Love Song

                 It was half-past 11 pm, and Rachel Berry was singing. Santana had given up on trying to figure out what song it was; hell, she was just grateful Berry was choosing to sing quietly as opposed to the loud, emotive bellowing she was used to. She attributed that small miracle to the fact Rachel was off her ass drunk, and not as confident in her abilities as she would be if she were sober, and didn’t wish to cheapen her talent by giving a lackluster performance to the people beside her on the subway. Or some other such thing. Still, even without being able to distinguish the words, it sounded good. And that alone made Santana smile.

                  The night had been a surprisingly good one. After singing in the Nyada practice room, Rachel had insisted on taking Quinn and Santana to dinner, to thank them for her rescue. Rosario Cruz and Emily Stark had come along, and they had made sure Rachel got her fill of alcohol, sneaking her drinks both at dinner, and then at the club that they went to after because, as Rachel put it, “there was still dancing to be done”. Quinn had to leave before they were ready to go so she could catch her train back to New Haven, leaving Santana, who would be spending the night at the Hummelberry loft, alone with Rachel to finish off the night.

                  Santana paused when she caught Rachel staring at her, a small smile on her face. Self-consciously, Santana swiped at her face. “What? Do I have something on me or something?”

                  Rachel shook her head, still smiling. “You’re very pretty, did you know that?”

                  Satana rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

                  Rachel paused in her walking to place her hands on her lips. She huffed. “You’re impossible to compliment, Santana.”

                  “Don’t make your compliments so obvious, Rachel.”

                  She was intentionally mocking, copying the pitch and cadence Rachel had used, intending to ruffle her feathers. Instead, Rachel’s smile brightened even more, at the sound of her name coming from Santana’s mouth. With no warning, Rachel brought a finger up to Santana’s nose and tapped it. “Boop.”

                  Santana’s head tilted to the side as she tried to process what just happened. “Did you just boop me?”

                  “Indeed, I did!”

                  Santana’s retort, whatever it would have been, was cut off sharply when Rachel started suddenly grabbing for her to keep from falling after tripping over something on the sidewalk. It was only thanks to her years of cheerleading training and walking in high heels that Santana managed to keep the two of them on their feet as Rachel worked to steady her feet beneath her.

                  This wasn’t her first near fall of the night. She was still getting used to the new shoes that had come with the New Rachel Berry ™, so maybe mixing alcohol and 3-inch heels had probably not been her best idea, but since she had yet to fall and break her talent despite the amount of alcohol in her system, she’d take the win.

                  Rachel steadied herself but didn’t let go of the death grip that she had on Santana’s forearm. Santana grimaced, but didn’t demand Rachel move it.

                  The things I do for friendship.

                  It was growth, Santana thought, that she hadn’t made one joke about Rachel’s inexperience with high heels all night. (Earlier, when Rachel was distracted, Quinn had whispered in her ear that she looked like a baby giraffe taking its first steps, but that doesn’t count).

                  She pulled Rachel closer, securing her in her arms to keep her on the feet at least until they got back to the loft. Content, Rachel softened beside her, resting her head on Santana’s shoulder.

                  The closer they got to the Hummelberry loft, the slower Rachel walked, practically dragging her feet by the time they made it to the outside of the building. On the steps to the stoop, she lingered, pausing on the step above Santana’s. This made them on height with each other. Brown eyes met brown as Rachel held her gaze. Santana forced the creepy eye contact, not wanting to be the first to flinch.

                  She kissed Santana’s cheek. “That was very chivalrous of you and Quinn, coming here, looking out for me.”

                  “Yeah, well,” the words hung in the air after Santana tried, and failed, to come up with a proper rebuttal.

                  “I had a really good time tonight.” Why did this feel like the good-bye at the end of a date?  Santana shook the shot from her head.

                  “Me, too,” Santana admitted. “You’re not too bad, Rachel.”

