachel doesn't want to think that's cute.
"What are you smiling about?" Mike asks, and hands her a cup of coffee.
"Nothing." He knows her and knows it's a lie. She shows him the picture, for some unknown reason.
"God, she's hot," he sort of groans, pathetically. "Seriously. She's the kind of girl you'd just sit on the couch and have a beer with."
Santana hates beer.
Rachel laughs anyway. "I'm sure you're thinking of just casually hanging out with her like that," she says, and no, it doesn't really bother her that he or anyone else finds Santana attractive. If she had a problem with it, their relationship wouldn't work at all. Of course people are attracted to her.
"Whatever," Mike says, smiling, and sips his coffee. "So, what do I do if I don't do the Chris Brown tour?"
Rachel just stares at him. "Maintain the respect of your best friend?" she suggests.
She's always loved Mike's laugh. To be honest, she wouldn't hate having him in the city for a little while. She misses hanging out with him when he's gone.
And maybe she'll get up the nerve to tell him about she and Santana, eventually.
In the cab on her way back to the hotel, she retweets the picture, though she doesn't want to encourage this type of public spectacle. The thing is, almost everything with Santana is a public spectacle, and Rachel isn't too naive to realize it. And anyway, the girl is naked when Rachel walks into the hotel room, sprawled out on the bed with the curtains drawn and a pretty look on her face, and really, the important things are just between them.
... ... ...
She goes to L.A. for the American Music Awards, even though she thinks they're a joke and Christina Aguilera is hosting and Rachel despises her. She couldn't pass up the invite, though, or the chance for a few days away from New York, or with Santana. It's been a couple weeks and Rachel's sort of dying for (to be perfectly honest) Santana's mouth. These two weeks have been insanely stressful and she really wouldn't mind several orgasms to take her mind off it and ease her tension.
Her first night in L.A., Santana is in the studio working on her record, and as much as Rachel would really like to see how the girl acts when she's doing what she loves, she knows she can't just drop by. Seeing Santana on stage is totally different, because it has to be a big show. She knows, just from seeing Santana sing in her kitchen, or along with the radio, that she's really quite a bit more mellow than her live show suggests. Seeing Santana in a studio with candles burning or what have you would probably...
Well, Rachel doesn't really need any more reasons to like the girl.
Her dress for the show is a short, tight, leather one shoulder thing, and she's got bright red shoes she bought online a while ago when Santana said she'd look hot in them. She's got no idea what Santana's wearing, and she doesn't particularly care. They likely won't even see one another at the stupid show anyway.
The car that pulls up behind hers garners more of the attention - which is not even remotely surprising, considering she's a radio host and that's it - but she turns her head and sees Santana stepping out of the car wearing a teal blue dress, shoes that have a peacock feather pattern on them. Her hair loose and natural, the way it usually is when she doesn't have anything going on in a day, only there's obviously been a little more effort put into it tonight. She meets Rachel's eye and smiles, then walks right over and gives her a hug.
"Hey," she says, and they kiss each others' cheeks as if they haven't kissed one another, oh, everywhere else.
"Hi," Rachel replies. "You look gorgeous."
"Thanks. Like your dress, too." Rachel scoffs. Her dress is practically pathetic compared to Santana's masterpiece. "Santana, they're taking a lot of pictures of you looking at me like that."
Santana laughs, tips her head back and everything, and then shakes her head and goes, "We're both celebrities and we're at the same event. Obviously they're gonna take pictures."
Before Rachel can do anything about it, there's an arm around her waist and Santana's smiling next to her, a hundred flashes going off. The best Rachel can do is smile at hope she looks pretty next to this gorgeous girl.
They end up in Santana's house in Malibu after the show - which was every bit as lame and ridiculous as Rachel thought it would be - and she has her iPad out because she wanted to check her email. They've already...Well, it's been a while and they wanted each other, and there are two very expensive dresses strewn over the arm of a chair in the room. Santana's next to her, lying on her side and very obviously attempting to distract her and tempt her into another round of sex, which isn't exactly something she needs to be convinced is a good idea.
JustJared has quite a few pictures from the show, and obviously the arrivals. There's a picture of Santana on her own, then one of the two of them, and god, Rachel feels like a troll next to this woman sometimes.
"Look at you," she says, and turns her iPad so Santana can look.
"Look at us."
"Stop. You're...Well, at least this website knows who I am."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Everyone knows who you are."
