Glee Stay the Night

**Disclaimer**_**: **__I don't own anything you would recognise. I don't own Glee, that belongs to the slaughtering hands of Ryan Murphy. I don't own 'Stay the Night', that belongs to the wickedly talented Hayley Williams and the fantastical Zedd._

**Side note: **_Sorry for the long windedness. I did start writing this in January, when I first heard the song, and I finished it sometime in April. But the life got in the way and final GCSEs made me revise. But, it's here now. I hope you enjoy ..._

**Stay the Night**

_I know that we are upside down,_

_I know that we are made to break_

"Stay the night." It wasn't a request or a question, just a statement. Her eyes begged to close in dismay at herself, but she fought it and levelled her stare to the direction her statement was intended. She kept her face determinedly blank, decidedly not showing the vulnerability she felt coursing through her body.

She waited for any type of reaction - a twitch, a movement, words. None came and she sat trying to look nonchalant, naked under the sheets and naked emotionally. She watched as her blonde counterpart froze in the process of picking up her strewn clothes from around the room. Her whole body seemed to stop and still, the muscles in her back shining vividly with a mixture of sweat and tension. After a few long, drawn out seconds, she moved quickly as though desperate to swat away Santana's voice, and Santana's breath caught involuntarily, but Quinn only shifted to move the hair sticking to her back with a stiff arm to hang over her right shoulder, which, along with the left, were so high she seemed to have no neck at all.

What did Santana actually want from Quinn? For her to hop back into bed and cuddle for the night? Go to sleep naked and wake up naked in a bed next to her naked best friend?

No, it couldn't be. They'd agreed no promises and no expectations, no rules and under no circumstances were they to develop feelings. Those were the lines, the boundaries. They'd set them together.

She shook her head. She must have heard wrong. A lapse in her sound receptors.

For a moment Santana's heart races and her hopes rise defiantly as Quinn's body appears to relax its stance. And then, when the blonde walks straight up to her jeans hanging on the chair in the corner and deftly places them in her arms, she realised, Quinn was doing the very 'Quinn' thing to do: she was running away from it - her, she was running away from her. Santana sighed heavily and slumped back against the headboard of her bed, resigned to the fact that Quinn was Quinn, and she'd just monumentally placed her foot in her mouth.

She barely held in a groan when Quinn's shadow passed over her and to the other side of the bed, no doubt to pick up another piece of discarded clothing. Her brain seemed to take a masochistic pleasure in taunting her because all of a sudden all she could think of was Quinn; how her hair just fell in perfect waves, and her eyes were always so deeply alluring, hell even the quirk of her mouth when she was lost in the confines of her own mind had Santana's brain stalling.

Even after all of that her subconscious continued to throw images at her like confetti. Quinn's knocking on the door waking her up in the morning and her resulting amusement as she watched the grumpy Santana, still half asleep and ragged from jumping out of bed, stomp around as she got herself breakfast. Walking around New York, hands absently brushing together as they walked side-by-side. Laughing together at some insignificant joke. The little looks shared and felt as their gazes fell on each other by accident. The small coy smiles curving their lips when the caught a lingering look. The intentional touches as her fingers brushed against Quinn, and the resulting twitch of Quinn's perfect lips.

She knows Quinn. She knows when she's annoyed by the slight twitch in he left eyebrow, as though it was trying to arch, but she wouldn't let it. She knows when she's upset when her finger begins tapping on the surface it rests on, like the three bones and tendon were a break in her perfectly calm exterior, a window into her infernal emotions. She knows when she's happy because her forehead de-tenses, relaxing and smoothening softly. She knows when she's bored because her face falls into an impassive mask and her eyes unfocused as her brain runs away in some thought or other.

She knows Quinn. Quinn doesn't enter into something without being sure of it. Two minutes ago was the first time Santana made any indication of wanting to go down _that_ path. Quinn doesn't have anything _to_ be sure of. For all she knows Santana's spontaneity got the better of her knackered brain and body.

It was that realisation that had the brunette jolting straight and jumping to the end of her double bed, kneeling and grabbing Quinn's pale wrist with both of her hands. Because she had to prove that it's not spontaneity that made those thoughts appear.

Her grip was tight and she felt the muscles in Quinn's wrist tense and release as her fingers flexed in and out of a fist.

"Santana." Her voice was like an arctic wind, and even in the small, over heated bedroom it still caused a shiver to travel down Santana's spine. A shiver she repressed on impulse, until she couldn't anymore and her muscles purred at the touch.

"Quinn." She returned. As soon as the word left her mouth she knew she'd antagonised Quinn, but she actually hadn't done it intentionally. It was and always had been her natural reaction to Quinn's icy-ness - mimic her tone and reply with what she's given.

"Sit down." She completed belatedly, trying in vain to no slip down alpine walls. But it still came out sharper than intended and more like a demand than a request.

Quinn wasn't stupid. Quinn knows the tones and textures of voices like she knows the back of her hand. So Santana really wasn't surprised when all that happened was Quinn's wrist being forcefully ripped from her hands.

She _was_ surprised, however, that Quinn stayed stock still, still with her back to Santana, but motionless none the less. Deciding that pushing any further and risking pissing her off anymore was going to be irreversible steps in the wrong direction, Santana sat back on her feet and sighed quietly and deeply. She once again examined the tense posture of Quinn's back and the thick set of her mused hair, taking comfort from the fact that she couldn't see the guarded expression no doubt adorning Quinn's face. She suddenly found herself short for words and felt her jaw lock in reflex to the feeling of foolishness rising in her gut.

