Just Know I'm Just Like You (Quinn/Santana)
Name: Just Know I'm Just Like You
Rating: NC17
Length: 5250
Spoilers: New York
Summary: Quinn is in college in Miami, and Santana comes to visit during spring break.
Author's Note: This is my first Quinntana ever, so go easy on me, I suppose. The title is from a song by Grouplove, "Colours," and it has literally nothing to do with the plot of this story. Not that there is much plot, but enough to make 5000+ words, apparently.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because Quinn, God knows B and I would take one step into the crackhouse you call a college and then B would get distracted by something and then shot and I would have to go on a killing spree to avenge her, and honestly, I just don’t feel up to that.”
“Miami is not a crackhouse! And I’m pretty sure you’re getting all your information about Miami from Vanilla Ice,” Quinn mutters, glancing over at her roommate’s suspicious “medicine”bag, filled with needles that supposedly were for allergies. When Santana eventually caved and came down to visit her, and she would, because Quinn always got what she wanted, she would need to remember to hide that stupid bag.
“Miami is a crackhouse, I’ve seen Keeping Up With the Kardashians, bitch,” Santana returns, her voice crackling with amusement and a thin layer of animosity. That wasn’t unprecedented or new, and Quinn ignored it with the ease she had acquired after years of listening to it.
“That was Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami, dumbass,” Quinn mutters. “Look, there’s a beach. You two live in Chicago - ”
“I didn’t fucking forget - ”
“- and I saw the news. You’re expected to get like, eighteen inches of snow. And I have girls in bikinis for spring break week. You know you want to, San.”
The girls in bikinis had been her final card. Santana, as expected, caved.
“Fine, you ass. But Britt has to stay for her show, so you just get me all break.”
“You’re leaving Britt alone to deal with the mobsters of Chicago as she walks home all alone from her show?”
“Fuck you, Fabray,” Santana yells, not dealing especially well with being made fun of for her protectiveness. “No. Britt, can you stay with Nate for spring break? Try not to make out with him or his boyfriend too much, you know they don’t like that - ”
Santana is cut off by Brittany squealing and yelling into the phone.
“Hi Quinn!”
“I’m hanging up now, Dex. Text you when I get a flight.”
“Would you please stop calling me Dexter, it’s really creepy and - ”
Santana has already hung up, but Quinn can practically hear her laughing.
--
Quinn is standing in the airport with the dry erase board she had yanked off her dorm room door, smirking at all the people who look at it confused as they file out from the gates. Santana stops the minute she sees Quinn, sign in hand, and contemplates it before she sets her face in a glare.
“You are a bitch,” Santana says when she gets to Quinn. Santana drops her suitcase handle, yanks the sign labelled Cat Enthusiast Santana Lopez out of Quinn’s hands and smacks Quinn over the head with it. “And really, you couldn’t think of anything better than Cat Enthusiast? Junior high much?”
“Rachel suggested it.”
“Why do you even talk to that midget, a, and b, that explains it. Now take me to these girls in bikinis, I wants to gets my cat enthusiasm on.”
--
Quinn has to separate Santana from some girl in a bikini later that night. She’s blonde, and tall, and she has a nice ass, and Quinn is pretty sure she’s in her psych class.
“You are a cockblocker,” Santana says dramatically, sounding spectacularly drunk. Quinn doesn’t feel especially sober herself, but Santana is taking spring break to new levels of inebriation as she stumbles ahead of Quinn and waves her finger in her face. “You want my cock, don’t you?”
“You don’t have a cock,” Quinn stage whispers, amused at her own theatricality before she captures Santana before the girl runs away again, like she had once they had walked into the seedy club. “And even if you did, I would not want it.”
“You want me now,” Santana drawls, nodding at the student at the desk of Quinn’s dorm.
“Hello good sir,” Quinn greets him with, patting him on the head when he smiles back. “And S, B would kill me.”
Santana laughs as they tromp up the stairs to the fifth floor, the sound echoing around the stairwell. She jumps ahead of Quinn and turns to meet the blonde, standing a few steps above her.
“She’d want to watch,” she whispers, her mouth coming down near Quinn’s. “And you’d fucking like it.”
Quinn stands straighter at the heavy feeling that settles in her gut at the dark whisper that accompanies darkening eyes. Quinn’s presumed straight and narrow sexuality had withstood only two months on campus, and had proven to be remarkably flexible, and Santana knew it, was playing with it right now, seeing how far she’d take this.
Quinn was not going to lose this game.
She reaches up to grasp Santana by the waist, pushing her up to the third floor landing until her back meets the wall. Quinn doesn’t let the gasp that escapes Santana’s mouth go to the wayside, and she grins wildly.
“I think,” Quinn whispers, her head inclining close to Santana’s, “That you like the idea of me wanting you a bit too much for this to be the first time you’ve thought of it.”
She lets go of Santana and continues up the steps, feeling Santana stare at her darkly as she follows behind silently for the rest of the trip up the stairs.
Quinn thinks she’s won until she gets slammed into her dorm room door almost immediately after opening it and stepping inside. Her face is up against the cool wood of the door and Santana is warm against her back, pressing her between the proverbial rock and the hard place.
Quinn doesn’t mistake the distinct roll of the hips that comes with Santana’s next words.
“I think,” Santana whispers, her lips brushing against Quinn’s ear, sending shivers down her body, “You’d love it. You moaning and groaning away while I take little kitten licks and barely put my hands on you,” Quinn does, in fact, groan when she feels Santana lick the back of her neck and fingers run lightly across her lower back. “And you’d beg, and say please like the good little girl you are. And after I’d fucked your brains out, you’d say thank you in your quiet little croaky voice and ask for another. You know what? I’d probably give it to you. Just ‘cause you asked so nicely.”
Santana licks the outer edge of Quinn’s ear before she steps away, leaving Quinn to slump at the door as cold seeps into her body.
When she finally has the strength to turn around without looking like a sex-crazed sixteen-year-old boy, Santana is grinning at her evilly.
“But you know,” she continues, her voice low in the dark room. “You don’t want me.”
After Santana has fallen asleep, Quinn barely touches herself before she comes with a quiet gasp, trying to ignore that she only had to think of Santana whispering in her ear once more, “Say please, Quinn.”
Santana 1, Quinn 0.
--
Santana is a legs and ass girl, self-described. Quinn just happens to own the shortest, tightest black dress in all of Miami, and she also just happens to be grinding into Santana the next night.
All day, she’s been trying to figure a way to get back at Santana for the...incident, last night. And taking her to a club and allowing her no drinks to fully experience the torture Quinn knows she’s giving seems like a good enough step for now. All day, they had been at the beach, and Quinn had tried her best to walk as sexily as possible, and considering the fierce grip on Quinn’s hips that Santana had, it had been having some effect.