"No they don't," Rachel laughs, and it's true and she knows it, and she's okay with it. Or she was, before she started getting her picture taken and then seeing it online with the caption 'Singer Santana Lopez and unknown female attendee'.
Santana kisses the outside of Rachel's elbow, and when she looks down she sees the girl staring up at her. "I know who you are."
It shouldn't be cute and it shouldn't make her feel better.
She turns off her iPad and sinks down in the bed a bit, kisses Santana because she's sweet and nice, when she wants to be. They take everything a little slower this time around.
... ... ...
When she's talking to her dads, she says something about 'my girlfriend', and this is the first they've heard of it, and she obviously can't tell them who it is, and god, is that even what Santana is? They've been doing this for months. Six, or so. They haven't talked about it, really, but she knows - Santana told her, when she asked - that neither of them is sleeping with anyone else. That's been enough for her. Sometimes she gets the impression that Santana's really scared of people finding out about her sexual orientation. Other times she thinks the girl plays a strange game of Russian roulette with it, like she really doesn't care. Rachel honestly believes it's a little bit of both. If not for the fact that she's 'famous' and trying to be a successful musician, Santana would likely be out and completely unapologetic about who she is. She's like that in every other aspect of her life.
She also really, really loves what she does, and she doesn't want to lose it, and Rachel can understand that, too.
She calls Santana, who she knows is doing press all day, and leaves a voicemail.
"Hey. It's me. I just...Look, I called you my girlfriend and really liked the way it sounded, okay? I don't want to startle you, or make you feel uncomfortable, but I just...God, I can't believe I'm doing this in a voicemail message. I'd like you to be my girlfriend, Santana. Officially. Call me back."
In an interview with Ellen (it airs after they've talked and everything, obviously), Santana is all smiles, in a way she usually isn't, and Ellen asks her what that's all about.
Santana says, "I just got the most adorable voicemail ever," and then dodges all Ellen's hilarious probing questions.
... ... ...
When she's in New York next, Santana doesn't even bother staying in the hotel her management has booked for her. This, of course, terrifies the hell out of her manager and her publicist. They obviously know about the relationship she's in and they keep ridiculously close tabs on her to make sure she's not doing anything that could 'out' her.
At this point, Rachel thinks Santana wants to be caught.
She leaves Santana alone in her apartment for a day while she's at work and Santana's taking a rare day off.
She keeps getting pictures on her Tumblr feed, though. She follows exactly 15 people, two of which are Santana and Mike, and the rest are musicians and actors, too. She thinks the whole website is rather silly, but occasionally it's entertaining, in a mindless sort of way.
The first picture is of the inside of Rachel's refrigerator. The caption reads 'Not my fridge.'
Then there's one of Rachel's bathroom counter and all her cosmetics. 'Not my makeup.'
There's one of Rachel's open closet. 'Not my clothes.'
At this point, Rachel texts her a message basically asking if she's trying to come out via Tumblr.
What she gets back is, 'PLEASE. AS IF I'D BE THE FIRST.'
That's not the point.
She posts a picture of herself tucked up into Rachel's bed, the sheets up so you can see that she's wearing only a dark purple tank top. Her eyes look incredible the way she's done her makeup, and her hair is in a braid over her shoulder.
The caption says 'Not my bed.'
It's got 15,000 notes by the time Rachel gets home to find Santana taking a nap and looking even more freaking beautiful than she did in the picture.
They're sitting on the couch watching some silly show Santana likes and Rachel's barely paying attention to anything, until she hears the camera on Santana's phone go off, and looks over to see that there's now a picture of the two of them on the screen.
Santana pulls Rachel a little closer as she saves the picture to her camera roll. "God, I'd love to post that and write 'My girl'," she says in this little voice. Rachel leans up and kisses the side of Santana's neck.
She says, "You could," because honestly, she doesn't know if anyone's ever told Santana that it'd be okay if people knew she's gay. She thinks they've all been pushing her to the back of the closet. It's the 21st century. Plenty of other stars are gay and successful. It's not career suicide to come out and be who you are.
"Is that permission?" Santana asks, and sounds nervous.
Not that anyone really cares about her, but Rachel has been out the entire time she's been a radio host. It makes no difference in her job, and people don't ever even mention it, because it really doesn't matter or have any bearing on how she makes her living. Of course, she has intelligent conversations with musicians, actors and the occasional politician about equality and human rights, but that's different. The questions aren't about her. It's not like her show will lose listeners if people find out she's with Santana. And if it does, she bids them good riddance.
