fic: if my heart was a compass - 9/10 - glee, brittany/santana, nc-17
Title: If My Heart Was A Compass (9/10)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6,116 (of ~58k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: Part 10 isn't finished yet. *wails* Because I have fic ADHD and started writing something else instead. But look! I upped the total word count from 56k to 58k. Watch it be 60k by the time I get done. ENDINGS ARE HARD, OKAY? :{
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
Albuquerque, New Mexico is hot. Really, really hot and dry and thank god the cheer nationals takes place indoors, because as much as Coach has prepared them to withstand both immense heat and immense cold by blackmailing the janitorial staff and having the thermostat in the gym adjusted accordingly, Santana really prefers doing high kicks at room temperature.
The competition isn't for another three hours, and Coach Sylvester actually lets them take a breather in their hotel rooms. Kurt sneaks into Brittany and Santana's room, complaining about the rest of the Cheerios harming his IQ and causing him stress, which blah blah blah skin care.
Santana barely looks up from her magazine, and Brittany waves invitingly at the second, unoccupied bed before turning her attention back to feeding her neopets on Santana's laptop. For the first quarter-hour, Kurt leaves them alone, though he seems visibly nervous. But he takes out his phone and begins to occupy himself with it, so Santana mostly ignores him.
When Kurt hums along with one of videos he's watching on his phone, Santana doesn't think too much of it. When he's full-out warbling fifteen minutes later, Santana sits up and puts down her magazine.
"Hummel."
Kurt pauses and turns to Santana with the fear of god in his eyes. But even Santana knows she's not that good. In that moment, Kurt Hummel is only frightened by one person, and her name rhymes with 'chew polyester'.
Santana scowls. "Will you quit doing that?"
"I'm not doing anything," Kurt protests.
"You've been doing vocal runs for the past fifteen minutes and my ears are ringing. Close your mouth and relax. It's going to be fine."
"Coach Sylvester threatened to expose my skin-" Kurt waves his hand dramatically over his face. "-to chemicals whose names I would rather not repeat if we don't take home nationals. I need to practice."
"I'm about to expose my fist to your throat, so shut it," Santana fires back. "It's Celine Dion. You can do it in your sleep."
Kurt narrows his eyes at the two girls. "You two better not mess this up."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Like you need to worry about us. We've got this down. Last year, we didn't even have vocals and it was a total cakewalk."
"The Cheerios did lose Quinn," Kurt points out. "And all the seniors who graduated last year."
"Brittany flips and tumbles better than all of them combined," Santana argues. "Kurt, loosen the hell up. We're going to rip the competition to shreds and take home that ginormous trophy, okay?"
That seems to appease Kurt, and he leans back against the headboard. "Things are just crazy right now," he sighs.
Santana tilts her head in a nod. "Yeah, tell me about it."
"I can't believe Quinn moved in with Mercedes," Kurt continues.
"They're going to end up killing each other," Santana dismisses.
"Strangely," Kurt says, "I actually think they might end up good friends."
Santana shakes her head. "Mercedes is loud and abrasive. It's going to drive Quinn nuts."
"Quinn seems to have no problem putting up with you," Kurt points out, "and you're quite a handful."
From the end of the bed, Brittany giggles. "Oh, you have no idea."
Kurt looks like he's just been handed a dead rat. "I did not need to know that."
Brittany abandons Santana's laptop and crawls the length of the bed to push Santana down and snuggle up to her. "Hi," she greets affectionately, her hand sliding just below the hem of Santana's Cheerios top. "Neopets got boring."
Kurt's eyes widen. "This is my cue to leave."
Santana laughs. "Chill out, Hummel. We're not having sex."
Brittany pouts. "We're not?"
"Britt, we have competition in like, two hours. We need to save our energy. On the flight home though, okay? Promise."
"Oh god," Kurt mutters to himself, "I definitely did not need to know that."
Brittany laughs. "You want to come cuddle with us? San's really comfy."
"Oh wow, no, offer retracted," Santana quickly amends.
Kurt doesn't look at all interested in the proposition. "You do realize," he sounds out, "that I am not Puck."
Santana snorts. "Like all Puck would want to do is 'cuddle'."
Kurt flushes. "Fair point."
Brittany starts kissing Santana's neck, and Santana feels her resolve slipping away, her hand instinctively moving to stroke Brittany's thigh. But if they start, she won't be able to stop, and then they'll both be exhausted come competition time, and if Santana's limbs are heavy and her head is swimming with sex as she's trying to land a flip, she surely won't be able to concentrate, and if she can't concentrate, she might fall, which means they lose. If they lose, she's pretty sure Coach would set her on fire.
And if she's set on fire, she'll never have sex with Brittany again. That's totally counterproductive. Also, a pretty shitty outcome. Santana tightens her determination and nudges Brittany away.
Kurt is staring, partly curious and partly horrified.
Santana clears her throat. "You guys want to play cards or something?" she manages to ask.
They spend the rest of their free time playing a version of Asshole sorely lacking alcohol, but it keeps Santana's mind off Brittany's legs and Kurt's mind off his impending Celine Dion medley, so Santana considers it a success.
An hour before competition, Sue Sylvester comes barreling through their door.
"Up and at 'em, ladies," she barks through her megaphone. "Lobby in five."
Santana slaps Kurt across the shoulder. "You're up, Elton John."
The entire Cheerios squad squeezes into two air-conditioned buses that drop them off at the competition site. By then, Santana is running on sheer adrenaline, and as she works through the warm-ups with the rest of the group, she's pumped up. There's nothing quite like putting on a show and looking fucking fantastic doing it.
Their routine is flawless, as fully expected. Sue Sylvester is a complete tyrant, and she may enjoy pushing her squad so far past their breaking point most of the Cheerios spend their nights whimpering in the fetal position, but she does know how to win.
And win they do. Kurt belts out Celine Dion like his life depends on it (it does, actually, but that's not the point) and Santana kicks and flips to the rhythm, feeling an incredible rush of excitement as she flies through the air and is rewarded with a throng of applause.
She knows, before they're even finished the routine, that the championship is theirs. Her high does not fade, even as they are forced to sit through three mediocre, vomit-inducing - Coach's words, not hers - performances.
When the winner is finally announced, the sounds of her teammate's ecstatic screams fill the air, but all Santana hears is Brittany's laughter next to her ear. She grabs the blonde around the waist and pulls her in. Brittany is yelling something but Santana can't hear her over the noise and it doesn't matter because Brittany's flushed cheeks say everything.
As captain, Santana ends up with some face time on Fox Sports Net with Coach, and though the questions are inane as hell, she answers them with an enthusiastic smile because she recognizes an opportunity when she sees one. College recruiters are watching. She even manages to pull Brittany into one of the shots.
When the brouhaha finally dies down hours later, they are sent back to their hotel rooms to pack up and wait for their flight home. Santana doesn't realize how turned on she is until she and Brittany reach their room and she can barely wait for the door to be closed before she has Brittany pinned to the wall, hips pushing for contact as her lips attack Brittany's neck.
Brittany laughs breathlessly. "I thought we were waiting for the plane ride home."
"Fuck that," Santana grunts, and Brittany doesn't argue with that.
Santana drops to her knees, her hands sliding up the length of Brittany's thighs. She presses her face against Brittany's pelvis, and even through the blonde's skirt, she takes in the intoxicating scent of Brittany's arousal. It stirs something in Santana, and her hand moves higher, fingertips brushing between Brittany's legs and finding Brittany's spankies soaked through. Santana tugs them down quickly and Brittany lifts her feet so Santana can unhook them and toss them onto the bed.
Santana tries to spread Brittany's legs but it's not working out too well, so she grunts in frustration and lifts one of Brittany's legs at the knee and tosses it over her shoulder. Much better. She holds Brittany's skirt up with one hand and brushes her lips lightly against Brittany's inner thigh before darting out her tongue to press against Brittany's clit. Immediately, Brittany's weight falls forward, and Santana feels it against her shoulder.