“Do you ever think about what the glee kids would think of you right now? If they walked in, and saw them grinding your ass into some girl?” Santana says into her ear, her breath cooling the sweat on Quinn’s neck. Quinn considers it for all of five seconds, and all she gets is Finn muttering mailman over and over before she realizes she doesn’t much care. This is about revenge.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Quinn says back, and Santana nods into the back of Quinn’s head, allowing herself to be pulled through the throng on the dancefloor, her hand wrapped loosely in Quinn’s.
“Dex, I didn’t mean to like, freak you out or anything,” Santana says, closing the bathroom door behind them and locking it, her eyes careful. Quinn frowns at the concern in Santana’s eyes, flipping her still-short hair out of her eyes (she liked the cut Santana and Brittany had given her in New York a lot, okay?).
“I’m fine,” Quinn says, sidetracked from her original purpose momentarily. “I’m pretty sure Puck would congratulate me for getting the stick out of my ass or something.”
“True dat,” Santana says, laughing. “I just, you know, wanted to make sure. You’re all triggery and shit sometimes.”
“Thanks,” Quinn says sarcastically, before a thought randomly comes to her. “Are you and Britt together?”
“No,” Santana says simply, her eyes clear of pain. “She’s my best friend, and she knows me like no one else and I’m pretty sure she can read my mind, and I love her to death, but no. I loved her, but you know. You learn to let go, move on.”
Quinn nods slowly, regarding Santana with an appraising eye. The sound in Santana’s voice is not angry, or sad. Just factual.
“Why?” Santana asks, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Well, you know, I had to make sure to police your sexual actions on the poor unsuspecting people of Miami to only make-outs if you were together. Now you’re free to spread your chlamydia all up and down South Beach.”
“I never had chlamydia, you fucking bitch. I’m cleaner than Ms. Pillsbury’s...everything, really.”
“Miracle of God,” Quinn taunts, waving a lone finger in front of Santana’s face.
“At least I got laid more than once in high school, and had the brain to remember a condom,” Santana smirks, smacking away Quinn’s finger as Quinn advances to where Santana is leaning on the wall of the bathroom.
“When you were sleeping with people who needed a condom, that is,” Quinn says, and Santana laughs.
“If I didn’t know better, you sound like you would’ve wanted to join the crowd. But wait, Q, you were so repressed you might as well have been out the back of the closet and hanging out with Aslan, I forgot.”
“Narnia was in a wardrobe, you slut.”
“Oh, right, I forgot. Sorry I insulted your dorkass sensibilities,”Santana says. “Now, let’s go, I have an idea.”
Santana grabs for Quinn’s hand as the blonde sputters, and leads her out of the bathroom and back through the club, and out through the doors. Quinn looks over at Santana carefully as the girl hails a cab for the beach.
“What’s this brilliant idea of yours?” Quinn asks, after Santana’s paid the driver and lead her down the beach to a rather secluded point.
“Swimming, dumbass. We are on the beach, as you can see,” Santana says, gesturing behind her to the ocean. “Now take off that terrible excuse for a dress and let’s go skinny dipping.”
Santana’s eyes are challenging, and Quinn knows this officially begins round two.
Quinn reaches for the zipper on her dress as slowly as possible, while Santana’s eyes burn into her skin as it’s slowly revealed down the side slit.
“Nice tat,” Santana says, her voice low and entirely appealing as she sees the type etched onto her ribs. It reads Beth I hear you calling but I can’t come home right now, and Quinn draws in a breath when Santana reaches forward to sketch it even deeper into her skin.
Santana’s hands are soft as she steps closer, further into Quinn’s space, and her hands slide down to the bottom edge of the dress, upper thigh, and starts to tug downwards, her hands splayed just far enough, further than necessary, to leave a burning trail down Quinn’s legs. Quinn steps out of the dress and is left in panties, no bra, and grins when Santana’s hands linger at Quinn’s calves, seemingly entranced.
“Just helping you out there,” Santana croaks, explaining the undressing. Her eyes shift upward and slide over Quinn’s abs and breasts, before landing on Quinn’s face before she stands up again.
“Well then,” Quinn whispers back, her hands reaching for the front button of Santana’s Daisy Dukes and tugging at the waistband until the girl takes a step closer. “Let me return the favor.”
Santana’s eyes are dark as Quinn slides the shorts down her legs, and stands up to unbutton the tight plaid shirt, slowly, button by button.
Santana’s underwear matches, a red lace set that should be illegal, and Santana pulls off her bra herself, eyeing Quinn’s breasts the entire way. Quinn tries to ignore the desperate and angry compulsion to ogle Santana’s chest, but she fails and ends up staring just the same. They pull off their panties in silence.
Quinn runs first, jumping into the water and yelping at how unexpectedly cold it is. Santana lets out a similar sound when she hits the water, just on Quinn’s heels.
“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea,”Santana says, wading up to Quinn and bouncing in the water, her arms crossed against the cold.
They spend all of five minutes in the water, both determined to outlast the other, before Santana grumbles and says, “I promised B I wouldn’t let you get hurt, and I can’t just let you get hypothermia.”
They get dressed in silence again, their eyes glued to each other the entire time. They ride back to Quinn’s dorm, and Santana rushes to the bathroom before Quinn can even begin to fight her for first shot.
She takes her opportunity.
Santana stops very suddenly when she steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed in sweats and an old Cheerios t-shirt, her eyes roving up Quinn’s bed, where Quinn herself is laying, with only sheets covering her naked body.
“Are you - ” Santana’s voice cracks and she clears it again. “The hell, Fabray? Seducing me already?”
“I’d return the favor.”
“What? Are you like, sane right now? Can hypothermia set in this early?”
“I think you’d like being tied up.”
“Damn it, I seriously promised B - what?”
“I’d tie you to the bedposts, and you’d tell me to let you go in the most ferocious voice you could muster but I’d know. I’d know how wet you are, because I could see it, making a mess of my sheets. You would love being tied up, wouldn’t you?”
Quinn rises from the bed, holding the sheet to her while Santana just stands there, her eyes wide as they track all over Quinn, listening intently.
“I’d have to hold down your hips and you’d call me all sorts of names, anything you could think of. But, by the end of the night, all you would think to call me would be God. I’d solve that problem.”
Quinn drops the sheet as she steps up to Santana, setting her hands on the girl’s shoulders and whispering in her ear.
“Say my name, Santana.”
She saunters off into the bathroom for her shower after she feels the tremble that racks through Santana’s body.
Later that night, she hears a small noise from the other bed. Thanks to a whole semester and a half of living with someone else, she disregards it, until she recognizes the sound as...wet.
Her attack hadn’t been nearly as graphic as Santana’s, but she supposes it was a sweeping success when she hears Santana breathe out her name in a shaky exhale.
Tied.
--
“Your obsession with bacon is fucking weird.”
Santana pushes up her sunglasses on her nose, frowning down at Quinn’s bacon.
“You sound like Rachel.”