"What-" Quinn's terse voice seemed to jolt Santana's brain into a kick-start and her own voice drowned out whatever Quinn was going to say.

"Why do you leave every night?" She asked, her curiosity rearing its ugly head.

For once it was Quinn who seemed to be stumped and her mouth opened and closed in the perfect personification of a goldfish. She stood still for about a second before her defence mechanisms kicked in with a vengeance and she scowled openly, turning her head to glare at Santana over her shoulder.

"Because I get the late train." She snapped, her head shaking no throughout her feeble excuse.

"You could get the early train in the morning." Santana countered immediately, shaking her own head quickly in rebuttal.

"Because I want to go to my own bed?" Quinn stated, though it was more of a question to Santana's ears, her head turning away to break eye contact.

Santana snorted derisively, Quinn's bed was a slab of concrete. She's such a fucking bullshitter. Santana had agonized pathetically about Quinn. That included every little tell her face held, every expression that agreed or disagreed with the words leaving her lips. When she talked about how much she loved the anonymity of Yale she was telling the truth, the twitch at the corner of her lips, as though to smile, told Santana as much. When she talked about forgiving her mother for all that had gone down she was lying, the narrowing of her eyes let Santana know as much.

And just then, when she _asked_ about her own bed being comfortable, her _eyes narrowed._

"Quinn, fuck, tell me the truth! I'm trying so hard here." Santana couldn't help that the tips of her fingers came to rest on her forehead in exasperation and her eyes closed, or that her voice was a strange contrast between a frustrated shout and a vexed whisper. "Just tell me, Q," she sensed more than saw how Quinn's body seemed to jolt from the use of her old nickname, "why do you leave every night?"

"Because I feel dirty!" Quinn shouted, not attempting to keep her voice quiet, despite Rachel and Kurt being only metres away. She'd snapped her head back around to face Santana as soon as the first syllable left her mouth and was glaring with something akin to the very same rage from three years ago; her lips curled in a snarl and her eyes were a vivid green, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.

Despite her shock at Quinn's reaction - she'd thought they'd gotten past this much animosity - Santana bit her tongue, literally, and allowed her eyes and mind to process.

Santana stayed silent, teeth still biting into her tongue and jaw determinedly locked closed as her temper tried in vain to flare. Quinn was unnaturally still; her knees were locked dead straight and her whole body was tense, her right arm rigidly holding her pile of clothes to her stomach like a shield against Santana's probing sword of questions, her left hand was held parallel to the rest of her body, uncomfortably locked straight and ending in a bloodless fist. Her messed up blonde hair was falling in front of her face though she made no move to shift it from her penetrating glower locked on Santana, her teeth were still clenched in a snarl and her nostrils were flared as she breathed deeply, trying in vain to reign in her showing emotions. Everything about her was frozen for the two minutes where Santana's brain caught up and the ringing in her ears subsided. Finally brown eyes locked onto green and Santana slowly swallowed heavily, pushing down her own swelling emotions.

"Now tell me the truth." Her voice sounded too loud despite it being barely more than a whisper. Santana's eyes flickered consistently between Quinn's two and seeing Quinn's obvious shock and hesitance, Santana did something she hadn't done in many years, something necessary.

"Please."

She made herself vulnerable.

It was simply yet another statement. But Quinn could read the subtext and she heard the plead in that one word. It seemed to be that fact that got Quinn's attention more than anything. That and the fact that Santana spoke in such a soft voice, the tone of voice usually reserved for Brittany.

(Brittany in Santana's dictionary meant kryptonite.)

She flinched slightly as her teeth bit sharply into her cheek but otherwise ignored it. Her scowl fell and her lips reconnected, a faint taste of iron met her taste buds.

Santana with Brittany was soft, but Santana with Quinn was only pliable; and that was how Santana was always supposed to be: independent and _strong_. Quinn with – whoever, was full of cheer and happiness. Except it was entirely false. But Quinn with Santana was genuinely happy and genuinely _free, _Santana could see that and Quinn would have to be a fool not to realise how she felt around her oldest frenemy. Santana did whatever Brittany wanted regardless, but with Quinn she wasn't afraid to hold her own ground. Quinn with Finn – specifically - was manipulative and selfish, but with Santana she felt a need to let go. And that was reckless.

But, and she could deny it until she was blue in the face, the recklessness felt good.

Santana seemed to know how her brain worked. And Santana cared despite her detatched facade. Santana is emphatic and stubborn and dramatic and quick to react and fiery and good.

So she was left with two choices: stay and tell the truth, something she had rarely done when not pushed. She felt sick at the prospect of it. While she could be happy, she could also end up more broken than she was now, and she was still littered with cracks. She'd only just settled in Yale and she had vowed not to get herself mixed up again. But then again she'd already done that. And this could be a catalyst for her life turning to shit again, Yale was her future and she was more than dedicated to providing herself that future.

Or she could run away like she had done with her daughter, her therapy and her relationships. For her this seemed to be the safe option. It hadn't failed her before and other than disappointment and anger - emotions she was more than used to receiving and feeling - she couldn't remember not feeling safe as a result. Maybe that was what was wrong with her all these years - her switch was glued on flight instead of fight.