Undeterred, Santana buries her face closer, tasting something she knows only as Brittany, a little salty, a little sweet.
Brittany's hips lift off the wall, pushing, and Santana has to pin her down with a hand at her hipbone.
"San-ungh, god," Brittany murmurs, her skin flushed.
Santana moans, tongue thrusting into Brittany at an erratic beat, and she can't help it; she reaches a hand down between her own legs, needing to alleviate a bit of the pressure. She tugs her spankies aside and pushes two fingers into herself, a groan escaping her throat at the sensation. She never takes her eyes off Brittany.
Brittany's breathing grows quick and shallow, and her body is tensing as Santana builds her up with insistent lips and an adventurous tongue. Brittany's eyes are smoky and unfocused but they never move away from Santana.
"You're touching yourself," Brittany says around a groan, "aren't you?"
"Mmph," Santana whimpers, thrusting her fingers faster inside herself.
Brittany's laughter comes out breathy. "I like this. You not being able to talk."
A flush creeps up Santana's neck, and she moves her other hand next to her own chin, letting her fingertips press against Brittany's folds as she focuses on sucking at Brittany's clit. With nothing to hold them up, the pleats of Brittany's skirt fall around Santana's face, and Brittany reaches to push them aside. The muscles in Brittany's thighs clench, and with the indication that Brittany is extremely close, Santana plunges two fingers into her.
Brittany moans as her body shakes with the force of her orgasm, and Santana nearly collapses under the sudden weight of Brittany slackening against her.
Santana works a third finger into herself in an attempt to get herself off too, but it isn't until Brittany's leg falls from Santana's shoulder and the blonde slithers down to her knees that Santana finds herself rushing to the edge. Brittany's hand wraps around Santana's wrist to guide her, and it's so reminiscent of the first time that Santana groans and comes immediately, head falling forward as pleasure rips through her.
Brittany's lips catch Santana's, and the two share unhurried, tranquil kisses until Santana's hand stills and she pulls out, thoroughly sated.
"I-" Santana laughs. "I couldn't wait."
Brittany presses a kiss to Santana's lips. "Not even three steps to the bed?"
Santana grins. "What, you didn't enjoy me taking you against the wall?"
"I didn't say that," Brittany protests.
Santana rises on unsteady feet, pulling Brittany up with her.
"I need to shower," Santana announces.
Brittany smiles. "Is that an invitation?"
Santana hides her smirk. "We only have thirty minutes before Coach barges in here."
"Guess we'd better double up then," Brittany says innocently, her pinky sliding around Santana's.
Santana is certain that this is the least time-efficient decision of her entire life, but hell if she's going to turn down licking streams of water off Brittany's skin.
--
Back at school, Brittany only kisses Santana in the choir room, where it's safe, but when they both start consistently and unrelentingly turning down the advances of random jocks that neither would've had a problem with before, even someone as dull as Azimio figures it all out. He and Karofsky corner them as they're heading out with Kurt after Cheerios practice one afternoon, the week after their nationals win.
"Look what we have here, a trio of homos."
Kurt puffs out his chest and tries to stand up for them like he'd done for Tina weeks earlier, but Santana notices that the poor guy is shaking a little, so she quickly steps in front of him, her arm nudging him back protectively.
"What do you blockheads want?"
"Well, since you asked," Azimio answers with a sneer, "we want you on your knees. Maybe even you, Hummel. You're into the dick, aren't you? I got an imagination."
Kurt blanches, and Santana clenches her jaws. A quiet rage brews within her, but she knows how to pick her battles. If she were alone, she'd take both of them on, ugly consequences be damned. But there's Brittany and Kurt, and if either of them ends up as collateral damage, she'd never forgive herself. Priority number one is getting the three of them out of there unharmed. They're still on school grounds and not really all that secluded, so it's not like they're in any serious danger, but she's not a fan of Brittany or Kurt getting knocked around. Santana holds her stance but keeps her mouth shut, even as she's itching to tear Azimio a new one. Instinctively, she pushes both Brittany and Kurt farther behind her.
"What's the matter?" Karofsky cuts in. "Gay got your tongue?"
Azimio hoots, and the two morons high-five each other.
Santana can't help it. "Both of you need to shut the fuck up. Me not wanting any part of you has nothing to do with you having a dick and everything to do with the fact that you're completely disgusting."
"Oh yeah? That's not what you said when I fucked you last year," Karofsky taunts, and not that Santana will ever admit it, but that one actually cuts a little. Karofsky isn't done. "Chirping a different tune now that you've caught homo-itis from your little group of circus freaks?"
"They should change the name of this place to Queerios," Azimio whoops.
Santana lunges forward, her fist catching the side of Azimio's head. But the lineman has about five inches and nearly a hundred pounds on her, and his meaty fist grips Santana's wrist. Karofsky reaches for Kurt, and Santana kicks out in an attempt to stop him, but Azimio is holding onto her too tightly for it to have any real effect.
Brittany jumps into the fray, clutching at Azimio's neck from behind, and she actually does manage to get Azimio to loosen his grasp on Santana, but the blonde gets an elbow to the chest in the process.
"Shit, stay back, Britt," Santana growls, catching Azimio's hip with her knee.
Kurt lets out a muffled cry, but Santana is too preoccupied with her own struggle to check out what's going on with him and Karofsky. She tries to tell Brittany to either get help or assist Kurt, but Santana takes a fist to the stomach, and it knocks the wind out of her. Her head immediately spins and her vision gets blurry, but just as she is reaching blindly to scratch at Azimio's face, a voice behind them bellows.
"Will someone please explain to me what is going on here?"
It's Coach Sylvester, and Santana does not think she has ever been as glad to hear that woman's voice in her entire life.
Azimio releases Santana, and she stumbles backwards, legs unsteady and head still swimming. Brittany's arms catch her, balancing her, and though Santana is still trying to catch her breath, she manages to mutter something that sounds vaguely like 'Kurt…'
"He's okay," Brittany whispers in Santana's ear. "Breathe. Don't try to talk," she adds, and Santana wonders if she's actually worse off than the adrenaline pumping through her veins will let her believe.
By the time Santana's eyes refocus, Coach Sylvester has stepped between the Cheerios and the two jocks, and she practically has smoke coming out of her ears as she gesticulates her way through a tirade.
"Are you insane? Are you insane? What were you two freak shows doing last Sunday? I'll tell you what Sue Sylvester and her squad of champions were doing. We were at cheer nationals in Albuquerque, crushing our competition like I do the hands of every elderly person I come across. They were bound to get arthritis anyway," she sneers. "If you lay another hand on my Cheerios, compromising my seventh consecutive national title next year, I will have both of your heads mounted on my wall like the caribou I strangled with my own bare hands last winter in the Siberian tundra. Am I making myself clear?"
"Y-yes, Ms. Sylvester."
"Especially these three," she continues, pointing behind her. "Santana is my head Cheerio, Brittany's flexibility would be repulsive if not for the fact that she is the only one on the squad who is foolish enough to agree to be tossed in the air while twisted up like a human pretzel, and while I find myself absolutely horrified by Kurt's inability to act gender-appropriate given the sausage between his legs, he belts out Mariah like he's already had two boob jobs and a face lift.
"So unless you boys have plans of picking up anorexia and dropping a hundred and fifty pounds each, and learning how to balance on one leg twenty feet in the air, or string together five front aerials in a row, or sing like someone replaced your protein shakes with estrogen and a vocal cord transplant, you'd best keep your hands off these three and maybe consider investing in some gay porno, because your fascination with homosexuality both astounds and nauseates me." She turns briefly to Kurt. "I'm sure this one would be happy to name some websites."
"No, actually, I-"
"Not interested. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go kick some puppies. Literally. Neighbors had a litter this weekend and they won't stop peeing on my lawn." She steps menacingly toward Azimio and Karofsky. "If I catch you buffoons loitering around my Cheerios again, I will personally see to it that you are shipped off to the Congo, where the gorilla is currently listed as critically endangered. Maybe you two could help boost the populations."