She slips her fingers between Santana's and leans up for a kiss.
She says, "When you're ready," and Santana kisses her again.
... ... ...
Santana comes on the show again, and it's honestly incredibly difficult to act like Rachel doesn't know her as well as she does. Santana's manager tried to intervene and stop the interview from happening, but Santana put him in his place rather quickly. Rachel really enjoyed watching that.
This time, Santana's wearing skinny jeans and a Derek Jeter jersey, and Rachel does not know how one wears something so ridiculous and still manages to look sexy as hell.
She takes a picture in the booth during a commercial break, and posts it to her Twitter. Her tweet is something along the lines of, 'L.A. eat your heart out. Your girl's a Yankees fan!' and god, she feels irrationally smug about that. Santana retweets the picture seconds later and confirms that it's true, that she loves the Yankees.
When they come off commercial, Rachel smiles at Santana as she says, "We're back, with the girl from the west who loves New York baseball."
Santana leans towards the mic, looks Rachel in the eye, and goes, "Yeah, well, New York's awesome, and there are a couple things here I keep coming back for."
... ... ...
Some club in Vegas offers to hold Santana's birthday celebration, and Rachel finds herself invited. It makes sense, obviously, since they're friends, as far as the rest of the world knows.
It just means that there are a few more photos of the two of them floating around on the internet, because they show up together - no one seems to notice or think that's strange - and pose together on the 'red carpet'.
They hold hands and dance all night, and honestly, the fact that no one posts any speculation as to whether or not they're together is actually sort of funny. It's a double standard, of course, because two straight actors, a man and a woman, can't even look at one another without being an 'item'.
Rachel actually gets a little thrill from it, if she's being honest. She can act however she wants with Santana in public, and no one seems to care if they sit close, or if Santana (because she is this much of a brat) smears icing from her cake onto Rachel's collarbone, then wipes it away and licks it off her finger.
And they have really, really dirty sex in Santana's hotel room with the balcony door open. Rachel likes that, too.
... ... ...
They're in a used record store in Brooklyn and Santana takes a photo of her from behind. She's wearing a cheap floral dress from Forever 21, and Santana posts the picture to Tumblr and says, 'Love this dress'.
It's true and Rachel knows it. Why do you think she's wearing it?
"You're going to get yourself into trouble," she says as they browse through the jazz section.
Santana shrugs her shoulders and says, "Maybe I don't give a fuck anymore."
They're the only customers in the store, and the guy behind the register is playing something on his phone, so Rachel leans in for a kiss that catches Santana off guard and makes her blush, and god she can be cute sometimes.
... ... ...
No one, Santana, Rachel, Santana's management, etc., included expects Santana to say what she says in an interview with Vogue.
"My girlfriend's sense of style is actually really great."
It's simple and not entirely incriminating, but then the media does some digging, looks at pictures Santana has posted. They put two and two together on that photo of the womens' clothing Rachel's closet and the fact that Santana was sleeping in a woman's bed. They analyze the curve of Rachel's waist in that picture from ages ago in that hotel room. They talk about Santana's lyrics, and her past, and...
"I fucking hate everyone," Santana says on the phone, and she's crying, and god, it's sort of breaking Rachel's heart. "Fucking vultures. Like, I can't just be happy? Why the fuck does it matter who it's with?"
"Santana..."
"No, this is fucking garbage. Just because I love a girl it's this big fucking issue. The world sucks. This sucks."
Rachel's tearing up too, partly because Santana's so upset and hurting, and partly because the girl just sort of confessed her love in an angry rant.
"Where are you?"
"Home."
"Do you want me to come..."
"Yeah, right," Santana scoffs. "Have you showing up here. Great idea."
Rachel closes her eyes. "Don't lash out at me because you're upset."
There's a sigh, then a mumbled apology - which Rachel knows means Santana actually means it (she's all bravado and bluster unless it's important) - and Rachel just waits, because she doesn't want to say the wrong thing, and she can't think of the right thing.
"I just thought I'd get to tell them on my own terms, you know? Not because some asshole reporter reads too much into the word girlfriend."
"I'm sorry."
Rachel's own story is completely different. She knew all through high school that she liked girls. She had boyfriends, too, but she knew she was at the very least bisexual, until she was 17 and her boyfriend wanted to have sex with her and she'd shut down every time his hand came anywhere close to even the tops of her thighs. Obviously that alone didn't make her realize that she was only attracted to women. There were other factors. Anyway, she told her dads, who fully supported her, but she kept it to herself to finish out high school. The minute she got to New York, though, she was unafraid to say who she was, if it came up. So no, she never had the experience of being outed, or really 'coming out', ever. She can't imagine how Santana feels right now, and she won't pretend she totally understands.
