Summary: Santana gets tickets to the White Party at Pride for her, Rachel, and Kurt. Rachel's outfit is a little... distracting. (Roughly canon at least up to 4x17 "Guilty Pleasures".)

A/N: Inspired by littlegleeprincess tumblr post/73624103952. Innumerable thanks to my beta timorous-scribe and my bestie Nelson for helping me through this! This is my first fic, so please be gentle. I hope you like it!

Santana slides the loft door shut, looking around for either of her roommates. When she sees Kurt on the couch reading a magazine, she greets, "Lady Hummel, is Babs home?"

"Santana, if you insist on continuing to call me names–" Rachel begins, exiting the bathroom before Kurt answers.

Santana cuts her off before she can be scolded. "In honor of being the newest, most fabulous, addition to this gayfest, guess who got us tickets to the White Party for Pride?"

Kurt sets down the Vanity Fair and stands up to pluck the ticket Santana's waving around. "Seriously? Isn't that a Sapphic affair?"

"No, Kurt, that's the White Party at Dinah Shore. There will be plenty of men at this party who aren't addicted to hair gel and actually know that a rim shot isn't something you do on a drum set. Who knows, Teen Gay? Maybe there's some bear out there waiting to make you his cub."

Rachel snatches her ticket from Santana's hand, staring at it in awe. "I have ALWAYS wanted to go to a White Party! Dads talked about the White Parties they'd go to before the Rachel Party started. It always sounded like so much fun!"

She looks up from the ticket at Kurt and Santana, and hops up and down. "Ooh! There will be so many people there, doing so many"–Rachel stops hopping, and Santana almost misses the pink tint that appears on her cheeks–"… things." Rachel clears her throat. "This will be an excellent opportunity to experience something that could add to my affective memory vault for acting!"

Santana rolls her eyes, "Wow. Okay! Well, this will be an excellent opportunity for me to experience gettin' my drank on and maybe even fit in some sweet lady kisses from some hottie I'll never see again, so."

Amazingly, Santana is the first one ready to go, rocking a white strapless skin-tight pencil skirt dress with ample (yet classy) cleavage on display, straight locks hanging loosely down her back.

"Sonny and Cher, let's go!" She pours four tequila shots. One to take while Kurt and Rachel take their sweet time doing whateverthefuck they're doing–"Berry, you better be paying extra on the next electricity bill. What the hell are you doing with that blow dryer? Do we need to go over what appliances are acceptable substitutes for a vibrator AGAIN?"–and three shots for them to do together. She's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after taking her first shot when Rachel walks out, seemingly in slow motion, in the tiniest white shorts she's ever seen anyone in. All she can focus on are legs that ostensibly go on forever. Okay, this needs to stop. Where did those legs even come from? Her breath catches when her eyes slither up to this white top with billowy sleeves she's never seen before. Is that … underboob? Rachel has boobs? She remembers to breathe when her eyes lock on Rachel's.

Noticing Santana is uncharacteristically speechless, Rachel touches her hair. "What? Is my hair too much? I'm trying a thing I saw them do once at Vogue when I was waiting for Kurt."

No, it's perfect. You look "like a dream."

"What?"

She stops breathing again. "What?"

"What did you say?"

"I…" Did I say that out loud? Shitshitshit. "You… your hair. It's… like cream. Whipped cream… It's fluffy. And… (cough) WE HAVE SHOTS! HUMMEL!"

Kurt saunters into the common area wearing yet another outfit Santana cannot make sense of. Grateful for the distraction, she holds out a shot glass and shrugs, "Well, at least you're wearing white. Bottoms up, Ladyface. Just in case you don't get lucky later."

One look at Rachel, and she realizes how much she wishes she could lick a line of salt off of the delicate skin of her collarbone, suck a trickle of tequila from the shallow of her belly, and tease out a lime from the waist of her shorts. Alarmed by the detail of her thoughts (and why she keeps thinking these things–This is Berry. The troll. Manhands. STOP. IT.), she pounds back the shot in her other hand.