Coach Sylvester turns to the three Cheerios. "Santana, that wristband looks ridiculous. Burn it. Brittany, the scrape on your knee is unacceptable. I don't care if the only way for you to show affection to your kind involves being on your knees; affection has no place in a relationship. Kurt, cancel your subscription to Cosmo. You don't need a quiz to tell you how much sex appeal you have. Sue Sylvester can answer that for you, and her verdict is none."
With one last glare at Azimio and Karofsky, Coach Sylvester leaves.
"This isn't over," Karofsky warns.
Azimio swipes at his nose, where a pool of blood has formed, and he glares menacingly at Santana. "Watch your back, you little bitch."
The threat feels mostly empty, because it's no secret that even goons like Azimio are terrified of Coach Sylvester. Still, Azimio pounds his chest as he and Karofsky turn and walk away.
Santana looks at Brittany. The blonde's cheeks are flushed, and there's a slight quiver in her bottom lip. Santana's rage grows. Brittany leans over and kisses Santana softly, arms tightening around her. Santana tries not to cringe as Brittany presses against tender ribs, but Brittany must notice anyway because she loosens her grip and brushes an apologetic kiss to Santana's shoulder.
Santana turns to Kurt. "You okay, Hummel?"
"Yeah," he manages to say, even though he looks thoroughly spooked. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You need a ride home?" she offers.
"No," he replies without looking at either of them, but he lets Santana lead him to her car. Brittany buckles him into the backseat and slides in beside him.
As she's pulling out of the parking lot, Santana peers at the rearview mirror. "I don't know where you live, so…"
Kurt stammers, "I, um-"
"How about I just drive you to my place, let you kick back a little, and your dad can pick you up from there when you don't look like Casper?"
Kurt only nods. Brittany picks up his hand and holds it the whole ride. They start whispering to each other, but Santana can't make out what they're saying, so she focuses on the road and breathes through the aches all along the length of her body. Santana clenches her jaw. The adrenaline is wearing off, and that motherfucker Azimio had landed a few good hits on her.
Santana manages to drive home without incident though, and thankfully, her mother is out. For a moment, a familiar panic settles in as she pulls into an empty driveway, but for Brittany and Kurt's sake, she keeps it to herself. She follows the other two into the kitchen and watches tensely as Brittany sits Kurt down at the table and brings him a glass of water.
Santana's insecurity doesn't stem from any recent activity, because she's actually been getting along quite well with her mother. It kind of sucks that she and Brittany have had to be quieter during sex, but other than that, she's surprised by how easily she adjusts to having someone else around, especially someone in a position of authority over her. It's not even that she's legitimately concerned that her mother's bailed again; it's more like an old habit, an ugly memory. It makes her edgy.
Out of the corner of her eye, Santana notices a sheet of paper tacked to the fridge. Across it, in her mother's neat loopy handwriting, the words supermercado - 45 minutos. Santana lets out a breath and laughs dryly to herself.
She leaves the kitchen for a moment to call Finn. It'd been a rough start for Finn and Kurt, trying to live together without stepping on each other's toes, but from what Santana's been able to gather from that god-awful shower curtain dress that still haunts her nightmares and Kurt's newfound appreciation of basketball, they've worked things out.
Judging by the way Finn's hulking figure barrels through her front door ten minutes later, Santana's pretty sure she's right on the money.
"I swear to god," he rampages, "I'm going to kick Karofsky's ass."
Santana catches his forearm. "Take it easy."
Finn spins to face her. "Don't tell me to take it easy. Kurt's family now."
"Hey," Santana shoots back, "the bastards hurt us too, okay? Calm the fuck down."
Finn's eyes lower, and Santana sees the same guilt from the night she'd slept with him. Sometimes she wonders if he'll ever get back what she'd taken from him, and she doesn't mean his virginity. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I just-are you and Brittany okay?"
"Yeah, we'll be fine," Santana replies, rubbing the back of her neck. "Chill out, all right? Kurt doesn't need you to flip out on him right now. He's taken shit from Karofsky before. Taken shit from you and Puck, even. He can handle this. He's just a little shaken up."
It feels strange to be defending Kurt, but Coach Sylvester's managed to whip him into shape, and his skin care tips are actually doing fantastic things to Santana's complexion, so you know.
Finn nods and takes a deep breath before walking in completely the wrong direction. Santana grabs his arm and pulls him to the kitchen. Kurt already looks significantly better. The color is back in his cheeks, and he's chuckling quietly at something Brittany's saying.
Brittany cuts off mid-sentence when she notices Finn. Which isn't hard or anything since he's about the size of a mountain ape.
Brittany smiles. "Oh, hi Finn!"
Kurt rotates his head slightly to face them. "Finn, what are you doing here?"
"To give you a lift home. Santana told me what happened."
"Figured I wouldn't worry your dad," Santana explains.
Kurt stands up. Brittany does the same and pulls Kurt into a tight embrace. Kurt smiles at her as she pulls away.
Kurt approaches Finn, but he stops in front of Santana. "Drink lots of OJ," he says conspiratorially. "The vitamin C builds protective collagen around your blood vessels. I also have an extra tube of Bruise Relief that I'll pass to you tomorrow."
Santana manages a smile. "Thanks, Kurt."
Goodbyes are exchanged quickly and Kurt leaves with Finn. As soon as she shuts the front door, Santana's head starts to spin again. She tries to work through it, but Brittany catches on quickly and forces Santana to lie down on the couch.
Santana tries to look annoyed. "I'm not an invalid."
Brittany kisses her lightly. "Stay put. I'm going to get you some pills."
"I'm fine," Santana calls out, but Brittany is already gone.
Santana closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Thanks to a schoolyard fistfight in the fifth grade, she knows what a bruised rib feels like and she doesn't have one. She's just a little sore, and more than a little pissed. She glances briefly down the length of her body. No visible bruising, at least, other than some discoloration around her wrist where Azimio had gripped her. Coach'll be pleased about that.
Santana is twisting her wrist around in the air when Brittany returns with two Advil and a glass of orange juice. She holds them out to Santana.
"Thanks, B." Santana props herself up, pops the pills in her mouth and swallows them dry.
Brittany nudges Santana aside and slides herself between the back of Santana's head and the couch. "Drink up," she instructs.
Santana gulps down some juice for Brittany's benefit, then lies back down, using Brittany's lap as a makeshift pillow. She smiles up at the blonde. "You'd look hot as hell in a nurse's uniform."
Brittany chuckles, brushing a hand over Santana's cheek. "Maybe for Halloween."
"You know I'd make you stay in and 'take care' of me all night, right?" Santana teases.
Brittany grins. "What about trick or treating?"
Santana pivots her head and presses her face briefly against Brittany's abdomen. "I'll give you all the sweets you can handle," she murmurs, pleased that Brittany's muscles practically undulate under her Cheerios uniform.
Brittany leans down and presses a kiss to Santana's forehead. "Promise?"
Santana smiles and holds out her pinky. Brittany eagerly wraps her finger around Santana's. Brittany's other hand begins to skim the edge of Santana's Cheerios top, and she gently rolls the fabric up, exposing Santana's abdomen.
Santana hums. "Oh, I see what this is," she quips. "Get me drugged up so you can have your way with me."
But Brittany is preoccupied, and her features twist worriedly as she studies Santana's skin. She pushes Santana's top higher, and her hand accidentally brushes against a particularly tender bruise on Santana's side. Santana flinches, inhaling sharply, and Brittany's hand snaps back.
"Britt…"
"It's not your job to protect everyone," Brittany says, eyes deep blue.
Santana sighs. "I know. I couldn't let those assholes get away with saying that shit though."
"I don't want you to get hurt," Brittany continues.
"Just a couple of bruises," Santana dismisses. "I'll be fine."
"Santana."
Santana sits up and pulls her top back down. "You've known me for a long time, Britt. This is the way I've always been. I don't back down to anyone."
"Boys aren't scrawny anymore," Brittany points out quietly. "Azimio is really strong."