"God, I should've just kept my mouth shut."
Rachel doesn't know why she smiles. "I like that you thought of me when they asked who the most stylish people you know are."
She can almost hear Santana's eye roll, she swears. "So not the point."
"I know that," Rachel says, because Santana will pout if she thinks Rachel's making this about her. "You know this will all work out, right? It'll be okay."
There's a pause long enough that it makes Rachel pull her phone away from her ear to make sure they haven't been disconnected.
Santana says, "Don't be lame," and Rachel knows the girl will be fine.
... ... ...
There's a lot of press - obviously there's a lot of press - and Santana, Rachel will be the first to say, handles it all incredibly well. There are criticisms, of course, from both sides. People who think being gay is 'wrong' (god, Rachel would love to slap people every once in a while, you know?) and people who think Santana did a disservice to the community by not coming out sooner. Really? Really? It's absolutely ridiculous, which Santana says, in not so many words, in an interview. Basically she asks why she should have to talk about things before she's ready just because she happens to have the good fortune to also be a singer.
It blows over, though, for the most part. Santana, it seems, talks to every television host and gossip rag there is, and Rachel tries to ignore as much of it as she can. It's not because she doesn't care, or because it isn't important to her, but she knows Santana and why she did what she did, and how she feels about it. So no, she doesn't need to see Santana on Leno and listen to his borderline offensive jokes.
She does watch the Jimmy Fallon interview, but that's because she really just loves him, and the members of The Roots are some of her favourite people. Also, Jimmy doesn't talk about it at all, because he's a class act, and keeps it to the music. Santana makes some quip about how she's been flying under the radar a bit lately, and Jimmy laughs and says, "Yeah, you're practically invisible these days." That's it, though. Rachel loves him a little more for that.
It's also the thing that brings her back to New York. (Well, Fallon, Letterman, MTV, etc., etc.) Rachel hasn't actually seen Santana since all this happened.
(Since Santana accidentally said she loved Rachel and hasn't repeated that since.)
Rachel is not so needy that she needs to hear it again, and she honestly doesn't know if she can say them herself at this point. She cares about Santana more than she's cared about anyone she's dated in a long time, and she doesn't want their relationship to end. She's okay with them taking it slowly, which they've been doing, and she's definitely okay with Santana loving her, or at least liking her enough to slip and say she loves her.
When Santana texts her 'Why are you not in my bed. God.' Rachel rolls her eyes, but heads for Santana's hotel anyway.
She does not know what point Santana is trying to make when she pulls Rachel into the room and kisses her right away, then pushes her back onto the mattress and kisses her soft and slow until her hands are, rather patiently actually, tugging at the straps of Rachel's dress.
"Fuck," Santana breathes once Rachel's naked from the waist up. "Fuck, I fucking missed you."
Rachel giggles and pushes Santana's hair back. "Once more without the swearing," she teases, and Santana nips at Rachel's bottom lip.
"I want you," Santana says, her hand sneaking up under Rachel's dress.
Feeling a little breathless, Rachel just says, "Okay," and lets herself relax back against the bed so Santana can do what she pleases.
God, she enjoys it, too.
Later in the evening, they're facing one another in the hotel bed. Santana's phone rings, but she reaches over to silence it and ignore the call. Rachel's is somewhere in her bag and the battery was dying on the way over, so it's likely turned itself off. She doesn't care much.
"I missed you, too," she says quietly.
"Obviously."
"I'm serious." She swipes the pad of her thumb over Santana's red polished nail. "I was worried."
"I'm fine," Santana says, and shifts her leg so her thigh brushes against Rachel's.
"I know that. That doesn't mean I can't worry."
Santana rolls her eyes, but grabs Rachel's hand. "You should be somebody's mom, saying shit like that."
She knows it's a bad idea - it's a horrible idea - but she can't help thinking about it, a little. She's young, and Santana is even younger, and this relationship isn't nearly serious enough to even consider it.
But...
"Do you think about that?" she asks before she can stop herself. "Kids?"
Santana says, "Sometimes," and then, "Shut up," and kisses Rachel for a while, until they're both ready for sleep.
The next day, at her meet and greet, Santana gets her photo taken with a three year old girl who apparently sings and dances to her music at home.