Rachel makes her way over to the kitchen counter to where Santana has the drinks. She takes her glass, sniffs it, and recoils. "Tequila again, Santana? You know I can't stand tequila."

"Whatever, Berry. It's what we've got. And you know you actually love it." With a sigh, she clinks her glass against Santana's empty one and gestures towards Kurt's.

"To our newish roomie!" Kurt and Rachel throw back their shots. Rachel sputters, struggling to swallow, her face contorted in disgust.

"Ugh, Santana can you at least buy tequila that won't incinerate my throat? I kind of need that, you know?" She turns away to get some water.

Santana rolls her eyes and is about to say something about the quality of the alcohol she can get when she sees just how short Rachel's shorts really are. She's bombarded with images of those toned legs wrapped around her head and fumbles to catch the shot glass she's lost grip on. Kurt walks over to put his glass on the counter. Seeing Santana almost drop hers, he follows her line of sight to Rachel's ass. Eyebrow raised, and smirk firmly in place, he whispers, "You should probably put your eyes back in your head before Rachel notices."

Santana snaps her head toward Kurt, mouth agape. She slams the shot glass on the counter and snaps her mouth closed. "Shut it." She walks to retrieve her clutch purse from the couch as quickly as possible in three-inch heels. "Well, let's get a move on, shall we? The gays will not wait!"

Rachel grabs her wristlet, and they all head out.

Santana's buzz is already fading by the time they get to the club. Once they make their way through the door, their senses are bombarded with thumping music and the stench of uninhibited hedonism. Santana turns to her roommates and is about to ask what they want to drink when someone bumps into her from behind, forcing her to steady herself on Rachel. Before she can get out a "whatthefuck!?," the person has already melted into the throng, so she turns back to Rachel to make sure she didn't hurt her. Rachel has a weird look on her face, and just nods, her arms stiff at her side.

"What?"

"Um." Rachel looks down. "Your hands?"

Santana follows Rachel's line of sight and realizes she was gripping Rachel's hips from when she steadied herself. Why does she feel so good?

"Oh." Santana drops her hands. "Right. Uh… Drinks?"

She heads for the bar without waiting for an answer. Squeezing in between two people already there, she looks around, taking in the sea of bodies dressed in white, moving to the pounding music. She spies Rachel and Kurt finding a cocktail table between the outer ring of go-go boys dancing on platforms and the edge of the dance floor. Rachel is already talking to a brunette not much taller than her, and Kurt is making googly eyes at some shirtless gym bunny go-go dancer. Santana turns just in time to see the bartender catch her eye and places her order–two tequila sunrises for the princesses and two shots of Patron for herself. Maybe if she gets a good buzz going, these stupid thoughts about Rachel and her legs and boobs and mouth that she sometimes wishes she could just shut up with her own…WHAT. Is happening? As soon as the bartender sets down the drinks, she does both shots before she even pays for them. The bartender cocks her eyebrow at her and nods, impressed. While digging in her clutch for cash, Santana misses the bartender's eyes traveling down her body appreciatively. She hands her the cash and thanks her before taking the drinks back to her roommates.

Rachel doesn't seem to notice her return, still engrossed in conversation with her dwarf kin. What even is that? Who has a conversation in a club? Santana places the drinks on the cocktail table as hard as she can without spilling them. Startled, Rachel looks away from her new friend. She smiles and thanks Santana for her drink.

Rachel picks up the drink and brings the straw to her lips. "Santana, this is Julie. She goes to NYADA!" The brunette looks her up and down, and nods in greeting.

"Yeahhh. So. Where's Hummel?"

"I think he's dancing with that go-go dancer." Rachel sips her drink more, then takes Santana's hand, looking at Julie. "Come on, let's dance!"

Sighing, Santana grabs Kurt's drink before she's pulled toward the dance floor. They find Kurt with the go-go dancer, and Santana hands him his drink. He introduces him as "Alexander… you know, like, The Great?" and waggles his eyebrows. Santana can't help but laugh. Boy is in dire need of some lovin'.