                  Complimenting Rachel, Santana realized, meant that she was hit with Rachel’s beaming smile. It was a vast improvement on the many times what she said had brought tears to her eyes. Although, oddly, these words did bring a tear to Rachel’s eyes.

                  “A ‘not bad’ from Santana Lopez is like a ringing endorsement from anyone else.”

                  And then she was hugging her. Santana should have been prepared for the spontaneous hugs of Rachel Berry; yet somehow, she wasn’t. She was just contemplating hugging Rachel back when she pulled away suddenly, rummaging for something in her purse. “I’ve got to pee!”

                  Santana watched her unlock the door and run inside. She followed after, a little slower as she made her way up the stairs and through the metal door into the loft. She almost tripped over Rachel’s heels, seeing them at the last moment. Shaking her head, Santana first closed the door, then moved the heels out of the walkway.

                  Alone, Santana let out the laugh she was holding since she and Rachel had said goodbye to Quinn. “You might be the New Rachel Berry™, but you handle your liquor like the old one.” Out loud she said, “Hey, Midge, do you have bottled water?”

                  “In the fridge,” was shouted back.

                  Santana went to the fridge to get out two bottles, one for each of them. Giving it a second thought, she got two more. “Where’s your aspirin?”

                  The response was more garbled. The bathroom door opened a few moments later. Rachel must have taken her tights off while she was in the bathroom but couldn’t have been bothered to pull them back up. Or take them off completely. She came out of the bathroom still tugging them off her feet.

                  “Babs, I’ve been ready to get out of those all night!”

                  “Wanky,” Santana muttered. She pushed one of the water bottles into her hand. “Aspirin?”

                  “Do you have a headache?” Rachel questioned. She gasped dramatically. “Did you hit your head.”

                  “No, you loon. It’s for you.”

                  Rachel’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I didn’t hit my head, Santana.”

                  “It’s so you don’t wake up regretting life tomorrow.”

                  She swooned. “Look at you being all sweet!”

                  “Don’t get all excited, that’s just how I roll.”

                  “Bathroom cabinet.”

                  Santana went looking, then decided she should probably go pee herself. When she re-emerged, it was to find that Rachel had decided to put on some music and was swaying nonsensically in the middle of the loft. While she was watching, Rachel turned so that she was facing Santana, catching her staring. She smiled softly. On bare feet, she stalked closer, sneaking in another hug. “Thanks for coming.”

                  “Well, I haven't yet, Berry, but the night’s young.”

                  The words slipped out unbidden; it was something she would have said giving normal circumstances, but here, with the unexpected tension on the night the words felt more weighted.

                  “Wanky,” Rachel said, doing a very good imitation of Santana. So good, Santana stared at her in surprise. Rachel winked. Santana blinked back at her. Even if Rachel wasn’t still pressed up against Santana, it would have been awkward, Rachel not quite having the same winking talent that Santana did. This close, though, made it something more. Santana pulled away in discomfort. Rachel recognized it and laughed.

                  Santana, opting for space, decided to move to the couch. She twisted the top of her water, downing a good amount of water. She was pretty much sober by this point, but oh so thirsty.

                  When she looked up again, Rachel was studying her intensely. For reasons, it sent a chill down her back. “Yes?”

                  “Just so you know, I’m not not doing the film because I’m ashamed of my body,” Rachel said, serious look on her face.

                  Santana snorted, she couldn’t help it, especially seeing how serious her friend looked. She struggled to keep a straight face. “Oh, of course not.”

                  “I’m not,” Rachel said – shrieked really – indignantly. “I love my body!”

                  Santana bit back what she wanted to say, mostly because it was in agreement with her love for Rachel’s body.

                  Rachel took the silence as challenge. “I’ll prove it!”

                  Before Santana could wonder what she meant, Rachel was on her phone, scrolling. For one horrifying minute, she was worried Rachel had taken pictures of her breasts or something and was about to show them off. Instead, a very familiar Def Leppard song poured through hidden speakers.