“You have got to stop talking to that midget, no matter how hot you thought her legs were in high school, Dex.”
Quinn stabs down at her eggs, glancing up at Santana disdainfully. The girl is only wearing a bikini top and shorts, so the look loses some of its fierceness somewhere between a tan chest and a prominent collarbone.
“I haven’t been close to a nervous breakdown since junior year, you have got to stop calling me Dexter.”
Santana cocks her head to the side before she pushes up her sunglasses onto her head.
“I’m not calling you Dexter, I’m calling you Poindexter. It’s different. Dumbass.”
“Poindexter?”
“Yeah, like you’re a fucking smartass, with your chemistry major, I'm gonna cure cancer shit. Except maybe not because you thought I was calling you a serial killer all this time. Maybe I’ll just call you dumbfuck for the rest of forever, instead.”
“Fuck you,” Quinn groans, shoving more bacon into her mouth.
“You wish,” Santana sing-songs, buttering her toast.
--
Later that night, they’ve holed up in the dorm room after a small round of gunshots near the club they were in sent them running.
(“Fucking hell, I told you we would get shot!” Santana yelps as she grabs for Quinn’s hand and pulls her down the sidewalk away from the sound of guns. Quinn has had more drinks than Santana this night.
“All I heard was shellsssss falling...”
“Jesus Christ, we’re getting shot at and you’re rapping.”)
“You wanna play strip poker?” Santana asks, tilting her head to look over at Quinn from across the room.
Twenty minutes later, Quinn is flipping Santana off as she pulls off her tank top. Still slightly drunk, it gets tangled up and she gets trapped in the shirt, half-on, and half-off.
“Nice one, Dex,” Santana laughs, pulling the shirt off for Quinn and sliding her hand down Quinn’s side entirely unnecessarily.
“Why are you touching me?” Quinn asks, simply, her eyes wide and bright, the small amount of alcohol still in her system giving her the courage to ask.
Santana stares back at her, not entirely sure what response Quinn is looking for.
“You know...” Santana starts, knocking the cards laid out between them sideways and sliding forward on the bed to set her hands on Quinn’s crossed legs. “You have gorgeous skin.”
Quinn breathes out as Quinn slides her hands up Quinn’s bare legs, until they’re resting mid-thigh.
“When we were in high school, I always wanted to touch you. You looked like glass. But you felt like silk,” Santana whispers gently pushing Quinn’s legs apart until they’re stretched out, on either side of Santana. “You’re letting me touch you now. You want me to touch you now.”
Quinn stares at Santana as the girl’s hands venture across the lace of her panties, sliding up the smooth plane of her stomach, scraping the sides of her breasts through her matching bra, down her arms, and up them again. Santana’s thumbs trace her collarbones, before her index slides straight down Quinn’s spine.
And Santana’s right there, and she presses a light, wet kiss to the juncture of her shoulder and neck.
“Don’t you, Quinn?”
Quinn eyes Santana as the challenge in her eyes burns bright.
“You think I’d like being tied up? You’d love it. Your precious control, all gone. And well...” Santana whispers, her breath cooling and heating the small area she kissed on Quinn’s skin, as her fingers trace the waistband of Quinn’s panties. “I’d get to touch you all I wanted.”
Santana pulls away from Quinn, grinning as Quinn’s eyes follow her across the room to the lightswitch.
“I’m tired, I think. Goodnight, Quinn.”
Santana flips the lights out and slides into the bed across the room, and Quinn doesn’t wait to slide her hand down her underwear, where Santana’s fingers were just playing.
After she comes apart, she doesn’t miss the whispered, “Say thank you,”from the other bed.
Santana 2, Quinn 1.
--
The next night, she comes back from a late-night run to the local store for some chocolate and a DVD to find the lights off, but with groaning sounds coming from the darkness.
Quinn turns on the lights, and drops her bag.
Santana has stopped all movement, her eyes trained on Quinn. Her face is red, and her hair is damp, and there’s a sheet over her, but there’s no mistaking what was happening. There’s no mistaking why, either - Quinn had spent the entire day on the beach on a club and she had made sure to make it as painful as possible.
(Quinn smiled to herself when she leaned over Santana further, rubbing sunscreen onto the girl and knowing exactly where her fingers were brushing. An hour later she would be placing her leg in between Santana’s, her arms wrapped tightly around the girl as they danced in the middle of a dark, dark room. Another hour later, she’d have Santana in a VIP room, conned off a boy from her English comp class, and she’d be pulling off her dress and dancing for her, for real.
Quinn Fabray was big on having a plan. And she always executed her plans.)
This time, neither of them say anything at all as Quinn stalks across the room and slides onto the twin bed, at the far end, her eyes trained where Santana’s hand must be underneath the sheet. Santana’s eyes are dark and manic, desperate, looking for a clue.
Quinn gives her one, and tugs the sheet off the girl, until her view is unobstructed. Santana groans, and she starts moving her fingers again, slower this time. Quinn watches intently as the girl traces her clit in circles, slipping a few times and causing a high-pitched moan. Santana is wet, wetter than any girl Quinn has ever seen, not that she’s seen many.
Quinn knows it’s all her, all her fault, when she looks up from Santana’s hand to see the girl staring straight at her, mouth open and gasping for air, but so clearly focused on Quinn’s face that it’s impossible to assume Santana is thinking of anything else.
“Faster,” Quinn whispers, and Santana responds accordingly, her hips starting to rock more visibly against her hand as her fingers slide and slip faster.
“You like me watching,” Quinn whispers, her voice low and laced with lust. Santana groans, dropping her head back onto her pillow for only moments before pulling it back up and nodding, her eyes back on Quinn’s face. “I heard you, you know. The other night. You said my name when you came.”
Santana’s hand moves faster, deliberately hitting its mark more than before at the thought that Quinn was listening.
“You want to come again?”
Santana nods frantically, her hips bucking up powerfully now. Quinn smiles sweetly, before she slides down the edge of the bed, stretching out all along the side of Santana’s body on the narrow bed. She leans close to Santana’s ear and breathes against it for a moment.
“Then say my name, Santana.”
“Quinn,” Santana says, before she yells, breaking apart right in front of Quinn, right beside her. “Quinn, Quinn, Quinn, Quinn...”she breathes out, her hips rocking slower as she tries to regain her breath.
Her eyes close and she seems to search for her clothes blindly, reaching over Quinn and only succeeding in draping her arm over the girl.
“Someone’s lazy,”Quinn mutters, looking behind her and spotting Santana’s clothes in a pile on the floor.
Santana mutters something that involves the word orgasm, but is otherwise unintelligible. Quinn grabs the clothes, and sets to work pulling the girl’s panties on, then sleeping shorts, before coaxing the girl to sit up a little to slide the shirt over her head.
Santana mumbles something again when Quinn slides back into the bed, after turning out the lights, this time with something that sounds suspiciously like thank you, before she turns completely into Quinn’s side, burrowing her head onto Quinn’s shoulder.