Now that the tequila is finally working its magic, Santana momentarily forgets her annoyance at Berry's apparent sex appeal and her new friend visiting from the Shire, and starts moving to the music. Rachel hops around in time to the music, laughing at the look on Santana's face, and moves her arms in a circle.

"Oh, my god, are you doing the cabbage patch?" Santana asks, trying not to laugh.

Kurt catches Rachel's flailing about and snorts, "If only Cassandra July could see you now!"

Julie stares at Rachel, unsure what to think of this display, and Rachel immediately drops her arms, sheepish at getting caught dorking it up. Julie just smiles and pulls her closer by the waist. Santana falters in her dancing, her smile fading at the interaction. Catching her immediate change in demeanor, Kurt takes Santana's hand to dance with him.

As the music flows, Santana can't help but steal glimpses of Rachel (ignoring Julie if she can help it). Her eyes travel along Rachel's flowing, perfectly blow-dried hair, down to the patch of skin showing through the gap between her top and shorts. She watches a bead of sweat drip down her spine and disappear into the top of her shorts. Those damn shorts. Rachel is circling her hips in time to the music, and Santana can't help but notice how great her ass looks in them. She realizes she's staring, and looks away to see Kurt not even trying to hide the smirk on his face.

He leans in close to her ear, "Your gay for Berry is showing."

Santana jerks back and doesn't see a look of judgment on his face; rather, he smiles at her sympathetically.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Not. One. More. Word. Ladylips." Kurt shakes his head, zips his mouth close, and throws away the key, then pulls Santana into a spin.

Santana ignores the dirty looks some twink throws her when she crashes into him mid-spin. Kurt apologizes for her, and turns to see what caused her to stop dancing. Janice – no, Jane? Whateverhernameis has her tongue down Rachel's throat.

Santana rolls her eyes and struggles to contain the tequila swirling in her stomach, turning to Kurt.

"Look, um. This is kind of lame. I'm gonna… Yeah."

Santana shakes her head, turning away, and heads for the exit. As she passes the bar, she barely catches a look of disappointment on the bartender's face. Being fully consumed with the confusing mix of emotions that stupid kiss started, she keeps walking, taking a deep breath when she gets outside. She contemplates hailing a cab right out of the club, but decides to walk a few blocks to let off some steam.

She's almost a block down when she hears her name. She immediately recognizes the voice, but continues on, picking up her pace. Rachel calls out again. Reluctantly, Santana stops, refusing to turn around.

Rachel catches up to her, and walks around to face her. "Santana."

Taking a deep breath, she stares over the top of Rachel's head at the flickering pizza sign at the parlor up the street. Rachel says her name again. "What!?"

"You left. Why did you leave? Kurt told me you just ran out. Then he said something about seeing just how great Alexander is?"

Santana ignores the bit about Kurt; he can handle himself. Besides, she's got herself sold on being pissed at Rachel. "Oh, I don't know. When I bought passes to this party I didn't realize I had gotten front row tickets to the long-lost Lord of the Rings documentary, 'Mating Rituals of Hobbits.' Go back to your girlfriend." She bumps Rachel's shoulder as she stomps past her.

Rachel is frozen in place in a split second of realization. She scoffs in disbelief, turning back and catching Santana's arm. Santana turns but refuses to look at her. "Are you… are you jealous?"

Santana's eyes snap to Rachel's face. "What? No!"

"Because I didn't kiss Julie."

Santana looks at Rachel like she's just grown an extra head.

Before Santana could say anything, Rachel continues, "She kissed me. I mean, it was enjoyable. Julie is very skilled." Santana makes a face like she's just been told Breadstix is now a raw vegan restaurant.

Rachel continues on, unperturbed. "It was educational. But it wasn't what I wanted."

"Great. So, confirmation that you're straight. And congratulations. Now you have something you can use for your acting vault thingy… if you ever get a bit part in a sweeps week episode on a failing TV show." She huffs and turns to walk away.

"What is your problem?"