Even though the bruises lining her body are evidence of this fact, Santana shakes her head. "I gave that son of a bitch a nosebleed, okay? I'd say I win."
Gently, Brittany turns her around. "Will you just be careful?" she asks, tone soft but serious. Her hand skims Santana's side again, but so lightly this time, as though Santana would break otherwise. "I hurt when you're hurting."
Santana plays with the hem of Brittany's skirt. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."
Brittany smiles appreciatively and leans closer. "Thank you," she murmurs against Santana's lips.
Santana pulls Brittany closer to kiss her more thoroughly, and Brittany eagerly climbs to straddle Santana's lap, careful not to press against Santana's midsection. Santana's hands slide under Brittany's top and roam to her bare back, eager to touch warm flesh and smooth skin. Brittany instinctively grinds down against Santana's lap, and Santana hisses, fingers gripping around polyester and tugging up over Brittany's head.
Santana lifts from Brittany's lips long enough to dive down to lavish attention to the curve of Brittany's breasts, but something past Brittany's bra catches her eye. Something ugly and purple and the shape of Azimio's fucking elbow, right along the bottom of Brittany's ribcage, marring Brittany's perfect cream skin.
"Son of a bitch," Santana curses, irate. "I'm going to slice that piece of shit's fucking dick clean off."
Brittany lifts Santana's chin and presses a pacifying kiss to Santana's lips. "Use your big girl words."
Santana sighs, hand hovering dangerously over the bruise. "Britt, I told you to stay clear."
"He was punching you," Brittany explains.
"I don't care if he was fucking gagging me with his jock strap, okay? Stay out of it."
To Santana's surprise, Brittany bristles. "I don't need you to protect me all the time, Santana. I can take care of myself."
"When the fuck did I say you couldn't?" Santana fires back. She takes a breath and counts to five in her head, trying to remember that her anger is wholly misdirected. "I know you can take care of yourself," she continues in a kinder tone. "I know that, and I'm sorry I raised my voice." She tilts her head to study Brittany. "I just don't want you coming to blows with jackasses like Azimio. He could hurt you."
"And you," Brittany huffs, her words still clipped. "What makes you invincible?"
Santana sighs, reaching up to stroke Brittany's cheek. "I'm not," she admits. "I just tough it out because my pride's more important to me than a few bruises on my skin."
"Your safety's more important to me than an elbow to the chest," Brittany says with so much clarity and certainty that Santana's breath catches.
Santana leans forward, burying her face into Brittany's neck. She leaves a trail of kisses up to Brittany's earlobe. "I love you," she breathes against the shell of Brittany's ear, smiling when the blonde shudders. Santana pulls back and dramatically presses her open hand flat against her chest, over her heart. "I hereby pledge to get into fewer fights," she announces.
Brittany laughs as she cups Santana's cheeks and plants a short kiss to her nose. "I love you," she echoes with ease. "And thank you. Although…" Brittany grins deviously. "You'd look pretty hot dressed up as a knight in shining armor."
Santana chuckles as she pulls Brittany closer. "Maybe for Halloween."
--
Finn shows up to the next Glee rehearsal with a cut lip. Not entirely surprising, given his tendency to walk into inanimate objects. Santana only wonders what the hell was high enough for Finn to have hit his mouth against. The ceiling fan, maybe. She smirks. She's such an ass sometimes.
But then Puck walks in sporting a gash on his cheek, and Mike's nose looks freshly bashed in, and those two are dexterous enough to dodge incoming objects, so Santana isn't so sure about her ceiling fan theory anymore. Matt hobbles in after them, clearly favoring his left leg.
None of them say a word as they take their seats. Brittany sits behind Mike and makes him lean his head back against her lap because a trickle of blood is rolling down his upper lip. Tina dutifully hands Brittany a tissue.
Santana leans toward Puck. "Did you get some new additions to your fight club or something?" she asks, glancing briefly in Finn's direction. But Puck completely ignores her so she punches him in the arm.
Puck actually flinches and grabs his bicep. "Fuck, Lopez."
Santana frowns, ignoring the looks she's getting from the other members. "What's the matter with you? Who knocked you around?"
Puck glares at the rest of the room. "Nobody."
Santana turns to Mike. "What the hell did you guys do?"
"Nothing," Mike mutters through the tissue Brittany has pressed against his nose.
Santana glances at Brittany, who shrugs. Finn has taken a seat behind the drum set, but he isn't looking at anyone. Artie and Tina are observing quietly from the other side of Mike. Tina still has a tissue box sitting on her lap. Kurt is holding an aerosol can in his hand, mid-spritz, as he looks back and forth between Santana and Finn. By the piano, Mercedes and Quinn are standing together with matching bewildered expressions. Matt just appears entirely too fascinated by his own sneakers.
Santana has no idea where Rachel is. Stubby's usually the first one in and the last one out. Not that Santana has made an active effort to notice or anything. She turns back to Puck, but before she can beat an explanation out of him, he rockets out of his chair and toward the door. Santana touches Brittany's arm briefly before chasing after Puck.
The hallway is still fairly busy, but Santana catches Puck as he sneaks into an isolated corner next to the water fountain nobody drinks from.
"Puck, cut it out," she hisses. "Someone punched you. Tell me who so I can go smash his face in."
"That's cute, but we got it," Puck replies. He runs a hand across the top of his head and sighs. "Look, we heard about what Azimio and Karofsky did to you guys, okay? We weren't about to take it lying down."
Santana isn't sure whether to be surprised, confused, or touched. She settles for disbelieving. "You guys took on those cavemen?"
"Yeah, and like half the hockey team, but we took care of them," Puck insists. "Matt and I know our way around a brawl, and Chang's a stick figure but he's got some insane kung fu shit going on."
"And Finn?"
"Still punches like a toddler," Puck smirks, "but he's got size."
Santana stares at him for a moment, then softens. "You guys didn't have to go do that."
"Not just for you," Puck argues. "Every time we don't fight back, they gain a little more ammunition. You know how it is. How they are."
"As much as I enjoy seeing them getting the shit beat out of them, I don't want it to be at the expense of one of your limbs, all right? At least not before regionals. We still have a showdown with that Jesse kid and we can't do it with the four of you on crutches."
Puck makes a face. "You don't give a shit about Glee Club. What's up with you, Lopez? What's with the pacifist act?" Realization flashes across his face. "Brittany," he says with a knowing smirk. "That girl-" Puck laughs.
"Yeah, whatever," Santana dismisses, rolling her eyes.
"No, no, she's good for you," Puck continues in the same amused tone. "Just don't start asking me to do your hair and we're cool."
"This uniform protects me, okay?" Santana says defensively. "I don't need to break a nail on those losers when I have a snarling bulldog named Sue Sylvester constantly hovering. This has nothing to do with Brittany," she fibs.
Puck makes a whipping motion with his hand. "Wh-tsh."
"Shut the fuck up," Santana grumbles.
Puck grins. "No, hey, I'd give up a little aggression too if I was promised unlimited sex in return."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Will you quit making assumptions about my sex life?"
"But why? It's so much fun."
Santana grimaces. "It's creepy."
"And hot," Puck insists with a cocky grin.
Santana opens her mouth to counter, but before she gets a word out, Rachel brushes by her, and the short brunette is pissed.
"Noah Puckerman. I just heard. That was highly irresponsible. What if you had injured yourself to the point of physical disability? Regionals is next weekend. Are you trying to ruin my life?"
Puck holds his arms out defensively. "Calm down, Berry. We're all fine. Besides, that Artie kid is already in a wheelchair. We'd have fit right in."
Rachel balls her fists up at her side. "This is no joking matter, Noah."
Puck shrugs. "Why are you coming after me? There were three other dudes there."
"Already got to them," Rachel replies dismissively. "I am very time-efficient. Now, let's talk about your complete lack of judgment and responsibility."
Santana laughs as she backs away. "Let him have it, Berry."