--
Quinn wakes up the next morning to find Santana Lopez with her legs on either side of Quinn’s hips, staring down at her with a look that could only be described as predatory.
“Good morning,” Santana says sweetly, sliding her hands up under Quinn’s shirt, slowly pushing it up Quinn’s torso. “So, I had a dream last night where you watched me get off.”
Santana pushes the shirt off of the bed once its over Quinn’s head, and holds Quinn’s raised arms down, her face over Quinn’s, her whole upper body resting against Quinn’s.
“What was funny, was that I woke up and realized just exactly how wet I was, and that you were right there, laying in my bed, Quinn,” she whispers, and Quinn knows her eyes are wide. “So I guess it wasn’t a dream. But, you know what was missing in the dream?”
Quinn shakes her head minutely, letting out a whimper at the feel of Santana pressing down with her hips, into Quinn’s.
“You never kissed me.”
Santana leaned down the rest of the way and kissed Quinn ferociously, her tongue diving in almost immediately. Quinn reacts viscerally, her whole body arching up into Santana, groaning at the feel of Santana sucking on her tongue. Santana draws back, but kisses down Quinn’s jaw and neck, leaving little nips and soothing licks in her wake, before she reaches under Quinn to unsnap her bra, keeping one hand pressing down on Quinn’s wrists above her head.
“You know, just think, Quinn,” Santana mutters, licking circles around Quinn’s nipple before biting down on it and earning a violent jerk. “We could’ve been doing this all week, if only you’d just admitted you wanted me that first night. I could’ve been fucking, "Santana pushes down viciously with her hips, “your,” again, “brains out.”
Santana leans up again to kiss Quinn, and Quinn barely has time to focus on the groan she draws when she bites the girl’s lower lip because Santana is tugging at Quinn’s sweat pants, pulling them off, along with her panties.
“You love this, don’t you?” Santana murmurs into Quinn’s ear, her fingers sliding down Quinn’s abs and tracing along Quinn’s opening. “Imagine what we could’ve done by now. I would’ve made you come so many times...”Santana’s finger finds Quinn’s clit and pinches it for a second, earning a yelp from Quinn.
“But that’s okay, Quinn. We’ve got a lot of time now,” Santana whispers, her fingers slipping into Quinn’s entrance momentarily before pulling out just as quickly. “Fuck, Quinn,”she groans, her hips pressing into one of Quinn’s legs, where she’s slid down at some point. “You’re fucking soaked.”
“Please,” Quinn whimpers, “Please.”
Santana’s eyes turn almost black, and she lets go of Quinn’s wrists and drops down to join her fingers. Quinn doesn’t have much of a chance to move her hands, because Santana is suddenly moving, really moving, sucking on her clit and plunging two fingers into her. Her hands twist up into the sheets and she bucks up at the feel of it.
It doesn’t take long, but Santana finds a certain spot inside Quinn that sends her screaming, and she strokes it one, two, three times before Quinn is saying Santana’s name over and over.
She lets Quinn come down, stroking every once in a while and sending Quinn bucking into the air, before she climbs back up Quinn’s body, hands on either side of the blonde’s head, and kisses her.
This kiss is not so fiery as it was before, but sweet, and luxuriating. Quinn slides her hand up Santana’s shirt (she needed to rectify this clothes situation immediately), and Santana smiles into the kiss.
--
“Fucking hell, bitch, this bruise on my hip hurts,” Santana groans, rubbing at her hip once again, as she stops and turns with her suitcase at the security gate.
“You are not the one with ten tons of concealer on her neck, asshole,” Quinn mutters, rubbing at her neck self-consciously. Santana stops complaining for moment (and only a moment).
“You look fine. You’re gorgeous. God, Dex, you need a better mirror or something, because you think you’re Frankenstein or some shit.”
“Frankenstein’s monster. Frankenstein was the scientist.”
“God, I hate you, supreme dork overlord. Stop correcting me.”
“I will only stop when what you say is actually correct.”
“Seriously, stop talking to Berry, or you will become her.”
Quinn rolls her eyes, and pulls Santana in for a tight hug, kissing lightly at the girl’s cheek. She smiles when Santana turns her head further and kisses Quinn’s temple, her hands venturing low on Quinn’s back.
“We’re in public, Santana,” Quinn mutters, and regrets it almost immediately, because Santana pulls back from the hug only to slide her hands down to cup Quinn’s ass and pull their hips together before kissing her with full tongue and everything in the middle of the international airport every spring break student in America is trying to get out of right now.
Quinn groans when they pull back, ducking her head to rest on Santana’s shoulder. Santana’s arms wrap around Quinn’s waist.
“You just kissed me in front of my chem professor, you ass.”
“Oh. Well, if you ever need a grade boost, offer him our sex tape.”
“We don’t have a sex tape.”
“We could have a sex tape.”
Quinn smiles into Santana’s shoulder before she pulls back, shoving her away and nodding toward the gate.
“Right. Well, goodbye, Dex,” Santana mutters, shuffling her feet awkwardly. “Love you and shit.”
“You are so charming,” Quinn smiles. “Love you and shit, too.”
“Okay so I’m leaving now, because I don’t want to do this like, fuck I’ll miss you so much please never leave me I’ll miss your amazing tongue, thing.”
“You do that.”
“I’ll call you when I land.”
“Good.”
“Fuck, I’m whipped already,” Santana mutters, grabbing her suitcase in hand.
“Not yet,” Quinn grins, and Santana stares at her with wide eyes before she turns suddenly, muttering something about Quinn being the devil.
--
“Britt wants me to say hi,” Santana says, and moments later, Brittany is shouting into the phone.
“Hi Quinn! I’m glad you and Santana had so much fun, with all the sex and stuff!”
“Tell her I said thanks, I guess.”
“You guess? Bitch, I was the fucking greatest thing that ever happened to you in a bedroom. And a laundry room. And a bathroom, and a pool - ”
“You had lots of fun, and now you know that Miami is not a crackhouse.”
“Yes it fucking is, Quinn. Your roommate has crack in like, her sock drawer. And she left behind some spare needles for her heroin or some shit in a medicine bag or some shit, I almost impaled myself on one of them.”
Quinn glances over at her roommate’s newly-washed sheets, and spots the red medicine bag haphazardly thrown under the bed and groans.
“Suck it, Fabray, I know you do it well.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already have.”
Quinn hangs up, but smiles when she gets a text almost immediately.
Santana Lopez: britt wants me to tell you that she loves you and that she hopes you come see her show up here soon. i need you to know i love you more and that i can book a hotel room because my money for the month just came in.
Quinn texts her back, her smile growing.
Quinn Fabray: Which weekend do you suggest?
Santana Lopez: fucking shit dex i thought that was berry for a sec
Quinn Fabray: How about two weekends from now?