                  Love is like a bomb, bomb, bomb. Love is like a bomb. Bomb. Bomb. 

                  With no preamble, she launched into a dance that was anything but innocent. She stalked over to Santana, her hips swaying in time with the beat. When she was about four feet away, she dropped to her knees sliding across the floor in a writhing dance. Stunned, Santana watched as Rachel pushed up to rest on her knees, unzipping the front of her shirt as she moved. Realizing the shirt didn’t unzip all the way down, her hands went to her hem.

                  “What’re you doing?”

                  Rachel’s intense brown eyes met hers as she played with the bottom of her shirt. “This.” Maintaining eye contact, she pulled her shirt up over her head, revealing a flat stomach and delicious tanned skin. She threw the shirt down with flair, bringing her eyes back to Santana.

                  Santana tried for about half a second, not to look the girl over, and failed. There was always a part of her that wondered what was beneath that unfortunate wardrobe choice; she knew Rachel had killer legs, and a pretty decent ass. It seemed like she had a pretty nice rack, as well.

                  The second Santana’s eyes dropped to look at the sight, Rachel smirked. “Oh!” Rachel seemed to suddenly remember, “It’s supposed to be fully topless!”

                  Rachel’s hands went behind her back, to undo her bra.

                  “Rachel-,” Santana warned.

                  But the fabric was off and being swung around her head, landing somewhere behind the couch. Ever the performer she managed to stay on beat as she completely exposed her top half to Santana.
                   “There!” she said, proudly, arching her back to push her breasts out further. Rachel’s hands curved over the underside of her breast before dancing alongside the rest of her curves. Santana wanted to replace the other girls not mannish hands with her own. She dug her fingers into her own skin, resisting the temptation to move her hands from underneath her.

                  Unperturbed, Rachel continued to dance, her fingers skimming downward, once again moving behind her back. She turned so her back was facing Santana, so she could see her fingers going to the zipper of her skirt. She stopped suddenly, turning enough so she could throw a look over her shoulder at Santana. “Wait! I forgot! You said that my skeeter bites were the most na-naked anybody would want to see me.”

                  She groaned, regretting saying that now as she itched to know what the rest of Rachel naked looked like. The part of her that had rushed to New York with Quinn to stop Rachel from doing the student film felt like she should stop Rachel. She was drunk and was likely to regret this in the morning. Santana was likely to regret this in the morning. This was Rachel. The Hobbit. Man Hands. Yentl. She chanted this in her head to try to drown out the voice of the lonely Santana that hadn’t had sex since she and Britney broke up. That Santana was desperately urging her to take one of Rachel’s newly exposed nipples in her mouth, just for a taste. She wondered if Berry tasted as sweet as her name…

                  Still on her knees, Rachel turned back around, settling herself between Santana’s knees, pushing them open slightly.

                  Oh, dear God!

                  Steadying herself, Rachel pushed up off the floor to climb into Santana's lap. Her left knee bracketed Santana’s right side, while the other leg was cocked open on the other side, her middle hovering over Santana’s. Using one of her hands, she held on to the back of the couch for stability, while the other one traced up Santana’s arm, touching the shoulder, and the neck before becoming buried in her hair. Santana’s eyes roved helplessly, trying to take everything in at once. Finally, they settled on the sway of Rachel’s hips, as her core came closer, and closer, and closer to touching Santana’s own.

                  Santana imagined pulling her arms out from underneath her ass, tracing Rachel’s legs up until they settled on those tantalizing, dancing hips. Rachel’s other knee came down, closing her in. Santana’s hips jerked involuntarily.

                  The music stopped, but Rachel’s hips didn’t. Santana imagined pulling her hands out, capturing Rachel’s hips in her arms, and flipping them over, so Rachel was the one looking up at Santana, as Santana lowered herself over her, ready to kiss the cockiness right out of her.