Part 10
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana, Quinn, Puck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6,116 (of ~58k)
Timeline: Season 1
Summary: Santana Lopez has a plan. A three-point plan. A really fucking efficient three-point plan that's going to get her the hell out of Ohio. This is her story.
Notes: Part 10 isn't finished yet. *wails* Because I have fic ADHD and started writing something else instead. But look! I upped the total word count from 56k to 58k. Watch it be 60k by the time I get done. ENDINGS ARE HARD, OKAY? :{
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
Albuquerque, New Mexico is hot. Really, really hot and dry and thank god the cheer nationals takes place indoors, because as much as Coach has prepared them to withstand both immense heat and immense cold by blackmailing the janitorial staff and having the thermostat in the gym adjusted accordingly, Santana really prefers doing high kicks at room temperature.
The competition isn't for another three hours, and Coach Sylvester actually lets them take a breather in their hotel rooms. Kurt sneaks into Brittany and Santana's room, complaining about the rest of the Cheerios harming his IQ and causing him stress, which blah blah blah skin care.
Santana barely looks up from her magazine, and Brittany waves invitingly at the second, unoccupied bed before turning her attention back to feeding her neopets on Santana's laptop. For the first quarter-hour, Kurt leaves them alone, though he seems visibly nervous. But he takes out his phone and begins to occupy himself with it, so Santana mostly ignores him.
When Kurt hums along with one of videos he's watching on his phone, Santana doesn't think too much of it. When he's full-out warbling fifteen minutes later, Santana sits up and puts down her magazine.
"Hummel."
Kurt pauses and turns to Santana with the fear of god in his eyes. But even Santana knows she's not that good. In that moment, Kurt Hummel is only frightened by one person, and her name rhymes with 'chew polyester'.
Santana scowls. "Will you quit doing that?"
"I'm not doing anything," Kurt protests.
"You've been doing vocal runs for the past fifteen minutes and my ears are ringing. Close your mouth and relax. It's going to be fine."
"Coach Sylvester threatened to expose my skin-" Kurt waves his hand dramatically over his face. "-to chemicals whose names I would rather not repeat if we don't take home nationals. I need to practice."
"I'm about to expose my fist to your throat, so shut it," Santana fires back. "It's Celine Dion. You can do it in your sleep."
Kurt narrows his eyes at the two girls. "You two better not mess this up."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Like you need to worry about us. We've got this down. Last year, we didn't even have vocals and it was a total cakewalk."
"The Cheerios did lose Quinn," Kurt points out. "And all the seniors who graduated last year."
"Brittany flips and tumbles better than all of them combined," Santana argues. "Kurt, loosen the hell up. We're going to rip the competition to shreds and take home that ginormous trophy, okay?"
That seems to appease Kurt, and he leans back against the headboard. "Things are just crazy right now," he sighs.
Santana tilts her head in a nod. "Yeah, tell me about it."
"I can't believe Quinn moved in with Mercedes," Kurt continues.
"They're going to end up killing each other," Santana dismisses.
"Strangely," Kurt says, "I actually think they might end up good friends."
Santana shakes her head. "Mercedes is loud and abrasive. It's going to drive Quinn nuts."
"Quinn seems to have no problem putting up with you," Kurt points out, "and you're quite a handful."
From the end of the bed, Brittany giggles. "Oh, you have no idea."
Kurt looks like he's just been handed a dead rat. "I did not need to know that."
Brittany abandons Santana's laptop and crawls the length of the bed to push Santana down and snuggle up to her. "Hi," she greets affectionately, her hand sliding just below the hem of Santana's Cheerios top. "Neopets got boring."
Kurt's eyes widen. "This is my cue to leave."
Santana laughs. "Chill out, Hummel. We're not having sex."
Brittany pouts. "We're not?"
"Britt, we have competition in like, two hours. We need to save our energy. On the flight home though, okay? Promise."
"Oh god," Kurt mutters to himself, "I definitely did not need to know that."
Brittany laughs. "You want to come cuddle with us? San's really comfy."
"Oh wow, no, offer retracted," Santana quickly amends.
Kurt doesn't look at all interested in the proposition. "You do realize," he sounds out, "that I am not Puck."
Santana snorts. "Like all Puck would want to do is 'cuddle'."
Kurt flushes. "Fair point."
Brittany starts kissing Santana's neck, and Santana feels her resolve slipping away, her hand instinctively moving to stroke Brittany's thigh. But if they start, she won't be able to stop, and then they'll both be exhausted come competition time, and if Santana's limbs are heavy and her head is swimming with sex as she's trying to land a flip, she surely won't be able to concentrate, and if she can't concentrate, she might fall, which means they lose. If they lose, she's pretty sure Coach would set her on fire.
And if she's set on fire, she'll never have sex with Brittany again. That's totally counterproductive. Also, a pretty shitty outcome. Santana tightens her determination and nudges Brittany away.
Kurt is staring, partly curious and partly horrified.
Santana clears her throat. "You guys want to play cards or something?" she manages to ask.
They spend the rest of their free time playing a version of Asshole sorely lacking alcohol, but it keeps Santana's mind off Brittany's legs and Kurt's mind off his impending Celine Dion medley, so Santana considers it a success.
An hour before competition, Sue Sylvester comes barreling through their door.
"Up and at 'em, ladies," she barks through her megaphone. "Lobby in five."
Santana slaps Kurt across the shoulder. "You're up, Elton John."
The entire Cheerios squad squeezes into two air-conditioned buses that drop them off at the competition site. By then, Santana is running on sheer adrenaline, and as she works through the warm-ups with the rest of the group, she's pumped up. There's nothing quite like putting on a show and looking fucking fantastic doing it.
Their routine is flawless, as fully expected. Sue Sylvester is a complete tyrant, and she may enjoy pushing her squad so far past their breaking point most of the Cheerios spend their nights whimpering in the fetal position, but she does know how to win.
And win they do. Kurt belts out Celine Dion like his life depends on it (it does, actually, but that's not the point) and Santana kicks and flips to the rhythm, feeling an incredible rush of excitement as she flies through the air and is rewarded with a throng of applause.
She knows, before they're even finished the routine, that the championship is theirs. Her high does not fade, even as they are forced to sit through three mediocre, vomit-inducing - Coach's words, not hers - performances.
When the winner is finally announced, the sounds of her teammate's ecstatic screams fill the air, but all Santana hears is Brittany's laughter next to her ear. She grabs the blonde around the waist and pulls her in. Brittany is yelling something but Santana can't hear her over the noise and it doesn't matter because Brittany's flushed cheeks say everything.
As captain, Santana ends up with some face time on Fox Sports Net with Coach, and though the questions are inane as hell, she answers them with an enthusiastic smile because she recognizes an opportunity when she sees one. College recruiters are watching. She even manages to pull Brittany into one of the shots.
When the brouhaha finally dies down hours later, they are sent back to their hotel rooms to pack up and wait for their flight home. Santana doesn't realize how turned on she is until she and Brittany reach their room and she can barely wait for the door to be closed before she has Brittany pinned to the wall, hips pushing for contact as her lips attack Brittany's neck.
Brittany laughs breathlessly. "I thought we were waiting for the plane ride home."
"Fuck that," Santana grunts, and Brittany doesn't argue with that.
Santana drops to her knees, her hands sliding up the length of Brittany's thighs. She presses her face against Brittany's pelvis, and even through the blonde's skirt, she takes in the intoxicating scent of Brittany's arousal. It stirs something in Santana, and her hand moves higher, fingertips brushing between Brittany's legs and finding Brittany's spankies soaked through. Santana tugs them down quickly and Brittany lifts her feet so Santana can unhook them and toss them onto the bed.
Santana tries to spread Brittany's legs but it's not working out too well, so she grunts in frustration and lifts one of Brittany's legs at the knee and tosses it over her shoulder. Much better. She holds Brittany's skirt up with one hand and brushes her lips lightly against Brittany's inner thigh before darting out her tongue to press against Brittany's clit. Immediately, Brittany's weight falls forward, and Santana feels it against her shoulder.