Santana Lopez: done. buy some handcuffs.
--
the end.
Rating: NC17
Length: 5250
Spoilers: New York
Summary: Quinn is in college in Miami, and Santana comes to visit during spring break.
Author's Note: This is my first Quinntana ever, so go easy on me, I suppose. The title is from a song by Grouplove, "Colours," and it has literally nothing to do with the plot of this story. Not that there is much plot, but enough to make 5000+ words, apparently.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because Quinn, God knows B and I would take one step into the crackhouse you call a college and then B would get distracted by something and then shot and I would have to go on a killing spree to avenge her, and honestly, I just don’t feel up to that.”
“Miami is not a crackhouse! And I’m pretty sure you’re getting all your information about Miami from Vanilla Ice,” Quinn mutters, glancing over at her roommate’s suspicious “medicine”bag, filled with needles that supposedly were for allergies. When Santana eventually caved and came down to visit her, and she would, because Quinn always got what she wanted, she would need to remember to hide that stupid bag.
“Miami is a crackhouse, I’ve seen Keeping Up With the Kardashians, bitch,” Santana returns, her voice crackling with amusement and a thin layer of animosity. That wasn’t unprecedented or new, and Quinn ignored it with the ease she had acquired after years of listening to it.
“That was Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami, dumbass,” Quinn mutters. “Look, there’s a beach. You two live in Chicago - ”
“I didn’t fucking forget - ”
“- and I saw the news. You’re expected to get like, eighteen inches of snow. And I have girls in bikinis for spring break week. You know you want to, San.”
The girls in bikinis had been her final card. Santana, as expected, caved.
“Fine, you ass. But Britt has to stay for her show, so you just get me all break.”
“You’re leaving Britt alone to deal with the mobsters of Chicago as she walks home all alone from her show?”
“Fuck you, Fabray,” Santana yells, not dealing especially well with being made fun of for her protectiveness. “No. Britt, can you stay with Nate for spring break? Try not to make out with him or his boyfriend too much, you know they don’t like that - ”
Santana is cut off by Brittany squealing and yelling into the phone.
“Hi Quinn!”
“I’m hanging up now, Dex. Text you when I get a flight.”
“Would you please stop calling me Dexter, it’s really creepy and - ”
Santana has already hung up, but Quinn can practically hear her laughing.
--
Quinn is standing in the airport with the dry erase board she had yanked off her dorm room door, smirking at all the people who look at it confused as they file out from the gates. Santana stops the minute she sees Quinn, sign in hand, and contemplates it before she sets her face in a glare.
“You are a bitch,” Santana says when she gets to Quinn. Santana drops her suitcase handle, yanks the sign labelled Cat Enthusiast Santana Lopez out of Quinn’s hands and smacks Quinn over the head with it. “And really, you couldn’t think of anything better than Cat Enthusiast? Junior high much?”
“Rachel suggested it.”
“Why do you even talk to that midget, a, and b, that explains it. Now take me to these girls in bikinis, I wants to gets my cat enthusiasm on.”
--
Quinn has to separate Santana from some girl in a bikini later that night. She’s blonde, and tall, and she has a nice ass, and Quinn is pretty sure she’s in her psych class.
“You are a cockblocker,” Santana says dramatically, sounding spectacularly drunk. Quinn doesn’t feel especially sober herself, but Santana is taking spring break to new levels of inebriation as she stumbles ahead of Quinn and waves her finger in her face. “You want my cock, don’t you?”
“You don’t have a cock,” Quinn stage whispers, amused at her own theatricality before she captures Santana before the girl runs away again, like she had once they had walked into the seedy club. “And even if you did, I would not want it.”
“You want me now,” Santana drawls, nodding at the student at the desk of Quinn’s dorm.
“Hello good sir,” Quinn greets him with, patting him on the head when he smiles back. “And S, B would kill me.”
Santana laughs as they tromp up the stairs to the fifth floor, the sound echoing around the stairwell. She jumps ahead of Quinn and turns to meet the blonde, standing a few steps above her.
“She’d want to watch,” she whispers, her mouth coming down near Quinn’s. “And you’d fucking like it.”
Quinn stands straighter at the heavy feeling that settles in her gut at the dark whisper that accompanies darkening eyes. Quinn’s presumed straight and narrow sexuality had withstood only two months on campus, and had proven to be remarkably flexible, and Santana knew it, was playing with it right now, seeing how far she’d take this.
Quinn was not going to lose this game.
She reaches up to grasp Santana by the waist, pushing her up to the third floor landing until her back meets the wall. Quinn doesn’t let the gasp that escapes Santana’s mouth go to the wayside, and she grins wildly.
“I think,” Quinn whispers, her head inclining close to Santana’s, “That you like the idea of me wanting you a bit too much for this to be the first time you’ve thought of it.”
She lets go of Santana and continues up the steps, feeling Santana stare at her darkly as she follows behind silently for the rest of the trip up the stairs.
Quinn thinks she’s won until she gets slammed into her dorm room door almost immediately after opening it and stepping inside. Her face is up against the cool wood of the door and Santana is warm against her back, pressing her between the proverbial rock and the hard place.
Quinn doesn’t mistake the distinct roll of the hips that comes with Santana’s next words.
“I think,” Santana whispers, her lips brushing against Quinn’s ear, sending shivers down her body, “You’d love it. You moaning and groaning away while I take little kitten licks and barely put my hands on you,” Quinn does, in fact, groan when she feels Santana lick the back of her neck and fingers run lightly across her lower back. “And you’d beg, and say please like the good little girl you are. And after I’d fucked your brains out, you’d say thank you in your quiet little croaky voice and ask for another. You know what? I’d probably give it to you. Just ‘cause you asked so nicely.”
Santana licks the outer edge of Quinn’s ear before she steps away, leaving Quinn to slump at the door as cold seeps into her body.
When she finally has the strength to turn around without looking like a sex-crazed sixteen-year-old boy, Santana is grinning at her evilly.
“But you know,” she continues, her voice low in the dark room. “You don’t want me.”
After Santana has fallen asleep, Quinn barely touches herself before she comes with a quiet gasp, trying to ignore that she only had to think of Santana whispering in her ear once more, “Say please, Quinn.”
Santana 1, Quinn 0.
--
Santana is a legs and ass girl, self-described. Quinn just happens to own the shortest, tightest black dress in all of Miami, and she also just happens to be grinding into Santana the next night.
All day, she’s been trying to figure a way to get back at Santana for the...incident, last night. And taking her to a club and allowing her no drinks to fully experience the torture Quinn knows she’s giving seems like a good enough step for now. All day, they had been at the beach, and Quinn had tried her best to walk as sexily as possible, and considering the fierce grip on Quinn’s hips that Santana had, it had been having some effect.