Santana stops and whips back around to face Rachel. "My problem? My problem is you. YOU are my problem. We were supposed to come out, have some drinks, and you just … make out with someone that wouldn't be able to even ride half the rides at Disneyland. AND a girl, no less! I was the one that was supposed to meet some hottie and make out with her and dance the night away. But instead you come out of the bathroom in that, that… that OUTFIT, looking all hot–and what even IS that–and threw me off my game." Santana huffs, crossing her arms in front of her.

Rachel tries to hide her grin and gently teases, "What game?"

Santana looks at her incredulously, speechless, but helplessly starts chuckling. "Shut UP, I so have game."

Rachel purses her lips, looking down at her shoes. "So, you think I look hot?" She lifts her head and looks at Santana through her eyelashes.

Santana's mouth goes dry. Why has she never noticed how dark Rachel's eyes are? "Um. I mean, whatever… for a midget."

Rachel steps closer to Santana, never breaking eye contact, and gently uncrosses Santana's arms. Santana swallows and licks her lips, clenching her fists at her side. Rachel's eyes flicker to her mouth when she sees the movement, her own tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Not believing what's happening, Santana looks at Rachel's lips and whispers, "What are you doing?"

"What I want."

Santana closes her eyes and holds her breath. She feels a whisper of Rachel's lips on hers, unmoving. With a sigh, she tilts her head slightly, leaning forward, moving her lips against Rachel's. She rests her hands on Rachel's hips, grasping the fabric of the shorts that started all of this. How does this feel so good? Feeling emboldened, she bunches the fabric in her hands, pulling Rachel into her, deepening the kiss. Rachel whimpers, parting her lips and welcoming Santana's exploring tongue. Rachel lifts her hands to cup Santana's cheeks.

Santana's head is in a fog. Less than five minutes ago she was stomping her way through Midtown, cursing her roommate's name. And now, she's kissing her in the middle of the sidewalk. Kissing her roomma- no, Rachel. She's kissing Rachel fucking Berry. And she loves it. With that revelation, she breaks the kiss with a gasp. Rachel whimpers at the loss, eyes closed and her palms still gently holding Santana's face, her forehead resting against Santana's.

"We should go," Santana breathes.

Slowly opening her eyes, Rachel searches Santana for any hint of regret. Not finding any, she smiles.

"Yeah."

Santana hails a cab, opening the door for Rachel to get in first. When she closes the door, Rachel has already given their address to the cab driver. Rachel leans back, holding her wristlet in her lap. Santana watches as they drive by the club, lips still tingling from the kiss. She inhales deeply through her nose, and presses her lips together. The vinyl of the seat squeaks as Rachel shifts slightly to face Santana, and Santana looks down at her hands, feeling fingers brushing the back of her hand. Santana flips over her own hand and Rachel places their palms together, intertwining their fingers. She lifts her eyes, searching Rachel's for any doubt.

"Are you sure about this?"

Rachel squeezes Santana's hand, corners of her mouth lifting in a small smile. "Not really." Santana looks down at their joined hands, shoulders sagging almost imperceptibly. "But I'm sure about you. I care about you, Santana. And we don't have to do anything you'll regret. But I want you to know that I'm not going to wake up tomorrow wishing I never kissed you. I need you to know I meant what I said before."

Santana lifts her eyes again, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "That I have no game?"

Rachel lets out a snort that Santana finds shockingly charming. "Well, yes. Also, that kissing Julie isn't what I wanted." Santana sneers at the mention of the garden gnome. "And, no, it didn't confirm my sexuality. That's…for another discussion. It did confirm something, though." Santana nods her head somewhat impatiently, encouraging Rachel to go on. "It confirmed that I really wanted to be kissing someone else. I… really wanted to be kissing you."

Santana fails at fighting the grin that makes its way on her face, "Wanky." As Rachel rolls her eyes, Santana pulls Rachel to her by the back of her neck and crashes their mouths together. Rachel is momentarily stunned by the sudden onslaught of lips but quickly recovers, returning Santana's kiss with equal fervor. She tangles her free hand in Santana's hair, pulling her closer still, teeth clashing as their mouths move in tandem with one another. Giving her hand one last squeeze, Rachel lets go of Santana and shifts her body to get a better angle. Santana's hands move to Rachel's hips, pulling her onto her lap.