Undeterred, Santana buries her face closer, tasting something she knows only as Brittany, a little salty, a little sweet.
Brittany's hips lift off the wall, pushing, and Santana has to pin her down with a hand at her hipbone.
"San-ungh, god," Brittany murmurs, her skin flushed.
Santana moans, tongue thrusting into Brittany at an erratic beat, and she can't help it; she reaches a hand down between her own legs, needing to alleviate a bit of the pressure. She tugs her spankies aside and pushes two fingers into herself, a groan escaping her throat at the sensation. She never takes her eyes off Brittany.
Brittany's breathing grows quick and shallow, and her body is tensing as Santana builds her up with insistent lips and an adventurous tongue. Brittany's eyes are smoky and unfocused but they never move away from Santana.
"You're touching yourself," Brittany says around a groan, "aren't you?"
"Mmph," Santana whimpers, thrusting her fingers faster inside herself.
Brittany's laughter comes out breathy. "I like this. You not being able to talk."
A flush creeps up Santana's neck, and she moves her other hand next to her own chin, letting her fingertips press against Brittany's folds as she focuses on sucking at Brittany's clit. With nothing to hold them up, the pleats of Brittany's skirt fall around Santana's face, and Brittany reaches to push them aside. The muscles in Brittany's thighs clench, and with the indication that Brittany is extremely close, Santana plunges two fingers into her.
Brittany moans as her body shakes with the force of her orgasm, and Santana nearly collapses under the sudden weight of Brittany slackening against her.
Santana works a third finger into herself in an attempt to get herself off too, but it isn't until Brittany's leg falls from Santana's shoulder and the blonde slithers down to her knees that Santana finds herself rushing to the edge. Brittany's hand wraps around Santana's wrist to guide her, and it's so reminiscent of the first time that Santana groans and comes immediately, head falling forward as pleasure rips through her.
Brittany's lips catch Santana's, and the two share unhurried, tranquil kisses until Santana's hand stills and she pulls out, thoroughly sated.
"I-" Santana laughs. "I couldn't wait."
Brittany presses a kiss to Santana's lips. "Not even three steps to the bed?"
Santana grins. "What, you didn't enjoy me taking you against the wall?"
"I didn't say that," Brittany protests.
Santana rises on unsteady feet, pulling Brittany up with her.
"I need to shower," Santana announces.
Brittany smiles. "Is that an invitation?"
Santana hides her smirk. "We only have thirty minutes before Coach barges in here."
"Guess we'd better double up then," Brittany says innocently, her pinky sliding around Santana's.
Santana is certain that this is the least time-efficient decision of her entire life, but hell if she's going to turn down licking streams of water off Brittany's skin.
--
Back at school, Brittany only kisses Santana in the choir room, where it's safe, but when they both start consistently and unrelentingly turning down the advances of random jocks that neither would've had a problem with before, even someone as dull as Azimio figures it all out. He and Karofsky corner them as they're heading out with Kurt after Cheerios practice one afternoon, the week after their nationals win.
"Look what we have here, a trio of homos."
Kurt puffs out his chest and tries to stand up for them like he'd done for Tina weeks earlier, but Santana notices that the poor guy is shaking a little, so she quickly steps in front of him, her arm nudging him back protectively.
"What do you blockheads want?"
"Well, since you asked," Azimio answers with a sneer, "we want you on your knees. Maybe even you, Hummel. You're into the dick, aren't you? I got an imagination."
Kurt blanches, and Santana clenches her jaws. A quiet rage brews within her, but she knows how to pick her battles. If she were alone, she'd take both of them on, ugly consequences be damned. But there's Brittany and Kurt, and if either of them ends up as collateral damage, she'd never forgive herself. Priority number one is getting the three of them out of there unharmed. They're still on school grounds and not really all that secluded, so it's not like they're in any serious danger, but she's not a fan of Brittany or Kurt getting knocked around. Santana holds her stance but keeps her mouth shut, even as she's itching to tear Azimio a new one. Instinctively, she pushes both Brittany and Kurt farther behind her.
"What's the matter?" Karofsky cuts in. "Gay got your tongue?"
Azimio hoots, and the two morons high-five each other.
Santana can't help it. "Both of you need to shut the fuck up. Me not wanting any part of you has nothing to do with you having a dick and everything to do with the fact that you're completely disgusting."
"Oh yeah? That's not what you said when I fucked you last year," Karofsky taunts, and not that Santana will ever admit it, but that one actually cuts a little. Karofsky isn't done. "Chirping a different tune now that you've caught homo-itis from your little group of circus freaks?"
"They should change the name of this place to Queerios," Azimio whoops.
Santana lunges forward, her fist catching the side of Azimio's head. But the lineman has about five inches and nearly a hundred pounds on her, and his meaty fist grips Santana's wrist. Karofsky reaches for Kurt, and Santana kicks out in an attempt to stop him, but Azimio is holding onto her too tightly for it to have any real effect.
Brittany jumps into the fray, clutching at Azimio's neck from behind, and she actually does manage to get Azimio to loosen his grasp on Santana, but the blonde gets an elbow to the chest in the process.
"Shit, stay back, Britt," Santana growls, catching Azimio's hip with her knee.
Kurt lets out a muffled cry, but Santana is too preoccupied with her own struggle to check out what's going on with him and Karofsky. She tries to tell Brittany to either get help or assist Kurt, but Santana takes a fist to the stomach, and it knocks the wind out of her. Her head immediately spins and her vision gets blurry, but just as she is reaching blindly to scratch at Azimio's face, a voice behind them bellows.
"Will someone please explain to me what is going on here?"
It's Coach Sylvester, and Santana does not think she has ever been as glad to hear that woman's voice in her entire life.
Azimio releases Santana, and she stumbles backwards, legs unsteady and head still swimming. Brittany's arms catch her, balancing her, and though Santana is still trying to catch her breath, she manages to mutter something that sounds vaguely like 'Kurt…'
"He's okay," Brittany whispers in Santana's ear. "Breathe. Don't try to talk," she adds, and Santana wonders if she's actually worse off than the adrenaline pumping through her veins will let her believe.
By the time Santana's eyes refocus, Coach Sylvester has stepped between the Cheerios and the two jocks, and she practically has smoke coming out of her ears as she gesticulates her way through a tirade.
"Are you insane? Are you insane? What were you two freak shows doing last Sunday? I'll tell you what Sue Sylvester and her squad of champions were doing. We were at cheer nationals in Albuquerque, crushing our competition like I do the hands of every elderly person I come across. They were bound to get arthritis anyway," she sneers. "If you lay another hand on my Cheerios, compromising my seventh consecutive national title next year, I will have both of your heads mounted on my wall like the caribou I strangled with my own bare hands last winter in the Siberian tundra. Am I making myself clear?"
"Y-yes, Ms. Sylvester."
"Especially these three," she continues, pointing behind her. "Santana is my head Cheerio, Brittany's flexibility would be repulsive if not for the fact that she is the only one on the squad who is foolish enough to agree to be tossed in the air while twisted up like a human pretzel, and while I find myself absolutely horrified by Kurt's inability to act gender-appropriate given the sausage between his legs, he belts out Mariah like he's already had two boob jobs and a face lift.
"So unless you boys have plans of picking up anorexia and dropping a hundred and fifty pounds each, and learning how to balance on one leg twenty feet in the air, or string together five front aerials in a row, or sing like someone replaced your protein shakes with estrogen and a vocal cord transplant, you'd best keep your hands off these three and maybe consider investing in some gay porno, because your fascination with homosexuality both astounds and nauseates me." She turns briefly to Kurt. "I'm sure this one would be happy to name some websites."
"No, actually, I-"
"Not interested. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go kick some puppies. Literally. Neighbors had a litter this weekend and they won't stop peeing on my lawn." She steps menacingly toward Azimio and Karofsky. "If I catch you buffoons loitering around my Cheerios again, I will personally see to it that you are shipped off to the Congo, where the gorilla is currently listed as critically endangered. Maybe you two could help boost the populations."