“Do you ever think about what the glee kids would think of you right now? If they walked in, and saw them grinding your ass into some girl?” Santana says into her ear, her breath cooling the sweat on Quinn’s neck. Quinn considers it for all of five seconds, and all she gets is Finn muttering mailman over and over before she realizes she doesn’t much care. This is about revenge.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Quinn says back, and Santana nods into the back of Quinn’s head, allowing herself to be pulled through the throng on the dancefloor, her hand wrapped loosely in Quinn’s.
“Dex, I didn’t mean to like, freak you out or anything,” Santana says, closing the bathroom door behind them and locking it, her eyes careful. Quinn frowns at the concern in Santana’s eyes, flipping her still-short hair out of her eyes (she liked the cut Santana and Brittany had given her in New York a lot, okay?).
“I’m fine,” Quinn says, sidetracked from her original purpose momentarily. “I’m pretty sure Puck would congratulate me for getting the stick out of my ass or something.”
“True dat,” Santana says, laughing. “I just, you know, wanted to make sure. You’re all triggery and shit sometimes.”
“Thanks,” Quinn says sarcastically, before a thought randomly comes to her. “Are you and Britt together?”
“No,” Santana says simply, her eyes clear of pain. “She’s my best friend, and she knows me like no one else and I’m pretty sure she can read my mind, and I love her to death, but no. I loved her, but you know. You learn to let go, move on.”
Quinn nods slowly, regarding Santana with an appraising eye. The sound in Santana’s voice is not angry, or sad. Just factual.
“Why?” Santana asks, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Well, you know, I had to make sure to police your sexual actions on the poor unsuspecting people of Miami to only make-outs if you were together. Now you’re free to spread your chlamydia all up and down South Beach.”
“I never had chlamydia, you fucking bitch. I’m cleaner than Ms. Pillsbury’s...everything, really.”
“Miracle of God,” Quinn taunts, waving a lone finger in front of Santana’s face.
“At least I got laid more than once in high school, and had the brain to remember a condom,” Santana smirks, smacking away Quinn’s finger as Quinn advances to where Santana is leaning on the wall of the bathroom.
“When you were sleeping with people who needed a condom, that is,” Quinn says, and Santana laughs.
“If I didn’t know better, you sound like you would’ve wanted to join the crowd. But wait, Q, you were so repressed you might as well have been out the back of the closet and hanging out with Aslan, I forgot.”
“Narnia was in a wardrobe, you slut.”
“Oh, right, I forgot. Sorry I insulted your dorkass sensibilities,”Santana says. “Now, let’s go, I have an idea.”
Santana grabs for Quinn’s hand as the blonde sputters, and leads her out of the bathroom and back through the club, and out through the doors. Quinn looks over at Santana carefully as the girl hails a cab for the beach.
“What’s this brilliant idea of yours?” Quinn asks, after Santana’s paid the driver and lead her down the beach to a rather secluded point.
“Swimming, dumbass. We are on the beach, as you can see,” Santana says, gesturing behind her to the ocean. “Now take off that terrible excuse for a dress and let’s go skinny dipping.”
Santana’s eyes are challenging, and Quinn knows this officially begins round two.
Quinn reaches for the zipper on her dress as slowly as possible, while Santana’s eyes burn into her skin as it’s slowly revealed down the side slit.
“Nice tat,” Santana says, her voice low and entirely appealing as she sees the type etched onto her ribs. It reads Beth I hear you calling but I can’t come home right now, and Quinn draws in a breath when Santana reaches forward to sketch it even deeper into her skin.
Santana’s hands are soft as she steps closer, further into Quinn’s space, and her hands slide down to the bottom edge of the dress, upper thigh, and starts to tug downwards, her hands splayed just far enough, further than necessary, to leave a burning trail down Quinn’s legs. Quinn steps out of the dress and is left in panties, no bra, and grins when Santana’s hands linger at Quinn’s calves, seemingly entranced.
“Just helping you out there,” Santana croaks, explaining the undressing. Her eyes shift upward and slide over Quinn’s abs and breasts, before landing on Quinn’s face before she stands up again.
“Well then,” Quinn whispers back, her hands reaching for the front button of Santana’s Daisy Dukes and tugging at the waistband until the girl takes a step closer. “Let me return the favor.”
Santana’s eyes are dark as Quinn slides the shorts down her legs, and stands up to unbutton the tight plaid shirt, slowly, button by button.
Santana’s underwear matches, a red lace set that should be illegal, and Santana pulls off her bra herself, eyeing Quinn’s breasts the entire way. Quinn tries to ignore the desperate and angry compulsion to ogle Santana’s chest, but she fails and ends up staring just the same. They pull off their panties in silence.
Quinn runs first, jumping into the water and yelping at how unexpectedly cold it is. Santana lets out a similar sound when she hits the water, just on Quinn’s heels.
“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea,”Santana says, wading up to Quinn and bouncing in the water, her arms crossed against the cold.
They spend all of five minutes in the water, both determined to outlast the other, before Santana grumbles and says, “I promised B I wouldn’t let you get hurt, and I can’t just let you get hypothermia.”
They get dressed in silence again, their eyes glued to each other the entire time. They ride back to Quinn’s dorm, and Santana rushes to the bathroom before Quinn can even begin to fight her for first shot.
She takes her opportunity.
Santana stops very suddenly when she steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed in sweats and an old Cheerios t-shirt, her eyes roving up Quinn’s bed, where Quinn herself is laying, with only sheets covering her naked body.
“Are you - ” Santana’s voice cracks and she clears it again. “The hell, Fabray? Seducing me already?”
“I’d return the favor.”
“What? Are you like, sane right now? Can hypothermia set in this early?”
“I think you’d like being tied up.”
“Damn it, I seriously promised B - what?”
“I’d tie you to the bedposts, and you’d tell me to let you go in the most ferocious voice you could muster but I’d know. I’d know how wet you are, because I could see it, making a mess of my sheets. You would love being tied up, wouldn’t you?”
Quinn rises from the bed, holding the sheet to her while Santana just stands there, her eyes wide as they track all over Quinn, listening intently.
“I’d have to hold down your hips and you’d call me all sorts of names, anything you could think of. But, by the end of the night, all you would think to call me would be God. I’d solve that problem.”
Quinn drops the sheet as she steps up to Santana, setting her hands on the girl’s shoulders and whispering in her ear.
“Say my name, Santana.”
She saunters off into the bathroom for her shower after she feels the tremble that racks through Santana’s body.
Later that night, she hears a small noise from the other bed. Thanks to a whole semester and a half of living with someone else, she disregards it, until she recognizes the sound as...wet.
Her attack hadn’t been nearly as graphic as Santana’s, but she supposes it was a sweeping success when she hears Santana breathe out her name in a shaky exhale.
Tied.
--
“Your obsession with bacon is fucking weird.”
Santana pushes up her sunglasses on her nose, frowning down at Quinn’s bacon.
“You sound like Rachel.”
“You have got to stop talking to that midget, no matter how hot you thought her legs were in high school, Dex.”