"It was awkward." The voice was alien but she knew it'd come from her mouth as Santana's face scrunched in confusion. "And the last time I did I freaked out." She paused, wetting her lips nervously and shrugging nonchalantly.

Her honesty shocked herself, but her jaw still clenched in determination to not let stupidity boil over.

"And. What?" Santana asked, her tone more sharp than intended. "You didn't want to freak out again?" Her tone turned from sharp to mocking, thanks mostly to the gut punching insult she was feeling from Quinn's words.

Quinn felt the tension in her jaw snap as her feelings of pathetic stupid-ness bubbled up. She felt anger quickly surging up to replace it, almost as though her body rejected feeling small and pitiful.

"Something like that." Quinn's voice had taken on the arctic chill once again and her eyes narrowed into slits, glaring holes into the brick wall behind Santana's bed. She felt her hand twitch and she knew that if she looked into Santana's eyes she might just slap her for the burning humiliation searing its way through her throat.

"So you're scared?" Santana asked quickly, levelling a neutral stare at Quinn's jaw, part of her scared of the answer and part of her wanting to hear it. If Quinn was scared maybe it was because she was taking _all of this _seriously. Or maybe she was just freaked out?

Santana rolled her eyes and diverted her eye line to the arm still wrapped around Quinn's stomach, clothes still covering most of her modesty, but not her slowly rising and falling chest as she breathed deeply and regularly. Absently Santana's eyes roamed away and she noticed that Quinn bent at the waist with her knees locked straight - one of the first things Santana picked up about Quinn's body language: legs. As the weakest part of her body, Quinn tended to channel everything into aiding them, and most of the time they displayed her intense emotions like a billboard. Poker straight legs, forcefully held in a position Quinn thought to be inconspicuous and normal, usually meant vulnerable and scared and defensive. And just like that, without having to hear Quinn's modulated voice, Santana had her answer: Quinn was shit scared.

She almost laughed out loud, because she was too. God she was terrified. The last time she did anything resembling this she was left nursing a broken heart.

They're so similar it's almost painful, and that's why they spent most of their time hating each other. They knew that the other was just as ruthless, just as mean spirited, and equally hard headed enough to push and push and get exactly what she wanted. And God how Santana wishes she could go back and bitch slap her younger self and Quinn, and possibly bang their heads together in the process. Because instead of using their natural flares playing a never ending game of one-up with each other, they should have teamed up – because, they'd already admitted it and everyone who knew them knew that together they were an unstoppable force.

It made Santana wonder if all of this would have happened sooner or even if it would have even happened at all. The thought caused a strange and sharp pain to hike her breath for a moment before she could regulate it. Absently she saw Quinn's eyes look her over for a moment before she glanced away again. She refused to acknowledge the racing of her heart, sure that if she did her brain was likely to explode in confusion, instead focusing when she saw Quinn's lips move and begin to form words.

Even before the 'N' was fully formed on her perfectly plump lips Santana knew her answer was going to be a rebuttal. She let the disappointment and anger surge through her victoriously as Quinn's lips kept moving, talking words Santana couldn't hear.

The burning heat that seemed to encompass her whole head refused to let any sound penetrate her ears, not Quinn's addictive whisper, not the sounds of Quinn's shuffling feet as she began to step away, and not the sound of fabric hitting the wooden floor as Quinn jumped and her hands dropped her clothes on instinct.

She didn't remember it, and she would look back later and only remember getting a sudden urge to keep at it because if nothing else she was going to fight, but suddenly Santana was stood before Quinn, stark naked and not bothering to cover her modesty, with her warm hands clasped around each of Quinn's biceps. The clothes Quinn had been holding cushioned their feet in a beige and blue blanket and the quilt that had been caught around Santana's foot left a silky train to the double bed. She looked into hazel eyes and saw mounting anger as Quinn grew more and more frustrated and confused, and watched as darkening eyes flickered disbelievingly down to the hands holding her.

She looked first to the left and then slowly looked to the right. "Really?" She asked, looking back up through her lashes at Santana, her eyebrow raised incredulously.

Santana stayed silent, moving one hand up and pushing blonde hair back from hazel eyes, tracing the frown lines creasing the side of bruised lips before coming to rest softly on the dip of Quinn's neck. She stepped forward, feeling the soft fabric tickle her feet as it slipped away and landed on the floor soundlessly, only for Quinn to step back as soon as Santana's foot flattened. Santana didn't let her disappointment show and kept her gaze firmly locked on Quinn's hazel, her hands resting on her protruding hip bone and neck, where she could feel the rapidly beating heart beneath the calm exterior, tightened reflexively for a moment before loosening.

Quinn's gaze was deceivingly unwavering as her eyes flickered over the entirety of Santana's face for some kind of sign, or any kind of get out clause, but all she saw was Santana's confidence. Her heart picked up its already rapid pace, Santana's stubbornness displayed more clearly than before, and it being directly concerning her made her equal parts scared and exhilarated. She didn't know how to react and despite the heat burning her skin she felt frozen in place, her eyes finally locking on chocolate pools. Santana hesitated just for a moment before pressing forward again, sure that if Quinn wanted to she could more than push her light touch away.