Rachel posts the picture on the radio station's website. Santana doesn't say anything about that.
... ... ...
Santana tweets 'Yes, I have a girlfriend' when a fan asks her if she's really in a relationship.
The internet practically explodes with speculation, and Rachel's producer wants her to talk about it on her show, and then as soon as she's off air and she's checking her missed calls, she listens to a voicemail from Santana that's literally two minutes straight of laughter.
They eat Chinese in Rachel's bed and Santana takes a picture of Rachel's hand as it reaches for the last egg roll. There's a bit of Rachel's bare calf in the picture, too, but nothing distinguishing. She doesn't really care. She doesn't think Santana does, either.
It's not something they've talked about.
... ... ...
'Birthday present ideas for a girl who has everything. GO.'
Rachel rolls her eyes. 'You should try something that comes from the heart' is what she replies, amid all sorts of other tweets, some of which aren't entirely terrible.
'Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart.'
Laughing to herself as she walks down a busy New York street isn't something she tries to make a habit of, but her girlfriend is in Paris and apparently shopping for her birthday present. Rachel loves presents and hates surprises, so she's interested in seeing how this all plays out.
Eventually, Santana tweets 'Okay. Jewelry. Got it.'
And Rachel texts her for the rest of the night for more hints, which she doesn't get.
What she does get is a ridiculously expensive Cartier watch she hates to admit she loves as much as she does. It's not her fault. There are diamonds and roman numerals and it's a gift, and it would be rude not to be grateful, and to show that gratitude as best she knows how.
Santana snaps a picture of Rachel's wrist with the watch on it and writes 'She likes it ;)'.
Rachel's naked, save for the watch, and she doesn't even flinch or give Santana a lecture on taking appropriate pictures. And anyway, it's she who can't keep her hands to herself this time, working her fingers between Santana's legs while the girl messes about on her phone.
... ... ...
New Year's Eve, Santana's performing in Times Square and Rachel's radio station is hosting its own event. It's indoors, too, which makes it infinitely better. Rachel's never honestly understood the appeal of being outside in the cold in January for something like this. She did the Times Square New Year's Eve the first year she lived in New York, and that was enough for her. It's scary, honestly, a crowd that big. Add in alcohol and party hats and it's just not something she cares to do ever again in her life.
She's busy, so she doesn't even get a chance to watch the livestream of Santana's performance on her phone or anything. It's fine. She's seen Santana perform a hundred times before. She'd rather they were at her apartment enjoying the start of the new year together, but she obviously understands that they each have obligations.
It's nearing 2:30 a.m. when Rachel lets herself into Santana's hotel room. She wasn't going to come, but sometime around 1:00, she got a text that told her to 'get here whenever'. It was the same distance to go to her place or this hotel, and here, she doesn't have to sleep alone and she can spend some time with her girlfriend before Santana leaves for a recording session in Toronto.
Santana is sleeping (naked, because she always does) and the covers are bundled up around her, her cheek pressed against the crisp white pillow case.
Rachel slips into the bed and Santana doesn't wake up, but lets out a tiny sound when she feels someone taking her hand.
Rachel snaps a picture of their hands, fingers woven together, uses a pretty Instagram filter, and posts it to Tumblr with the caption, 'Best way to ring in the New Year.'
She was going to write something about how much she loves the girl, but, well, Santana should hear that from the source.
"You troll," Santana says in the morning when they're drinking coffee and each on their iPads checking reviews and commentary from last night.
"What?"
"That picture." Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Did you think they wouldn't recognize the watch?"
Rachel's heart falls and she feels like she can't breathe. How could she have been so stupid? Well, it was late and she was exhausted and overwhelmed with feelings for this woman, but still. This isn't the way she wants people to find out they're together. God, she doesn't care if anyone ever finds out they're together. Santana's a little reckless with how she shares her life online, but even she's never actually done anything this stupid.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel says sincerely, and Santana rolls her eyes and kisses her. "I didn't..."
"Who cares? They know I have a girlfriend. So what if they know it's you?"
Rachel just looks at her dubiously. "You're okay with that? With everyone knowing and asking you questions about it?" Santana just shrugs her shoulder. "Santana, I'm..."
"They ask me questions about it anyway," the girl explains. "Now they'll just like, be able to picture who I go to bed with at night." They look at each other for a moment, and god, that sounds terrible. "Fuck. They're totally gonna imagine us together."
"They'll photoshop us into pictures."
"Probably like, porn stills."
