An Afternoon at San's
Title: An Afternoon at San's
Pairing: Sam Evans/Mercedes Jones; Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce; Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce/Sam Evans
Rating: G
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Glee.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sam doesn’t blame her.
A/N: Written for Day 2 of Bramtana Week, with a little Samcedes :D
“Question, cover me.”
Sam motions to Santana, and they proceed to move in the kitchen.
She’s not there.
“Come on, puddin’! Try to find me,” they hear Brittany laugh.
“Nightwing,” Santana whispers, “Harley’s in the living room. You distract her. I’ll sneak up and jump her from the stairs.”
“Got it.”
Sam watches Santana climb the stairs.
He’s all on his own for now.
Sam exits the kitchen and sneaks through the hallway. The door in front of him is the only thing separating him from the psycho ex-psychiatrist.
He opens it a crack, and spies Brittany, her head facing the stairway. He has to keep her eyes on him. Sam takes out his homemade batarang, and aims for her shoulder.
“Hey Blonde Bombshell!”
He bursts through the door and aims two more popsicle-stick weapons at her.
“Ow! Chicken wings! Stop that!”
Sam has to remember to not laugh and stay in character. Brittany does a perfect Harley Quinn. Seriously.
“Only if you give back Hephaestus’ hammer. Seriously, how’d you get that?”
Brittany sticks her tongue out.
“It’s for me to know, and for you to find out, chicken wings. Now where’s puddin’?”
Sam sees Santana’s shadow. He has to make her back up.
He jumps over the sofa, making Brittany step back.
“The Question? She’s on her way to get the Big Bat.”
“Puh-lease. Batman’s in that space station thingy. What’s she gonna do, fly?”
Sam takes several steps towards her, when suddenly they hear someone knocking on the door. Both of the blondes turn towards it, just as it opens.
At that exact moment, Santana jumps off the stair bannister and lands on Brittany.
“Oh god.”
The door is ajar, revealing Mercedes, staring at the mess in front of her.
Sam doesn’t blame her.
He’s in Nightwing spandex, and Brittany’s in a Harley Quinn costume holding a gigantic Styrofoam hammer, while Santana’s wearing a fedora and a mask, making her look like she has no face at all, leaving aside the fact that she’s currently on top of Brittany.
Yeah.
“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Santana scrambles off of Brittany and both girls rush to stand up.
“Mercedes, it isn’t what it looks like,” Sam says.
His girlfriend’s look of shock gradually turns into a smile.
“So you’re telling me that my boy isn’t playing hero with two cheerleaders in ridiculous costumes?”
“Hey!”
“Give it up guys,” Mercedes laughs. “I was going to see if Santana was treating you nicely-I swear if my brother wasn’t here for the month I’d let you have his room-but I see you’re doing pretty well.”
Mercedes walks over to the far side of the room, to one of the arm chairs, and sits.
“Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not even here,” she smirks.
“Promise you won’t tell, Wheezy,” Santana asks.
“On my Christian honor.”
“You don’t want to join us, ‘Cedes,” Brittany asks.
Santana turns to look at her.
“Yeah, Wheezy. You could be Robin. Wait, you don’t like tights after Rocky Horror, I remember. The Oracle it is, then.”
Sam almost laughs when he sees his girlfriend’s face turn into a look of help as she turns towards him.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” he smiles. “’Sides, I always wanted you to join in on us.”
“Yeah, Mercedes,” Brittany pouts. “And you’ll look hot in glasses.”
The Brittany pout. Never fails.
Sam grins when Mercedes rolls her eyes.
“Okay, okay. But I want half of ya’ batarangs, Sam.”
“Deal,” he concedes, walking towards her to give the said weapons.
“Here,” Brittany says, as she gets the glasses hanging off Santana’s collar. “You can wear San’s glasses.”
“Never knew you had glasses, Satan.”
“Not. A. Word.”
Mercedes puts the glasses on and Sam finds out he totally agrees with Brittany. He should make her wear glasses more often.
“So, I’m Barbara, Santana’s the Question, Brittany’s Harley Quinn, and you’re Nightwing,” she finishes, pointing at Sam.
He gapes.
“How’d you know?”
Mercedes smirks.
“Please, boy wonder. You think I wouldn’t have found your comics by now? I don’t remember everything, but I do remember that Dick and Barbara had a thing,” she ends, winking at him.
“Come on, lover birds,” Santana calls out.
“We have a game to play.”