The ice seemed to melt as Santana stepped forward, accelerating the fire raging in her muscles and again Quinn stepped back, her eyes unable and unwilling to waver from the chocolate before her. She didn't know what she was doing, honestly. Santana was the impulsive one; Quinn was methodical, Quinn planned. This was not planned and her steps were anything but methodical; if Santana's hands hadn't been touching her she was sure her knees would have lost their power the moment the fire in Santana's eyes met her own, and she realised how shaky her steps felt and only cringed at how uncoordinated she must look to Santana. It was like Santana's hands were the magnets keeping her standing, impossibly attracting her titanium hip plates to the tips of her magnetic charged fingers. She cringed visibly at her own thoughts, and when she looked clearly once again she saw hurt flick quickly across Santana's eyes as she winced and her cheeks seemed to deflate.

Immediately guilt took over, but she didn't know exactly how to tell Santana it wasn't what she thought. She had no words and no voice to use them even if she did. About the only thing she was certain of in that moment was that if Santana were to kiss her she wouldn't resist, nor push away, but she wouldn't initiate it.

So she settled for what she could think of - the subtlest shake of her head. And, miraculously, regardless of the magnitude of the small movement Santana seemed to understand.

Quinn couldn't process the release of butterflies that erupted in her stomach. So, simply, she didn't. She concentrated on not concentrating on the desperate need pulling at her nerve endings.

So, once again, she stepped back as Santana calmly pressed forward. And then she did again. But not once did the brunette offer any reaction as she stole Quinn's patented unresponsive mask.

She hadn't been expecting it, so when her back hit the brick wall with an unearthly loud thud the remaining breath – which wasn't nearly enough in the first place – left her lungs in a forceful gush. They seemed to lose their function and she couldn't pull in another breath. It felt almost like she was suffocating. But she couldn't find it in herself to linger on it, nor care. She was too entrapped by Santana's proximity and how, with one last step she would have Quinn cornered. She didn't know if the twisting and stalling of her brain and stomach was because she wanted it to happen, or if she was frozen terrified of someone else having the power.

Santana hesitated for the longest time, dithering between stepping forward and trapping Quinn or waiting and not pushing forward. In the end it was Quinn's mouth quirking with more definition than ever before that ripped her from her internal struggle and she stepped forward. She slimmed the space between their bodies to less than a centimetre and for a moment her heart stopped. She felt a hand land on top of her own and her heart jerked almost painfully back into action. The familiar touch sent her heart quickly into overdrive as it beat rapidly against her ribcage.

Almost as though Quinn could sense her reaction, her hand tightened until it was cutting off the blood circulation to her fingers, like she was grasping the reality of this and also pushing it into Santana's awareness. She couldn't tell if it was a desperate escape attempt or acceptance of their progression. Either way she didn't move.

She waited.

For hour long seconds.

Impatience took over and she looked down when the grip didn't loosen after a drawn out minute, but she couldn't see what Quinn was doing. So she looked back to darkening hazel as she felt soft skin slowly begin to move and run along her own. For a few moments she was waiting for Quinn to rip her hand off of her hip and push her forcefully away. But it didn't happen and she felt her eyebrows connect in confusion as all that happened was Quinn's delicate digits running back and forth over the back of her hand in indecision.

She couldn't repress the shivers at Quinn's touch, and honestly she didn't even try. With Quinn it was always best to be upfront.

Just when she was beginning to think Quinn had lost it she felt delicate fingers wrap around her wrist in an unrelenting grip, holding her firmly in place. Santana felt something in her brain release tension in her shoulders and they sagged, her eyebrows falling apart in momentary relief before the tension swung back around and hit her in the chest. Her breath shortened and she realised too late that almost all of Quinn's irises were darkening to emerald. The green seemed to pull her in and she lost all concept of time for a few moments, until she felt Quinn take in a deep breath and dumbly realised it was the first proper sound since hitting her back on the wall.

She blinked heavily, breaking the connection, and Quinn's eyes fluttered. (A small part of Santana's brain was willing to believe it was her proximity that caused the small reaction. Because only God knew the reaction her body was having to Quinn's proximity, and fuck if it wasn't reciprocated because Quinn was there and her breath was short and her cheeks were flushed a heavenly colour, and she wasn't dreaming that Quinn's eyes were heavily lidded and _darkening.)_

Quinn was breathtaking when she was so unguarded like that and she found herself short of the words she was going to speak when she had begun to step forward. Every laboured breath she expelled was stolen as Quinn seemed unable to regulate her breathing and took in deep, short, uncontrollable lungfuls of air. Santana looked down to the parted lips before her as they gasped in yet more of the seemingly limited oxygen and she had a sudden urge to just close the gap and forget all of before, to lose herself once again in Quinn's being and hide from their harsh reality.

Her eyes flickered back up to dark hazel before her uncertainly and then back down to the appetizing lips, asking silent permission and swallowing her breath to an anxious gasp. She waited; breath still shallow and stomach tense, preparing for the gut wrench a 'no' would give her.

The only answer she got was Quinn's still darkening eye colour and the grip around her wrist getting impossibly tighter, she could almost feel the blood flow stop altogether, and she felt more than heard Quinn take in a deep, shuddering breath.

Santana paused and wondered how painful this was for Quinn. To let her walls down this far and not frantically build them back up and push away, it was a reaction etched into her being since birth. Her brow furrowed as she pondered what to do. Quinn was making all this effort, Santana could see it in her eyes, the conflict between want and need.

Her eyes closed in frustration, she couldn't tell what category she came under in Quinn's mind; was she a want or a need? To be a need was something Quinn couldn't live without, something that she needed to keep her world turning. To be a want was something Quinn wanted around, something Quinn wanted to need. Something Quinn had a choice in.