She slides her hands down, feeling the hem of Rachel's shorts, finally touching the skin that has been tempting her all night (and for years if she's really honest with herself). She rubs the tops of Rachel's thighs, lightly at first, skin barely skimming skin. Rachel gasps, breaking their kiss.

She opens her eyes to see a look in Santana's she's seen before–earlier, at the loft, when she first walked out in her White Party outfit. She originally took it for judgment, but now she realizes she was so very mistaken. That look was pure, unadulterated want. Santana Lopez wants her. The combination of their heated kisses, Santana's scant touches, and the revelation that this beautiful woman wants her sends a flash of heat straight to her core. Tangling her hands further into Santana's hair, she pulls her into a searing kiss. Santana grips Rachel's thighs to anchor herself, heatedly rubbing them up and down.

At the sound of Rachel's whimper, Santana squeezes her thighs together hoping to ease some of the burning ache. Rachel's whimper turns into a low moan when Santana inches one of her hands to the apex of her thighs. Santana slowly rubs the seam of her shorts with her thumb, not putting enough pressure for Rachel's liking. The shorter girl grinds her hips into Santana, seeking more contact where she needs it. Santana briefly considers being a tease, but if barely touching her elicits these sounds out of Rachel, she doesn't know what she'll do when she gives her more.

She barely registers the sound of a throat clearing and the car stopping. She detaches her lips from Rachel's and looks out the window to see that they're in front of their building. Rachel opens the door and slides off of Santana with as much dignity as she can muster after having been felt up in the back of a cab. Santana digs out enough cash for the fare and some extra tip, handing it to the driver. He turns to take the money, not even trying to hide his leer.

Santana scoffs, "You're welcome, perv."

She steps out of the cab and walks to their doorstep, where Rachel is holding the door open.

They make it up the stairs, stumbling only twice before coming to a consensus that kissing and trying to navigate stairs while tipsy is not a good idea. Hand-in-hand, Rachel leads them to the loft door. Standing behind Rachel with one arm around her waist and her hand resting on Rachel's stomach, Santana brushes her hair off one shoulder. Hooking one finger in the collar of Rachel's shirt, she pulls the fabric down and leaves a trail of barely-there kisses from behind her ear down the expanse of exposed skin on her neck. Rachel fumbles with her key, attempting to unlock the door.

Santana presses her body closer against Rachel's back to whisper in her ear, "Having some trouble?"

Rachel swears she can feel Santana's nipples through her dress. She closes her eyes and sends a little prayer of thanks when the lock clicks. She slides the door open and they walk through, Rachel turning to shut and lock it. Before she can click the lock, Santana flips her around and resumes kissing her neck, licking and sucking lightly at her pulse point. Dropping her wristlet, Rachel throws her head back against the door and closes her eyes, hands clinging to Santana's waist.

"God, Santana," she breathes.

Santana smiles against her neck, her hands gliding down Rachel's body. Her left hand reaches behind Rachel's right leg, hooking it around her waist. She can smell Rachel's arousal, which makes Santana's head swim. Rachel grinds against Santana, her hands flying to bring Santana's face to hers. She kisses her hard, mouth open, her tongue searching for Santana's. Needing to breathe, Rachel breaks the kiss. She leans her forehead against Santana's, looking right into her eyes.

"I need you. Please."

"Fuck," Santana moans.

Her right hand finds the apex of Rachel's shorts, resuming their sojourn in white that was interrupted in the cab. This time, she doesn't consider teasing her. She easily slides her index finger beneath both the fabric of her shorts and her panties, pushing them off to the side. Santana gasps when her finger glides easily through the wetness it finds. Her finger draws insistent circles around Rachel's clit, and Rachel buries her face in Santana's neck, one hand gripping Santana's dress at her waist and the other bruising Santana's upper arm.