Coach Sylvester turns to the three Cheerios. "Santana, that wristband looks ridiculous. Burn it. Brittany, the scrape on your knee is unacceptable. I don't care if the only way for you to show affection to your kind involves being on your knees; affection has no place in a relationship. Kurt, cancel your subscription to Cosmo. You don't need a quiz to tell you how much sex appeal you have. Sue Sylvester can answer that for you, and her verdict is none."
With one last glare at Azimio and Karofsky, Coach Sylvester leaves.
"This isn't over," Karofsky warns.
Azimio swipes at his nose, where a pool of blood has formed, and he glares menacingly at Santana. "Watch your back, you little bitch."
The threat feels mostly empty, because it's no secret that even goons like Azimio are terrified of Coach Sylvester. Still, Azimio pounds his chest as he and Karofsky turn and walk away.
Santana looks at Brittany. The blonde's cheeks are flushed, and there's a slight quiver in her bottom lip. Santana's rage grows. Brittany leans over and kisses Santana softly, arms tightening around her. Santana tries not to cringe as Brittany presses against tender ribs, but Brittany must notice anyway because she loosens her grip and brushes an apologetic kiss to Santana's shoulder.
Santana turns to Kurt. "You okay, Hummel?"
"Yeah," he manages to say, even though he looks thoroughly spooked. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You need a ride home?" she offers.
"No," he replies without looking at either of them, but he lets Santana lead him to her car. Brittany buckles him into the backseat and slides in beside him.
As she's pulling out of the parking lot, Santana peers at the rearview mirror. "I don't know where you live, so…"
Kurt stammers, "I, um-"
"How about I just drive you to my place, let you kick back a little, and your dad can pick you up from there when you don't look like Casper?"
Kurt only nods. Brittany picks up his hand and holds it the whole ride. They start whispering to each other, but Santana can't make out what they're saying, so she focuses on the road and breathes through the aches all along the length of her body. Santana clenches her jaw. The adrenaline is wearing off, and that motherfucker Azimio had landed a few good hits on her.
Santana manages to drive home without incident though, and thankfully, her mother is out. For a moment, a familiar panic settles in as she pulls into an empty driveway, but for Brittany and Kurt's sake, she keeps it to herself. She follows the other two into the kitchen and watches tensely as Brittany sits Kurt down at the table and brings him a glass of water.
Santana's insecurity doesn't stem from any recent activity, because she's actually been getting along quite well with her mother. It kind of sucks that she and Brittany have had to be quieter during sex, but other than that, she's surprised by how easily she adjusts to having someone else around, especially someone in a position of authority over her. It's not even that she's legitimately concerned that her mother's bailed again; it's more like an old habit, an ugly memory. It makes her edgy.
Out of the corner of her eye, Santana notices a sheet of paper tacked to the fridge. Across it, in her mother's neat loopy handwriting, the words supermercado - 45 minutos. Santana lets out a breath and laughs dryly to herself.
She leaves the kitchen for a moment to call Finn. It'd been a rough start for Finn and Kurt, trying to live together without stepping on each other's toes, but from what Santana's been able to gather from that god-awful shower curtain dress that still haunts her nightmares and Kurt's newfound appreciation of basketball, they've worked things out.
Judging by the way Finn's hulking figure barrels through her front door ten minutes later, Santana's pretty sure she's right on the money.
"I swear to god," he rampages, "I'm going to kick Karofsky's ass."
Santana catches his forearm. "Take it easy."
Finn spins to face her. "Don't tell me to take it easy. Kurt's family now."
"Hey," Santana shoots back, "the bastards hurt us too, okay? Calm the fuck down."
Finn's eyes lower, and Santana sees the same guilt from the night she'd slept with him. Sometimes she wonders if he'll ever get back what she'd taken from him, and she doesn't mean his virginity. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I just-are you and Brittany okay?"
"Yeah, we'll be fine," Santana replies, rubbing the back of her neck. "Chill out, all right? Kurt doesn't need you to flip out on him right now. He's taken shit from Karofsky before. Taken shit from you and Puck, even. He can handle this. He's just a little shaken up."
It feels strange to be defending Kurt, but Coach Sylvester's managed to whip him into shape, and his skin care tips are actually doing fantastic things to Santana's complexion, so you know.
Finn nods and takes a deep breath before walking in completely the wrong direction. Santana grabs his arm and pulls him to the kitchen. Kurt already looks significantly better. The color is back in his cheeks, and he's chuckling quietly at something Brittany's saying.
Brittany cuts off mid-sentence when she notices Finn. Which isn't hard or anything since he's about the size of a mountain ape.
Brittany smiles. "Oh, hi Finn!"
Kurt rotates his head slightly to face them. "Finn, what are you doing here?"
"To give you a lift home. Santana told me what happened."
"Figured I wouldn't worry your dad," Santana explains.
Kurt stands up. Brittany does the same and pulls Kurt into a tight embrace. Kurt smiles at her as she pulls away.
Kurt approaches Finn, but he stops in front of Santana. "Drink lots of OJ," he says conspiratorially. "The vitamin C builds protective collagen around your blood vessels. I also have an extra tube of Bruise Relief that I'll pass to you tomorrow."
Santana manages a smile. "Thanks, Kurt."
Goodbyes are exchanged quickly and Kurt leaves with Finn. As soon as she shuts the front door, Santana's head starts to spin again. She tries to work through it, but Brittany catches on quickly and forces Santana to lie down on the couch.
Santana tries to look annoyed. "I'm not an invalid."
Brittany kisses her lightly. "Stay put. I'm going to get you some pills."
"I'm fine," Santana calls out, but Brittany is already gone.
Santana closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Thanks to a schoolyard fistfight in the fifth grade, she knows what a bruised rib feels like and she doesn't have one. She's just a little sore, and more than a little pissed. She glances briefly down the length of her body. No visible bruising, at least, other than some discoloration around her wrist where Azimio had gripped her. Coach'll be pleased about that.
Santana is twisting her wrist around in the air when Brittany returns with two Advil and a glass of orange juice. She holds them out to Santana.
"Thanks, B." Santana props herself up, pops the pills in her mouth and swallows them dry.
Brittany nudges Santana aside and slides herself between the back of Santana's head and the couch. "Drink up," she instructs.
Santana gulps down some juice for Brittany's benefit, then lies back down, using Brittany's lap as a makeshift pillow. She smiles up at the blonde. "You'd look hot as hell in a nurse's uniform."
Brittany chuckles, brushing a hand over Santana's cheek. "Maybe for Halloween."
"You know I'd make you stay in and 'take care' of me all night, right?" Santana teases.
Brittany grins. "What about trick or treating?"
Santana pivots her head and presses her face briefly against Brittany's abdomen. "I'll give you all the sweets you can handle," she murmurs, pleased that Brittany's muscles practically undulate under her Cheerios uniform.
Brittany leans down and presses a kiss to Santana's forehead. "Promise?"
Santana smiles and holds out her pinky. Brittany eagerly wraps her finger around Santana's. Brittany's other hand begins to skim the edge of Santana's Cheerios top, and she gently rolls the fabric up, exposing Santana's abdomen.
Santana hums. "Oh, I see what this is," she quips. "Get me drugged up so you can have your way with me."
But Brittany is preoccupied, and her features twist worriedly as she studies Santana's skin. She pushes Santana's top higher, and her hand accidentally brushes against a particularly tender bruise on Santana's side. Santana flinches, inhaling sharply, and Brittany's hand snaps back.
"Britt…"
"It's not your job to protect everyone," Brittany says, eyes deep blue.
Santana sighs. "I know. I couldn't let those assholes get away with saying that shit though."
"I don't want you to get hurt," Brittany continues.
"Just a couple of bruises," Santana dismisses. "I'll be fine."
"Santana."
Santana sits up and pulls her top back down. "You've known me for a long time, Britt. This is the way I've always been. I don't back down to anyone."