She rubbed her thumb over Quinn's soft bottom lip in thought, all she'd been doing was giving Quinn her choice in this. She'd made the jump but it was up to Quinn to take the leap. She didn't want to be a need, a necessity, she wanted to be wanted, to be _chosen._

Methodically she twisted and pulled her hand until her fingers regained their feeling and were tracing the lines of Quinn's palm gently, almost tickling. Feeling the slight tremors caused by her sensitive touch a smile curled the corner of her lips and she slid her fingers between Quinn's, intertwining their hands together and gripping tightly. She could feel heat radiating between their bodies, but was unsure if it was Quinn's reaction or her own. She didn't have it in herself to really care or search for a definitive answer as the need to see Quinn, to cement her presence once again, filled her and she opened her eyes.

Quinn had her own eyes closed, blocking the green from Santana's view and hiding her emotions from Santana's knowledge. Her head was tilted back ever so slightly, and her lips were parted as she carried on breathing heavily and deeply; Santana's thumb was no longer resting on her lip, but on the edge of her chin, a pale, bloodless pressure spot beneath it. Quickly, she moved and ran her thumb along the lines of Quinn's jaw, back and forth, tracing the intricate patterns of her complexion, and watched with fascination as each time her thumb passed over her skin it seemed to grow a darker, flushed shade of rose red. Her digits worked their way up, leaving a trail of pink in their wake until the tips of her fingers wiggled their way into the roots of her satin blonde hair. She found herself absently running her fingers through the silky tresses, enjoying the softness and the cushion it offered. Until finally she flattened her hand softly against Quinn's hairline and cheek and gently and slowly guided Quinn's head down with her hand, gripping their joined hands tighter and finding comfort in the surety of Quinn's hip below them.

Even with their heads and eyes now on the same level Quinn kept her eyes determinedly shut, the small crinkles at the corners of her eyes showed the strain she put in to the simple action. Santana let her eyes rake over the plains of Quinn's face for a moment; taking in the sculptured arch of her eyebrows and the unnatural straight line of her nose, down to her striking cheek bones and her rotund, dusky pink lips, still partially open and raking in air.

Slowly, Santana lent in, keeping her eyes locked on the dusky pink before her until she could no longer see them in her eye line. She closed her eyes then, breathing in deeply the apple scent of Quinn's shampoo, before closing the gap in a quick motion and feeling her own lips brushing like a whisper against Quinn's.

She didn't push and kept her lips determinedly unmoving, but she still felt the unique and enthralling pull only Quinn held. Her thumbs unknowingly drew circles around the hand she was holding and she registered somewhere in the back of her mind that her hand had slipped further into the confines of Quinn's soft blonde hair, gripping tenderly and keeping her close. Savouring the feel of Quinn's swollen lips Santana pulled back a millimetre, keeping her eyes closed and resting her forehead almost heavily against Quinn's. She breathed deeply and tried to regain feeling in her tingling legs and throbbing lips.

How many times had her lips been connected to Quinn's, now? She couldn't count. But not one had ever had that effect on her. Maybe it was because of the tightrope she found herself walking that made it all the more intense. Maybe it was a sign of her brain jamming from the hundreds and thousands of thoughts running through it.

Having not expected it she didn't react when she felt tentative lips press against her own, quickly, like Quinn was scared both not to do it and to do it. It seemed Quinn picked up on her shocked and nonresponsive reaction as soon as her lips connected to Santana's, and she pulled back almost immediately, emitting a barely audible gulp as her body tensed in rejection, feeling foolish and small once again.

By the time Santana realised Quinn had instigated that intimacy the blonde had completely pulled back, her lips far from Santana's and her eyes downcast, looking down to the floor through the minimal gap between their bare bodies. The brunette gently wiggled her hand free of Quinn's, leaving Quinn's hand cold, empty and alone on her hip. She moved quickly, feeling Quinn tense and sensing she was about an inch from running, and cupped Quinn's other cheek with her free hand, gently coercing her face and eyes once again up to Santana's.

She didn't hesitate this time. As soon as hurt hazel eyes locked reluctantly onto her own chocolate gaze she leant forward, capturing Quinn's lips in a sure and strong breathtaking kiss. She felt Quinn's lips begin to move with her own, returning the pressure and moving in tandem. She stepped forward, closing the gap between their bodies, and trapping Quinn in between herself and the redbrick wall at her back; they gasped in sync at the contact, at the soft and enticing feel of the others body pressed tightly against her own and the heat each was emitting, and the feel of each other's bodies just fitting so perfectly together. If Santana was a softer and soppier person she might have called them jigsaw pieces that were meant to be fitted together, but she wasn't and she was far too distracted by Quinn, so her fragmented brain settled for the broken and distracted whisper of 'perfect'.

She felt Quinn's hand, the one she had just left, lightly land on her own hip. She felt the light traces of the hand as it slid slowly around her back. She felt the shivers travel up and down her spine like sparks as Quinn's hand came to rest in the dip of her back, tracing back and forth with her fingers in the lightest of traces. Quinn's hand tightening in her hair and an extra pressure on her back pushed her closer to the blonde and she complied without complaint, all too eager to close every gap between them.

It was that thought that brought Santana back to herself and her original intentions. Smoothly, she moved her head to the side, slowing their shared kiss down and cooling the rising passion that had arisen in their actions.

For a moment Quinn fought against it, craving all things Santana as she tried to take her mind off of the developments of the past few minutes. But eventually she gave in, letting her lips be moulded and following in Santana's well practiced footsteps.