Not wanting to wait any longer, Santana plunges two fingers into Rachel. Rachel's knees buckle, but Santana's hold on her keeps her upright. She tips her head back against the door again and closes her eyes as she feels Santana scissor her fingers inside of her.

"Mmmmmfuckkkkkk," she groans.

Santana knows if her panties weren't ruined before she made Rachel curse while making that noise, they're definitely done for, now. She feels her own wetness seep through her thong, coating the tops of the inside of her thighs.

"God, Rach. You are so fucking sexy, you know that?"

"Mmfff." Rachel's grip on Santana's dress tightens.

Feeling her insides flutter around her fingers, Santana knows Rachel's close. She finds her clit with her thumb and Rachel's eyes fly open, staring at the ceiling.

"Look at me, Rach. You wanna come, baby?"

Rachel's eyes burn into Santana's, and all she can do is nod furiously. "…yes, God, yes. Santanaaaaaa…" she whines.

Rachel's body stiffens, and she lets out a groan that turns into a high-pitched squeak as she comes. Santana gives her a second to catch her breath before sliding out of her. She sets her leg down gently, and brings her soaked fingers to her lips. Rachel's eyelids are heavy, but widen slightly when she realizes what she's doing.

Santana closes her eyes as she gets her first taste. "You're even better than I thought." Rachel pulls her face to hers, tasting herself on Santana's tongue.

"Bed. Now."

Rachel pushes off of the door, pulling Santana's mouth back to hers. She leads Santana backwards toward her area of the loft, kicking off her shoes and unzipping Santana's dress. Santana does the same with her own shoes, and vaguely hears them crash into the side table. Santana rolls her own dress down, and impatiently shoves it to the side with her foot.

Rachel guides Santana to the bed, Santana sitting back and resting on her hands. Standing between Santana's legs and never breaking eye contact, Rachel lifts her own shirt over her head. Santana's mouth goes dry when she sees Rachel wasn't wearing a bra.

Santana looks up as she reaches for Rachel, pulling her by the waistband of those damn shorts. Rachel climbs on top of Santana, one leg on either side of Santana's hips. Their lips find each other, as Santana's hands try to memorize Rachel's body, to immortalize this moment, because what if? What if this is a dream?

She breaks away from Rachel's kiss, opening her eyes slowly. Her gaze floats across Rachel's face–her eyes are still closed, her lips swollen and pink, her breath stolen. She isn't a dream. She's real. And she's here. With me. She can only imagine the look on her own face by the way Rachel gently cups her cheeks, lifting her head to look into her eyes.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Rachel grins before pushing Santana all the way back onto the bed. Santana scoots up so her head is on the pillows.

She moans as Rachel trails kisses from Santana's mouth down her jaw to her ear. Licking the shell of her ear, she glides one hand up Santana's sides, tickling her ribs before cupping her breast. Santana lets out a sigh, which catches when Rachel grazes her nipple with her thumb.

"Rach," Santana pleads. Her nipple hardens almost painfully, and her breast puckers with goosebumps.

Rachel replaces her thumb with her mouth, settling her weight on one half of Santana's body.

"Hmm?" Rachel questions, bringing her leg between Santana's, her knee caressing Santana's inner thigh before settling on the bed. Her hand finds Santana's other breast. She squeezes it firmly while her tongue flicks lightly across the tip of her nipple. She rolls the nipple of the breast in her hand between her thumb and forefinger, pinching it sharply.

Santana's head tilts back on the bed with a gasp, her legs clenched around Rachel's, desperate for any contact.

Letting out a groan, Santana's hands find Rachel's back. She drags her nails up her back, which forces Rachel to release her nipple with a pop as she gasps in surprise. She moves so her face is above Santana's.

"Rach, while this feels so. fucking. good. My lady parts are gonna need a bit more attention right about five minutes ago."

Santana stares at Rachel hovering above her, imploring her to do something. She scrunches her brow at the smirk plastered firmly on Rachel's face.

"What?"

Rachel bites the corner of her bottom lip, which just makes Santana's insides clench. "Well, there is something I've been wanting to do."

Before Santana can tell her to just do it, Rachel slithers down her body, sliding off her thong before settling between her thighs.