Quinn stabs down at her eggs, glancing up at Santana disdainfully. The girl is only wearing a bikini top and shorts, so the look loses some of its fierceness somewhere between a tan chest and a prominent collarbone.
“I haven’t been close to a nervous breakdown since junior year, you have got to stop calling me Dexter.”
Santana cocks her head to the side before she pushes up her sunglasses onto her head.
“I’m not calling you Dexter, I’m calling you Poindexter. It’s different. Dumbass.”
“Poindexter?”
“Yeah, like you’re a fucking smartass, with your chemistry major, I'm gonna cure cancer shit. Except maybe not because you thought I was calling you a serial killer all this time. Maybe I’ll just call you dumbfuck for the rest of forever, instead.”
“Fuck you,” Quinn groans, shoving more bacon into her mouth.
“You wish,” Santana sing-songs, buttering her toast.
--
Later that night, they’ve holed up in the dorm room after a small round of gunshots near the club they were in sent them running.
(“Fucking hell, I told you we would get shot!” Santana yelps as she grabs for Quinn’s hand and pulls her down the sidewalk away from the sound of guns. Quinn has had more drinks than Santana this night.
“All I heard was shellsssss falling...”
“Jesus Christ, we’re getting shot at and you’re rapping.”)
“You wanna play strip poker?” Santana asks, tilting her head to look over at Quinn from across the room.
Twenty minutes later, Quinn is flipping Santana off as she pulls off her tank top. Still slightly drunk, it gets tangled up and she gets trapped in the shirt, half-on, and half-off.
“Nice one, Dex,” Santana laughs, pulling the shirt off for Quinn and sliding her hand down Quinn’s side entirely unnecessarily.
“Why are you touching me?” Quinn asks, simply, her eyes wide and bright, the small amount of alcohol still in her system giving her the courage to ask.
Santana stares back at her, not entirely sure what response Quinn is looking for.
“You know...” Santana starts, knocking the cards laid out between them sideways and sliding forward on the bed to set her hands on Quinn’s crossed legs. “You have gorgeous skin.”
Quinn breathes out as Quinn slides her hands up Quinn’s bare legs, until they’re resting mid-thigh.
“When we were in high school, I always wanted to touch you. You looked like glass. But you felt like silk,” Santana whispers gently pushing Quinn’s legs apart until they’re stretched out, on either side of Santana. “You’re letting me touch you now. You want me to touch you now.”
Quinn stares at Santana as the girl’s hands venture across the lace of her panties, sliding up the smooth plane of her stomach, scraping the sides of her breasts through her matching bra, down her arms, and up them again. Santana’s thumbs trace her collarbones, before her index slides straight down Quinn’s spine.
And Santana’s right there, and she presses a light, wet kiss to the juncture of her shoulder and neck.
“Don’t you, Quinn?”
Quinn eyes Santana as the challenge in her eyes burns bright.
“You think I’d like being tied up? You’d love it. Your precious control, all gone. And well...” Santana whispers, her breath cooling and heating the small area she kissed on Quinn’s skin, as her fingers trace the waistband of Quinn’s panties. “I’d get to touch you all I wanted.”
Santana pulls away from Quinn, grinning as Quinn’s eyes follow her across the room to the lightswitch.
“I’m tired, I think. Goodnight, Quinn.”
Santana flips the lights out and slides into the bed across the room, and Quinn doesn’t wait to slide her hand down her underwear, where Santana’s fingers were just playing.
After she comes apart, she doesn’t miss the whispered, “Say thank you,”from the other bed.
Santana 2, Quinn 1.
--
The next night, she comes back from a late-night run to the local store for some chocolate and a DVD to find the lights off, but with groaning sounds coming from the darkness.
Quinn turns on the lights, and drops her bag.
Santana has stopped all movement, her eyes trained on Quinn. Her face is red, and her hair is damp, and there’s a sheet over her, but there’s no mistaking what was happening. There’s no mistaking why, either - Quinn had spent the entire day on the beach on a club and she had made sure to make it as painful as possible.
(Quinn smiled to herself when she leaned over Santana further, rubbing sunscreen onto the girl and knowing exactly where her fingers were brushing. An hour later she would be placing her leg in between Santana’s, her arms wrapped tightly around the girl as they danced in the middle of a dark, dark room. Another hour later, she’d have Santana in a VIP room, conned off a boy from her English comp class, and she’d be pulling off her dress and dancing for her, for real.
Quinn Fabray was big on having a plan. And she always executed her plans.)
This time, neither of them say anything at all as Quinn stalks across the room and slides onto the twin bed, at the far end, her eyes trained where Santana’s hand must be underneath the sheet. Santana’s eyes are dark and manic, desperate, looking for a clue.
Quinn gives her one, and tugs the sheet off the girl, until her view is unobstructed. Santana groans, and she starts moving her fingers again, slower this time. Quinn watches intently as the girl traces her clit in circles, slipping a few times and causing a high-pitched moan. Santana is wet, wetter than any girl Quinn has ever seen, not that she’s seen many.
Quinn knows it’s all her, all her fault, when she looks up from Santana’s hand to see the girl staring straight at her, mouth open and gasping for air, but so clearly focused on Quinn’s face that it’s impossible to assume Santana is thinking of anything else.
“Faster,” Quinn whispers, and Santana responds accordingly, her hips starting to rock more visibly against her hand as her fingers slide and slip faster.
“You like me watching,” Quinn whispers, her voice low and laced with lust. Santana groans, dropping her head back onto her pillow for only moments before pulling it back up and nodding, her eyes back on Quinn’s face. “I heard you, you know. The other night. You said my name when you came.”
Santana’s hand moves faster, deliberately hitting its mark more than before at the thought that Quinn was listening.
“You want to come again?”
Santana nods frantically, her hips bucking up powerfully now. Quinn smiles sweetly, before she slides down the edge of the bed, stretching out all along the side of Santana’s body on the narrow bed. She leans close to Santana’s ear and breathes against it for a moment.
“Then say my name, Santana.”
“Quinn,” Santana says, before she yells, breaking apart right in front of Quinn, right beside her. “Quinn, Quinn, Quinn, Quinn...”she breathes out, her hips rocking slower as she tries to regain her breath.
Her eyes close and she seems to search for her clothes blindly, reaching over Quinn and only succeeding in draping her arm over the girl.
“Someone’s lazy,”Quinn mutters, looking behind her and spotting Santana’s clothes in a pile on the floor.
Santana mutters something that involves the word orgasm, but is otherwise unintelligible. Quinn grabs the clothes, and sets to work pulling the girl’s panties on, then sleeping shorts, before coaxing the girl to sit up a little to slide the shirt over her head.
Santana mumbles something again when Quinn slides back into the bed, after turning out the lights, this time with something that sounds suspiciously like thank you, before she turns completely into Quinn’s side, burrowing her head onto Quinn’s shoulder.