Gradually their lips slowed to a natural stop, Santana's lips lingered against Quinn's, savouring the sour taste of her puckered lips for a moment longer. When she pulled away it seemed every fibre in her being was shouting at her to lean back in and capture Quinn's adorably bruised lips. She barely resisted and held her determined ground as Quinn's lips absently turned into a pout and a frown line pulled her brows closer together. She felt the corner of her mouth turn up at Quinn's absent actions and her stomach flipped with butterflies at the possible meaning of her reaction. Taking a deep and calming breath Santana opened her mouth, forming the words and resisting the urge to stay silent when they tasted spicy on her tongue.

"Yes." Santana's jaw freezes as Quinn's soft and unexpected voice caresses her ears and her forehead crumples in confusion, not understanding what Quinn was saying. Even without her eyes open Quinn could sense Santana's confusion and a slightly nervous breath of air gushed from her lips, having not anticipated having to explain. She swallowed it heavily and spoke as evenly as she could.

"I'm petrified right now."

Santana laughs, genuinely laughs out loud and her forehead falls forward to land against Quinn's and rest there. She feels her whole face lifted in enjoyment and feels her mood lift with it too. She shakes her head slowly, a smile still gracing her face.

"Oh God, me too." She says, her hot breath rushing against Quinn's lips. She watches with satisfaction as Quinn's whole face lifts and she can virtually see the feeling of being laughed at dissipate as she laughs along with Santana.

They laugh at their own stupidity for an immeasurable amount of time. After all they've been through, after all they've said to each other, they're both still terrified.

Santana laughed wholeheartedly, listening intently to Quinn's bell-like laugh fluttering around her and settling on her ears like her favourite blanket on a cold day. Impossibly her mood shifted from self amusement to contentment and she slid her hands down and around Quinn's back, holding her body more comfortably against her own as their laughs died down; she linked her fingers resting on Quinn's back together, feeling secure and happy as Quinn sighed in contentedness. The blonde rolled her forehead from leaning on Santana's and slowly leaned down to rest her head heavily on Santana's shoulder. She ran her fingertips through to the end of brunette hair and then traced her fingertips down Santana's spine, until she could lay her hand flat next to her other.

She felt Santana's head lean down to rest on her own shoulder and felt her hot breath tickle her neck as she settled and breathed deeply. Quinn laughed silently, a grin forming on her lips as Santana's nose nuzzled in her hair and took in a gulp of air. She leant further into the crook of Santana's neck, breathing in nothing but the tangy, spicy and purely Santana fragrance surrounding her.

They stayed silent, more than comfortable and somehow feeling happier than in a long time as they held and sensed nothing but the other. As they stood, their breathing evened out until they were harmonizing together, their exhales and inhales completely synchronized. Quinn giggled when she first realised it and Santana tightened her hold as she nuzzled and tried to hide her face further in Quinn's neck - for the first time that night she felt embarrassed and she giggled. Quinn grinned at the very un-Santana like reaction.

They settled down into silence again. Santana shuffled her feet to relieve some of the pressure as she thought and her forehead crumpled. What did all of this mean? Did all of this mean that Quinn at least returned Santana's feelings of them being _more? _Or did she just seek Santana for comfort?

No, she dispelled that thought quickly. Quinn was a lot of things, but she'd grown past all of that. She was sure of it.

So that led to the conclusion that she must see something in them_. _Right? Because all of this intimacy was not what friends do. Cuddling while naked was not a 'friendly' thing to do. And, yes, the lines were already blurred. They'd been sleeping together for a little under a year now, and they'd learned more about each other in that time than in four years of 'friendship'. And while she didn't know about Quinn, so all she could do was hope it was reciprocated, Santana liked the side of Quinn she'd found. She had never expected Quinn to be such a nerd. She'd never expected Quinn to prefer big jumpers and jeans over the church-goer dresses everybody usually saw her in. She'd never expected Quinn to let go - in her naivety she'd assumed Quinn was bound have a heart attack at thirty.

She'd always known Quinn was vicious and mean and manipulative and self conscious and had hardly any self esteem – especially after Beth. But she'd never expected Quinn to be so deep and perceptive, never thought Quinn to be the quiet and retrospective type. She never even imagined Quinn could be so coy and somehow revelled in solitude – Santana had thought she craved the social attention she received when she was Head Cheerio.

(She'd known everything bad about Quinn for as long as she could remember. It was only in the past couple of years that she'd grown to see the lighter parts of Quinn.

Once when she turned up at Quinn's dorm in Yale, she ransacked her room while she was out – as was her custom. She'd found a whole folder on poetry and quotes. Poetry on love, death, life, hate. Quotes on more of the same. When she asked Quinn about it she gained a shrug and a disjointed reply of 'I just like them... What's it to you anyway?' before they were ripped from her grasp and placed safely back into their draw.

Many times she'd seen Quinn sat alone - either waiting for her or not expecting her - and she'd been the most content Santana had ever seen her. Her fingers beat out a nonsense pattern, her mouth was opened a fraction as she didn't have to concentrate on appearances, and sometimes, if they were up to it, her feet wiggled.

Quinn didn't need a lot of words to get her point across and often half way through a sentence Quinn already knew where you were going. She liked simplicity and straight forwardness.)