"Oh." Santana breathes. "God, yes."

She feels Rachel part her legs, kissing each of her thighs. She hears Rachel's breath catch, and looks down, thinking she was freaking out or grossed out or something. She's about to ask as much when she sees Rachel's eyes wide, a look of absolute hunger on her face, and a smile she's never seen before–it's almost predatory.

"You're so beautiful. And you smell so fucking good."

Before she can react, she feels Rachel's tongue glide between her folds, licking up to where she is aching most. She clenches her fists around the sheets, gasping as Rachel's licks quickly shift from tentative to confident. She's slightly embarrassed at how close she already is, but she doesn't care.

Santana's breathing becomes progressively shallower and she can feel her orgasm quickly approaching. Opening her legs wider to give Rachel better access, one hand releases the sheet and buries itself in Rachel's hair, gently pulling her head closer.

Closing her eyes, Santana moans, "Ohhhh, god, Rach, don't stop. Pleeeeease don't stop."

"Mmmnever," Rachel mumbles, never lifting her head.

Santana barely registers the sheet popping off the corner of the bed as her eyes fly open when she feels Rachel slip two fingers inside of her and begin tapping against the spot that Quinn didn't even find. Her head tilts back; her hips and eyes roll simultaneously. For a split second, she thinks it's too much all at once, then Rachel starts sucking on her clit. She inhales sharply, and on her exhale, she lets out this guttural moan that she doesn't even recognize as she comes.

Rachel places a single, chaste kiss on her mound, and slowly removes her fingers once Santana's grip on them begins to ease. She sidles back up to lay next to Santana, her head propped up on her elbow.

"Shit, Berry. Where the hell did you learn all that?" Santana says once her breathing begins to return to normal.

Rachel is bashful, despite the praise. "Well… one can accomplish anything she puts her mind to if she wants it enough." She looks away as she mumbles, "…And does enough research."

"'Research?' Wait. Did… did Rachel Berry watch lesbian porn to learn… techniques?"

"Not exactly. I mean… Nina Hartley barely does porn anymore. She has a very thorough column–mmff!"

Santana cuts her off by flipping them over and kissing her soundly.

"We're gonna take a more hands-on approach to your research."

Rachel giggles as Santana peppers kisses across her face while tickling her sides. They hear the loft door slide open and (presumably) Kurt trip over something. They freeze, trying not to make any noise.

"What the…?" Kurt mumbles to himself.

Rachel fails to suppress a snicker as Santana scrambles to grab blankets.

"Rach, why are your shoes–" Kurt stumbles into Rachel's living area and stops talking at the sight of Rachel and Santana on Rachel's bed, under a sheet looking like they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar… naked.

"Oh, my god! What–"

"Kurt, don't be such a prude," Rachel scolds, nose haughtily in the air while she desperately tries to keep her lady bits covered. "And what happened to Alexander the Great?"

"He was more like Alexander the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Lay."

Santana snorts out a laugh, and Rachel presses her lips together in an attempt to maintain her haughty posture.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "…And I'm not a prude. Just… finally. God. But I'm too drunk for this. And I'm going to bed. So. Keep it down, will ya? Because I surely will ralph if I hear any kind of live audio tracks from The L Word." He closes the curtain dividing the "rooms" and they hear him mumbling under his breath as he heads for his own space.

Rachel looks at Santana, eyes squinted in contemplation, "What did he mean, 'finally?'"

Santana scoffs, "Pssh, whatever. You know how he always thinks he knows everything. Now… where were we?" Santana rolls on top of Rachel and attacks her with kisses.

"I do believe you were about to take my research to the next level."

"Mmm," Santana murmurs in agreement.

"But I think these need to come off first." Rachel reaches for the zipper on the shorts she's still wearing, but Santana stops her.

"Let me. I have wanted to do this all day."

Santana slowly unzips Rachel's shorts, sliding them off her legs reverently. Rachel licks her lips, consciously taking deep breaths as her heartbeat quickens affectionately. Finally, indeed.