--
Quinn wakes up the next morning to find Santana Lopez with her legs on either side of Quinn’s hips, staring down at her with a look that could only be described as predatory.
“Good morning,” Santana says sweetly, sliding her hands up under Quinn’s shirt, slowly pushing it up Quinn’s torso. “So, I had a dream last night where you watched me get off.”
Santana pushes the shirt off of the bed once its over Quinn’s head, and holds Quinn’s raised arms down, her face over Quinn’s, her whole upper body resting against Quinn’s.
“What was funny, was that I woke up and realized just exactly how wet I was, and that you were right there, laying in my bed, Quinn,” she whispers, and Quinn knows her eyes are wide. “So I guess it wasn’t a dream. But, you know what was missing in the dream?”
Quinn shakes her head minutely, letting out a whimper at the feel of Santana pressing down with her hips, into Quinn’s.
“You never kissed me.”
Santana leaned down the rest of the way and kissed Quinn ferociously, her tongue diving in almost immediately. Quinn reacts viscerally, her whole body arching up into Santana, groaning at the feel of Santana sucking on her tongue. Santana draws back, but kisses down Quinn’s jaw and neck, leaving little nips and soothing licks in her wake, before she reaches under Quinn to unsnap her bra, keeping one hand pressing down on Quinn’s wrists above her head.
“You know, just think, Quinn,” Santana mutters, licking circles around Quinn’s nipple before biting down on it and earning a violent jerk. “We could’ve been doing this all week, if only you’d just admitted you wanted me that first night. I could’ve been fucking, "Santana pushes down viciously with her hips, “your,” again, “brains out.”
Santana leans up again to kiss Quinn, and Quinn barely has time to focus on the groan she draws when she bites the girl’s lower lip because Santana is tugging at Quinn’s sweat pants, pulling them off, along with her panties.
“You love this, don’t you?” Santana murmurs into Quinn’s ear, her fingers sliding down Quinn’s abs and tracing along Quinn’s opening. “Imagine what we could’ve done by now. I would’ve made you come so many times...”Santana’s finger finds Quinn’s clit and pinches it for a second, earning a yelp from Quinn.
“But that’s okay, Quinn. We’ve got a lot of time now,” Santana whispers, her fingers slipping into Quinn’s entrance momentarily before pulling out just as quickly. “Fuck, Quinn,”she groans, her hips pressing into one of Quinn’s legs, where she’s slid down at some point. “You’re fucking soaked.”
“Please,” Quinn whimpers, “Please.”
Santana’s eyes turn almost black, and she lets go of Quinn’s wrists and drops down to join her fingers. Quinn doesn’t have much of a chance to move her hands, because Santana is suddenly moving, really moving, sucking on her clit and plunging two fingers into her. Her hands twist up into the sheets and she bucks up at the feel of it.
It doesn’t take long, but Santana finds a certain spot inside Quinn that sends her screaming, and she strokes it one, two, three times before Quinn is saying Santana’s name over and over.
She lets Quinn come down, stroking every once in a while and sending Quinn bucking into the air, before she climbs back up Quinn’s body, hands on either side of the blonde’s head, and kisses her.
This kiss is not so fiery as it was before, but sweet, and luxuriating. Quinn slides her hand up Santana’s shirt (she needed to rectify this clothes situation immediately), and Santana smiles into the kiss.
--
“Fucking hell, bitch, this bruise on my hip hurts,” Santana groans, rubbing at her hip once again, as she stops and turns with her suitcase at the security gate.
“You are not the one with ten tons of concealer on her neck, asshole,” Quinn mutters, rubbing at her neck self-consciously. Santana stops complaining for moment (and only a moment).
“You look fine. You’re gorgeous. God, Dex, you need a better mirror or something, because you think you’re Frankenstein or some shit.”
“Frankenstein’s monster. Frankenstein was the scientist.”
“God, I hate you, supreme dork overlord. Stop correcting me.”
“I will only stop when what you say is actually correct.”
“Seriously, stop talking to Berry, or you will become her.”
Quinn rolls her eyes, and pulls Santana in for a tight hug, kissing lightly at the girl’s cheek. She smiles when Santana turns her head further and kisses Quinn’s temple, her hands venturing low on Quinn’s back.
“We’re in public, Santana,” Quinn mutters, and regrets it almost immediately, because Santana pulls back from the hug only to slide her hands down to cup Quinn’s ass and pull their hips together before kissing her with full tongue and everything in the middle of the international airport every spring break student in America is trying to get out of right now.
Quinn groans when they pull back, ducking her head to rest on Santana’s shoulder. Santana’s arms wrap around Quinn’s waist.
“You just kissed me in front of my chem professor, you ass.”
“Oh. Well, if you ever need a grade boost, offer him our sex tape.”
“We don’t have a sex tape.”
“We could have a sex tape.”
Quinn smiles into Santana’s shoulder before she pulls back, shoving her away and nodding toward the gate.
“Right. Well, goodbye, Dex,” Santana mutters, shuffling her feet awkwardly. “Love you and shit.”
“You are so charming,” Quinn smiles. “Love you and shit, too.”
“Okay so I’m leaving now, because I don’t want to do this like, fuck I’ll miss you so much please never leave me I’ll miss your amazing tongue, thing.”
“You do that.”
“I’ll call you when I land.”
“Good.”
“Fuck, I’m whipped already,” Santana mutters, grabbing her suitcase in hand.
“Not yet,” Quinn grins, and Santana stares at her with wide eyes before she turns suddenly, muttering something about Quinn being the devil.
--
“Britt wants me to say hi,” Santana says, and moments later, Brittany is shouting into the phone.
“Hi Quinn! I’m glad you and Santana had so much fun, with all the sex and stuff!”
“Tell her I said thanks, I guess.”
“You guess? Bitch, I was the fucking greatest thing that ever happened to you in a bedroom. And a laundry room. And a bathroom, and a pool - ”
“You had lots of fun, and now you know that Miami is not a crackhouse.”
“Yes it fucking is, Quinn. Your roommate has crack in like, her sock drawer. And she left behind some spare needles for her heroin or some shit in a medicine bag or some shit, I almost impaled myself on one of them.”
Quinn glances over at her roommate’s newly-washed sheets, and spots the red medicine bag haphazardly thrown under the bed and groans.
“Suck it, Fabray, I know you do it well.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already have.”
Quinn hangs up, but smiles when she gets a text almost immediately.
Santana Lopez: britt wants me to tell you that she loves you and that she hopes you come see her show up here soon. i need you to know i love you more and that i can book a hotel room because my money for the month just came in.
Quinn texts her back, her smile growing.
Quinn Fabray: Which weekend do you suggest?
Santana Lopez: fucking shit dex i thought that was berry for a sec
Quinn Fabray: How about two weekends from now?
Santana Lopez: done. buy some handcuffs.
--
the end.