"We don't have to say anything." She promised eventually, coming to the conclusion that she was going to let things unfold how they were now. She'd pushed as far as she could against Quinn's walls, and no matter how it scared her, the rest was up to Quinn. So she pulled back, her hands unclasping and sliding around to rest on Quinn's hips. She spared Quinn a meaningful look before her hands dropped between them, and she turned her back to her, walking calmly with precise steps back to her bed. She grabbed the purple quilt cover from the floor, taking it with her and climbing into her bed.

She landed heavily on her back, leaving the left side open for Quinn to slip into if she wished, staring at the fading paint on the rafters of her roof but not really seeing them as she listened out for movement from Quinn.

She could virtually hear the mental turmoil.

This was it for Quinn. A true test for herself as she stared at the lump of Santana's body under her silk quilt. Did she want to join her? Yes, god yes. But she also wanted to run all the way back to New Haven and hide in the confines of her dorm. And what scared her was that she didn't know what she wanted more.

Before she would have scoffed, rolled her eyes and walked from the room with a flounce and an extra sway of her hips out of spite. And now that option was only fleeting as she watched the rise and fall of Santana's chest as she breathed steadily. She turned her eyes away from the sight, needing to clear her mind. She found herself staring at the dark stained wood of Santana's dresser and the elegantly hung, deep red curtain-wall providing a modicum of privacy. It wouldn't take a moment to grab her clothes from the floor and push through those curtains, and she knew Santana wouldn't follow. She was insecure about a lot of things, and she'd already pushed herself further tonight than she had in a while. She found herself absently smiling as she thought of the quirks Santana hid so well and her eyes fell on the lipstick stain around her coffee cup sat on the dresser. She doubted anybody but herself knew that Santana loved her coffee with three sugars and a _huge _dollop of cream. She'd savour every part of it that way, licking the remnants off of her lips. Not ten minutes ago those lips had been against hers and they'd been kissing. Genuinely kissing. Kissing like Quinn had never been kissed before, and she knew for sure that she had never kissed anyone how Santana had kissed her. She could still feel the traces of Santana's lips on hers, the gentle demand she pressed into that first kiss and the soft insistency as she slowed them down. Above every other sensation she could still feel the sting that bit her lips once Santana's weren't touching hers anymore and the chill that covered her body despite the high humidity of the room as soon as Santana's body wasn't against hers.

_'We don't have to say anything.'_

The echo of Santana's voice filled her mind, and suddenly all of the things Santana could have said filled her mind, drowning out the heavy fall of rain from outside. She could have ended this, but instead she was waiting for Quinn to. A part of Quinn felt it was unfair for Santana to place that weight on her shoulders, and then she shook her head. She was in this too. It was as much her decision as it was Santanas; and Santana had already made hers. And in making her choice she'd left Quinn stood alone to make hers, without influence.

Her heart shattered as she realised with a heavy breath that in one look and six words Santana had told her more than she had ever told her before. She'd told her that she was in this and she wanted it. She'd told her that she was scared but she was still stood tall. She'd told her that even though it would hurt her, she'd accept Quinn's choice if she chose to walk away.

Slowly, Quinn's foot lifted shakily and she hesitated, making sure she was positive about her decision before her foot fell to the floor silently, though it sounded like a bomb blast in her mind. She saw Santana's body twitch as though she was dying to see what Quinn's choice was, but she resisted, instead gripping her quilt tighter and staring with more intensity at her roof.

It was like an explosion had occurred in her brain: her thoughts were too scattered and she couldn't latch onto one thought before another popped up. Her body was frozen and unmoving, her ears straining to hear each and every twitch of Quinn's body. With disappointment she realised she couldn't, and all she could hear was her jerky footfalls and with a mental huff she realised she couldn't tell if Quinn was getting closer or farther away.

Maddeningly all sound stopped. Frantically she tried to replay the last few minutes sound in her head, wondering if she just couldn't see the wood for the trees, and she'd missed the telling swish of the curtain. And then she was more afraid to look up in case of an empty room than determined not to look up and pressure Quinn.

She barely managed to hold back her groan. She knew she'd pushed Quinn too far, too fast. She rolled her eyes at herself, pulling the quilt up to under chin and glaring hatefully at the ceiling, wishing more than anything that she could pass off the feelings of hurt and anger to the murky pine above her. But she couldn't and she was left with her stomach twisting and turning like a thunderous storm, her heart aching in her chest with unchecked feelings, and her eyes burning with bitter tears that she won't let fall. The feelings of rejection and stupidity soon take over, hiding her heart ache momentarily. Feeling foolish, she begins to pull the quilt over her face, intending to hide under it and not come out, not even for her morning coffee. But just as she was about to disappear into the satin depths of her quilt she catches movement to the left of her vision. Before she can even regulate or control it hope surges through her and she dropped the quilt as though it electrocuted her finger tips as her head whipped around faster than she thought possible. She ignored the twinge of pain shot down her neck and shoulder when she saw a very caught in the headlights looking Quinn, stood at the edge of her bed and looking at her purple satin quilt as though it might bite. She can't tell how long she was frozen for, a swell of shock and disbelief joining the disconnected swirling of hope short-circuiting her brain.