"This is a disaster," Rachel sighs, leaning back against the bed.
Santana's hand slides over Rachel's stomach beneath the covers, then a little lower, until her thumb is... "So let's beat them to it."
That sounds dangerous. "What?" Rachel breathes out. God, it's seriously difficult to concentrate when Santana's hand is this close to her center. "Are you suggesting we..."
"Oh, my god," Santana groans. "It's not like I'm suggesting a fucking sex tape or anything." Her thumb presses down between Rachel's legs. "Wanna go out for lunch?"
"I don't want you to stop touching me."
Santana smirks, then turns and slips her thigh between Rachel's and presses down. Rachel can feel that the girl is wet against her. "Yeah, okay, but after this."
"Santana," Rachel moans, because there is one single finger inside her now, and she's not thinking about lunch.
"I'll hold your hand when we're walking and shit. We'll...Shit, baby, you want it, huh?" Santana laughs the slightest bit, but Rachel cannot be blamed for the way she's rolling her hips, because she needs more than one single finger and a thumb barely grazing her nerves. "I love how wet you get for me."
"Santana, if you don't fuck me properly sometime within the next two minutes, I'll..."
Santana presses two fingers into Rachel, hard, and says, "You'll what?" when Rachel's threat is broken off by a moan. They kiss, and Rachel's hand ends up on the back of Santana's neck to keep her close. The girl grinds against Rachel's thigh a bit, works her fingers at the exact pace she knows Rachel loves. "C'mon, baby. We'll go out later. Let them see us. Fuck, I want them to know."
Rachel can barely follow one conversation right now, let alone two, but she changes the subject, the slightest bit, and brushes her lips against Santana's as she speaks.
"I love you. Okay. I want..."
She can't even finish, because Santana's tongue is in her mouth. Her hand has stilled, but Rachel doesn't mind. This is more important than that.
Santana still finishes her, of course, and then comes apart on Rachel's tongue in what feels like record time. It's a good thing, because people are likely already speculating about them, and if they want to do this on their own terms, they really do need to get outside now, instead of giving people enough time to add up all the pieces.
It takes two blocks for the first paparazzo to see them and snap pictures, and by the third block, there are easily 25 of them and Santana's holding Rachel's hand tightly as they walk and try to ignore the attention.
Santana leans over, kisses Rachel's cheek and whispers, "Love you, too," once they're inside the restaurant.
... ... ...
"Your girlfriend's super hot." Santana laughs at the interviewer, and a picture of her and Rachel is put up on the screen. "Seriously. Like, that is not a face for radio."
Rachel smiles as she watches the television, this satellite feed of a show airing live on MuchMusic in Canada. The picture is sort of cute, actually, of them walking out of a Starbucks yesterday before Santana had to leave for the airport. Rachel's got her arm around Santana's waist and the girl is stealing a sip of Rachel's latté.
"She's okay," Santana says, and the live audience laughs. "No, but really. She's awesome."
"How long have you two been together?"
Santana scoffs and it looks like she's blushing. "Um. A long time? I don't honestly even know. It's not really one of those things that matters to us, you know?"
The interviewer gives her a cheeky smile. "So what does matter?"
Rachel can tell this young guy is absolutely thrilled to get the first official interview with Santana after they went public with their relationship. Rachel knows it's a huge deal for him, and she thinks he's handling it really well. He's getting his information without prying or being a jerk, and yes, she's focusing on this rather than worrying about Santana's answer to his simple question.
Santana smiles a bit and looks to the ground. "I dunno. She's like, unnaturally patient. I'm a serious pain in the ass, and she'll just wait it out until I'm done." The crowd laughs again. "We just get each other, or something. And um, I like that she likes me."
"That's kinda sweet," the host says, and Santana looks like she's about to turn red. "And uh, you bought her a forty thousand dollar watch, so you must like her a bit, too."
Rachel's dreading going to work and dealing with this publicly, but the way she sees it, if Santana can do it, so can she. And really, they've been sort of public about this the whole time, they just weren't naming names. Santana's penchant for sharing her 'photography' on the internet had them teetering on the edge of everyone knowing long before Rachel tipped them over. They're both to blame, though neither of them is pointing fingers.
Rachel texts Santana 'Love you' at the end of her day, because it's mostly been about them, and she wants to say it.
She gets back 'Sorry who is this?' and rolls her eyes and wonders what on earth she sees in this woman anyway.
(The 'ILY too.' comes moments later and serves as a nice reminder.)