"Boys aren't scrawny anymore," Brittany points out quietly. "Azimio is really strong."
Even though the bruises lining her body are evidence of this fact, Santana shakes her head. "I gave that son of a bitch a nosebleed, okay? I'd say I win."
Gently, Brittany turns her around. "Will you just be careful?" she asks, tone soft but serious. Her hand skims Santana's side again, but so lightly this time, as though Santana would break otherwise. "I hurt when you're hurting."
Santana plays with the hem of Brittany's skirt. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."
Brittany smiles appreciatively and leans closer. "Thank you," she murmurs against Santana's lips.
Santana pulls Brittany closer to kiss her more thoroughly, and Brittany eagerly climbs to straddle Santana's lap, careful not to press against Santana's midsection. Santana's hands slide under Brittany's top and roam to her bare back, eager to touch warm flesh and smooth skin. Brittany instinctively grinds down against Santana's lap, and Santana hisses, fingers gripping around polyester and tugging up over Brittany's head.
Santana lifts from Brittany's lips long enough to dive down to lavish attention to the curve of Brittany's breasts, but something past Brittany's bra catches her eye. Something ugly and purple and the shape of Azimio's fucking elbow, right along the bottom of Brittany's ribcage, marring Brittany's perfect cream skin.
"Son of a bitch," Santana curses, irate. "I'm going to slice that piece of shit's fucking dick clean off."
Brittany lifts Santana's chin and presses a pacifying kiss to Santana's lips. "Use your big girl words."
Santana sighs, hand hovering dangerously over the bruise. "Britt, I told you to stay clear."
"He was punching you," Brittany explains.
"I don't care if he was fucking gagging me with his jock strap, okay? Stay out of it."
To Santana's surprise, Brittany bristles. "I don't need you to protect me all the time, Santana. I can take care of myself."
"When the fuck did I say you couldn't?" Santana fires back. She takes a breath and counts to five in her head, trying to remember that her anger is wholly misdirected. "I know you can take care of yourself," she continues in a kinder tone. "I know that, and I'm sorry I raised my voice." She tilts her head to study Brittany. "I just don't want you coming to blows with jackasses like Azimio. He could hurt you."
"And you," Brittany huffs, her words still clipped. "What makes you invincible?"
Santana sighs, reaching up to stroke Brittany's cheek. "I'm not," she admits. "I just tough it out because my pride's more important to me than a few bruises on my skin."
"Your safety's more important to me than an elbow to the chest," Brittany says with so much clarity and certainty that Santana's breath catches.
Santana leans forward, burying her face into Brittany's neck. She leaves a trail of kisses up to Brittany's earlobe. "I love you," she breathes against the shell of Brittany's ear, smiling when the blonde shudders. Santana pulls back and dramatically presses her open hand flat against her chest, over her heart. "I hereby pledge to get into fewer fights," she announces.
Brittany laughs as she cups Santana's cheeks and plants a short kiss to her nose. "I love you," she echoes with ease. "And thank you. Although…" Brittany grins deviously. "You'd look pretty hot dressed up as a knight in shining armor."
Santana chuckles as she pulls Brittany closer. "Maybe for Halloween."
--
Finn shows up to the next Glee rehearsal with a cut lip. Not entirely surprising, given his tendency to walk into inanimate objects. Santana only wonders what the hell was high enough for Finn to have hit his mouth against. The ceiling fan, maybe. She smirks. She's such an ass sometimes.
But then Puck walks in sporting a gash on his cheek, and Mike's nose looks freshly bashed in, and those two are dexterous enough to dodge incoming objects, so Santana isn't so sure about her ceiling fan theory anymore. Matt hobbles in after them, clearly favoring his left leg.
None of them say a word as they take their seats. Brittany sits behind Mike and makes him lean his head back against her lap because a trickle of blood is rolling down his upper lip. Tina dutifully hands Brittany a tissue.
Santana leans toward Puck. "Did you get some new additions to your fight club or something?" she asks, glancing briefly in Finn's direction. But Puck completely ignores her so she punches him in the arm.
Puck actually flinches and grabs his bicep. "Fuck, Lopez."
Santana frowns, ignoring the looks she's getting from the other members. "What's the matter with you? Who knocked you around?"
Puck glares at the rest of the room. "Nobody."
Santana turns to Mike. "What the hell did you guys do?"
"Nothing," Mike mutters through the tissue Brittany has pressed against his nose.
Santana glances at Brittany, who shrugs. Finn has taken a seat behind the drum set, but he isn't looking at anyone. Artie and Tina are observing quietly from the other side of Mike. Tina still has a tissue box sitting on her lap. Kurt is holding an aerosol can in his hand, mid-spritz, as he looks back and forth between Santana and Finn. By the piano, Mercedes and Quinn are standing together with matching bewildered expressions. Matt just appears entirely too fascinated by his own sneakers.
Santana has no idea where Rachel is. Stubby's usually the first one in and the last one out. Not that Santana has made an active effort to notice or anything. She turns back to Puck, but before she can beat an explanation out of him, he rockets out of his chair and toward the door. Santana touches Brittany's arm briefly before chasing after Puck.
The hallway is still fairly busy, but Santana catches Puck as he sneaks into an isolated corner next to the water fountain nobody drinks from.
"Puck, cut it out," she hisses. "Someone punched you. Tell me who so I can go smash his face in."
"That's cute, but we got it," Puck replies. He runs a hand across the top of his head and sighs. "Look, we heard about what Azimio and Karofsky did to you guys, okay? We weren't about to take it lying down."
Santana isn't sure whether to be surprised, confused, or touched. She settles for disbelieving. "You guys took on those cavemen?"
"Yeah, and like half the hockey team, but we took care of them," Puck insists. "Matt and I know our way around a brawl, and Chang's a stick figure but he's got some insane kung fu shit going on."
"And Finn?"
"Still punches like a toddler," Puck smirks, "but he's got size."
Santana stares at him for a moment, then softens. "You guys didn't have to go do that."
"Not just for you," Puck argues. "Every time we don't fight back, they gain a little more ammunition. You know how it is. How they are."
"As much as I enjoy seeing them getting the shit beat out of them, I don't want it to be at the expense of one of your limbs, all right? At least not before regionals. We still have a showdown with that Jesse kid and we can't do it with the four of you on crutches."
Puck makes a face. "You don't give a shit about Glee Club. What's up with you, Lopez? What's with the pacifist act?" Realization flashes across his face. "Brittany," he says with a knowing smirk. "That girl-" Puck laughs.
"Yeah, whatever," Santana dismisses, rolling her eyes.
"No, no, she's good for you," Puck continues in the same amused tone. "Just don't start asking me to do your hair and we're cool."
"This uniform protects me, okay?" Santana says defensively. "I don't need to break a nail on those losers when I have a snarling bulldog named Sue Sylvester constantly hovering. This has nothing to do with Brittany," she fibs.
Puck makes a whipping motion with his hand. "Wh-tsh."
"Shut the fuck up," Santana grumbles.
Puck grins. "No, hey, I'd give up a little aggression too if I was promised unlimited sex in return."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Will you quit making assumptions about my sex life?"
"But why? It's so much fun."
Santana grimaces. "It's creepy."
"And hot," Puck insists with a cocky grin.
Santana opens her mouth to counter, but before she gets a word out, Rachel brushes by her, and the short brunette is pissed.
"Noah Puckerman. I just heard. That was highly irresponsible. What if you had injured yourself to the point of physical disability? Regionals is next weekend. Are you trying to ruin my life?"
Puck holds his arms out defensively. "Calm down, Berry. We're all fine. Besides, that Artie kid is already in a wheelchair. We'd have fit right in."
Rachel balls her fists up at her side. "This is no joking matter, Noah."
Puck shrugs. "Why are you coming after me? There were three other dudes there."
"Already got to them," Rachel replies dismissively. "I am very time-efficient. Now, let's talk about your complete lack of judgment and responsibility."
Santana laughs as she backs away. "Let him have it, Berry."
Part 10