The sight of swirling hazel and green kick-started her brain once again and the disconnected feeling evaporated as her hands softly land back on her quilt to grip the edge. She can't bring herself to look away this time, entrapped by the sight before her. The moonlight shone through the small gap in the drawn blinds, coating the entirety of Quinn's right side in a silver light; the effect made her look like a sculptured angel, the sliver of silver light contrasted with ethereal beauty with her ivory skin and Santana's unobstructed view of her beauty had her brain stuttering. Slowly, cautious not to make Quinn jump, Santana's hand slid to the corner of her quilt. She could see Quinn's eyes twitch and un-focus, not moving her eye line from Santana's but watching the tanned hand from the edge of her vision. She didn't move her gaze as Santana's hand gripped the corner, millimetres from touching the soft skin of her thigh. She pulled back quickly, taking the quilt with her and creating a gust of wind that levitated Quinn's tousled blonde locks and caused a shiver to travel over her pale skin.

The flick of the quilt broke their connected gaze but as its folded edge settles on the bed once again Santana's eyes were still locked on Quinn's unblemished features. Quinn, however, grasped the opportunity and her eyes fell to the bed before her. She wasn't naive, or dumb, and as she looked at the open space before her she knew Santana's invitation was for a lot more than just the night. She swallowed heavily at the thought and her jaw locked tightly. She could still turn back, grab her clothes and hail a taxi. If she rushed she could make the late train. But she didn't move and her eyes remained on the twisted and screwed up sheets. She'd already made her decision - consciously a few minutes ago, subconsciously almost a year ago when she'd followed Santana into this very room five weeks after their Valentine's Day night.

Quickly, and clumsily, she sat herself on the edge of the bed, propelled with an unknown confidence in their actions. The impact of her fallen weight caused the bed to groan loudly in protest, and, startled by the noise, Quinn nearly jumped up straight again. She let out an overly loud, calming breath that turned into a laugh at herself; she could faintly hear Santana chuckle shakily behind her. The noise was sweet and unexpected and Quinn felt a flutter in her stomach at the sound; her cheeks dusted pink, wondering if Santana knew the effect she had on her. But then silence reigned again and the only sound in the room was the slowing of the rain from outside.

The bed rocked and groaned loudly, breaking the silence thunderously, and Quinn knew without looking that Santana had turned back onto her back, staring at the roof once again. The burning heat that she hadn't been aware of disappeared like someone had thrown water on the fire, and she knew with amazing clarity that the fire had been Santana's eyes watching her back. Her heart stuttered at the loss, squeezing and skipping a beat almost painfully.

Forcibly choking down the remaining doubts and smothering the tiny voice nattering in the back of her mind Quinn leant back, a fluid surety guiding her muscles. Before, her movements were jerky and clumsy, but now she moved with a confident grace. Her heartbeat betrayed her confident facade; it was beating in her chest with earnest, battering her ribcage with painful punches in its bid for freedom.

It seemed as soon as her back hit the mattress the dying storm outside decided to rear its head, and it howled loudly. The wind seemed to shake the very foundations of their building and the window panes rattled right along with it. She shivered as a sharp gust of wind whipped around the loft and blew open the curtains momentarily, hitting her like a bludgeon.

"Here." Santana said quietly, pulling the quilt back over and laying it comfortably on Quinn. Immediately Quinn felt heat surround her and she sighed happily, unable to resist snuggling further into the covers.

She wiggled, sinking deeper into the covers. Her stomach twisted because somehow she just knew Santana was grinning at her, even though she couldn't see her and even if she had uttered a noise she couldn't have heard it over the squeaking bed and the roaring wind and rain. Once she stopped, it seemed too quiet without the shrill squeals of the bed and it was only when she noticed that that she felt the burning heat of Santana by her side. And she suddenly felt too cold, and like a moth to a flame all she wanted to do was cuddle closer to the fire.

She didn't know how but Santana seemed to be able to tell, and almost like they were tied to the two ends of a bungee wire they shifted into the centre of the bed together.

"Thank you." Quinn whispered once they were both comfortably settled, a minimal gap between their bodies. "For the quilt."

Santana snorted, shaking her head and smiling wryly. She breathed out heavily, turning to look at Quinn's face. She was looking at the roof and Santana couldn't help that her smile turned softer as she noticed the smile turning the corners of Quinn's lips. She absently noticed that Quinn's hair was fanned out over the pillows, her own hair somehow resting alongside it undisturbed, before she turned her own head to look back at the roof.

"We should get some sleep." Santana whispered, closing her eyes. She heard the quilt ruffle and felt the pillows dip slightly and knew Quinn had nodded her head absently.

"With that storm outside?" Quinn added, surprising another shiver as the wind and rain reared its ugly head. She dipped her chin under the quilt, attempting in vain to shield as much of herself as she could from the phantom draft.

Santana sensed her movement and hesitantly she shifted her arm, slowly moving until she felt the soft skin of Quinn's arm along her own. When she felt no resistance and Quinn's skin immediately begin to heat up she gently turned Quinn's hand to palm face up and intertwined their fingers, resting their palms together. They fit like they were always meant to be and heat seemed to radiate between their hands, and their arms, twisted together and resting comfortably, spread the flame like fire accelerants.

"At least you're not travelling in it." The rain seemed to fall heavier as soon as the words left her mouth, the wind's howl increasing in volume to deafening levels.

Quinn couldn't say if it was the weight of those words or the physical contact but she suddenly felt the fire spread from her hand and arm straight to her heart, encompassing it in a comforting heat. And all the coldness melted from her as she clasped Santana's hand tighter, the fire spreading to the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes.

"Yeah." She smiled, closing her eyes.

_So what? I don't mind._


End file.