                  But she held firm. She came to her senses, when Rachel’s mouth was mere inches from her own. “I’m going to have to stop you, Hobbit.”

                  “Why?”

                  “Because I can’t come swooping in here to save your impulsive ass from one mistake, just to watch you fall into another.”

                  Rachel leaned in, bypassing Santana’s lips to press her lips to Santana’s ear. “Who said it would be a mistake?”

                  Lips and tongue moved along the side of Santana’s neck. She squirmed, unable to believe Rachel freaking Berry was actually turning her on.

                  “Me. You’re drunk. I know you came to New York and wanted to be the Rachel Berry experience and try new things and you finally realized that sex could be fun, but you don’t want to go there with your friends.”

                  Hands went to her hips, pushing her cleavage forward. “I’m a big girl, Santana!”

                  Santana licked her lips, titling forward slightly out of instinct, only stopping herself in the nick of time. “Oh, I’m aware.”

                  Rachel’s lips dragged up from her chin to kiss her on the lips. It was short, but not chaste, and Santana was chasing after those lips as soon as they pulled away. Rachel ground her ass into Santana’s lap. “So, you’re aware that I can make my own decisions, right?”

                  “I know.”

                  “Then what’s the problem?”

                  As gently as she could, she nudged Rachel off her lap. “You’re my friend, Rachel. I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

                  Even though she was gentle, she watched Rachel deflating into her insecurities. “New look, new attitude, and still you don’t think I’m attractive.”

                 Santana looked at her in disbelief. A laugh left her lips. 

                  “You think I don’t think you’re attractive? Do you have any idea how God-damned turned on I am right now?”

                  It was the utter look of disbelief on her face that had Santana moving. Her dress had ridden up enough that it didn’t take much effort to slip it up over her hips. Santana dipped her hand into her ruined underwear to provide Rachel with proof about just how turned on she was. When she pulled her hand back out, her fingers glistened. “See how wet you got me?”

                  Rachel stared at Santana’s wetness, her eyes growing dark. When Santana moved to wipe her hands on her dress, Rachel stopped her, enclosing her mouth around the digits. Santana moaned loudly, feeling Rachel’s tongue suck her own juices off her fingers.

                  “Fuck,” she whimpered, her hips jerking. She was glad that she had preemptively removed Rachel from her lap because if she was still sitting on her, she didn’t know what she would have done. One only had so much self control. Santana had to remind herself that she was trying to build up a relationship with Rachel, and she didn’t want to give up everything she was building on a one-night stand.

                  She didn’t feel like she could breathe properly until Rachel’s mouth pulled back sending her heart racing. “Yeah…uhm….” Santana cleared her throat. “So, like I said.” She lapsed into silence without saying anything. “I’m going to go get changed for bed.”

                  She took her time getting ready, thinking they both could use the time to calm down. It seemed to work because when Santana re-emerged, Rachel was dressed in bed clothes, and her discarded clothing had been put up. She was holding a stack of sheets in her hand.

                  She was back to being shy. “Sorry, if I came on too strong.”

                  “Strong would be an understatement,” Santana said. “Don’t feel bad. There are very few people out there that can resist the urge of the Lopez.”

                  Santana found herself suddenly with a pillow in the face. “Shut up!”

                  “What?” Santana demanded in mock outrage. “I’m just saying. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror, and it takes everything in me not to jump myself.”

                  “You’re such an ass, Santana.”

                  She laughed. “I know, I know.”

                  She was still laughing when she fished out the remote and turned the TV on for background noise. She pulled Rachel into her arms. Feeling impulsive, she kissed the smaller girl on the top of her head. “Night Berry.”

                  Rachel paused, giving Santana a curious look before resettling herself in her arms. “Good night, Santana.”

                  They fell asleep that way, cuddled into each other’s arms, the glow of the television splashed across their faces. It wasn’t the ending to the night she pictured; this was better.