A/N: A little housekeeping first. When I first started this fic, it was not known that Rachel was actually chronologically a year younger than everyone else in her grade due to her birthday being in December, Santana's mother wasn't named, and I hadn't noticed that Santana was actually left handed. Good thing I don't think I ever named the Berry men, so there's that, at least. But for the others, this is already obviously an A/U, so let's just keep it called that and let all those little things I've thought about over the years now slide. Thanks.
A/N2: I finally decided that waiting to be back in the same place to continue this story was silly as I was never going to be back in the same place, so said phooey on that empty excuse and ventured forth!
Snuggled up on the couch, Rachel's feet in her lap as they laughed at Finding Nemo, Santana's hand was sliding up and down her leg, stroking as softly as she could so they wouldn't be caught. Rachel's eyes had flickered over to hers too many times to count, but it wasn't like Santana hadn't been looking back.
Heat had steadily been rising between them, as it had done so often lately, thick and blatant, electric. The pads of Santana's fingers tingled, her body automatically reaching for the other girl.
It had been only forty-five minutes since their last stolen kiss, hurried between Santana's parents leaving the room to start on dinner and Miguel's older brother sneer at the girls watching a "cartoon" before settling in to watch on the chair opposite, but Santana knew it was all Rachel could think about too.
They still hadn't defined it, whatever it was between them, but after giving in and admitting that they couldn't stay away, the heat, the prickling of awareness and need had only grown between them.
It was exhilarating.
It was terrifying.
It was something neither could ignore.
And that, Santana held her breath as she added her fingernails to her stroke, unable to hold back a loud chuckle at Rachel's indignant squawk and jerk of feet from her lap, putting her arms up in front of her face to block the pillow aimed at it, perhaps was what was most scary about it.
"That was mean," Rachel huffed, crossing her arms after dropping the pillow and pouting at her, one corner of her lips quirking up insolently.
Santana couldn't help licking her lips after looking at it, and she quickly glanced over at her brother to see if he was paying attention. "No," she drawled, relieved to see that he was still paying attention to the TV, shifting her body to more face her cousin, "It's that you're just too ticklish."
"Well, you shouldn't have tickled me!" Upgrading her pout into a scowl, Rachel sat up on her knees, propping her palm onto the top of the couch to lean in towards Santana, her other hand cocked and tensed as if it was going to shoot forward and try to tickle Santana back.
Santana laughed again. Her heart was pounding, but with another look at her brother, she allowed herself to lean back, tilting her head in challenge. "You wouldn't dare."
Glancing down, at Santana's chest, Rachel's lips parted. Santana flushed, and Rachel snapped her gaze back up. "Are you really doubting me, 'Tana?"
Her heartbeat tripling, Santana still somehow succeeded in giving her a smirk.
The resulting squeal as Rachel went for broke and actually dared to pounce onto her, hands searching out all over her torso and waist, was all that was needed to make Miguel, groaning and rolling his eyes, leave them alone, muttering how he'll catch it on Netflix later, because, god, they were such freaks.
Flailing, trying to use her taller body to turn the tables on her cousin, Santana couldn't stop laughing; Rachel was nothing if not insistent and strong when determined. Wrapping her arms around Rachel's body, trying to trap her arms and hands, she had to gasp, biting back a moan when hands other than her own landed on her breasts.
Rachel froze.
Santana couldn't breathe. It was like, suddenly, her whole body was something more than flesh and bone.
An inferno, was all she could think with her eyes slamming closed, her hands taloned on Rachel's shoulders losing their grip as the girl ripped away. Santana couldn't stop herself from making a sound of surprise and loss as suddenly she was alone on the couch, Rachel plopping to the floor next to her.
"I'm so sorry!" Rachel gasped, voice high and almost panicked, disappearing into her palms as she lifted her hands to her face. "God, I'm, I'm such a pervert! That was so wrong, I'm sorry – !"
Blinking wildly, face hot and heart pounding and reeling with all the feelings of what was there and not anymore, Santana collected herself enough to throw her hand out, first tapping Rachel's shoulder with the back of her knuckles before twisting her wrist to clamp down. "Rache, mmm, Rache," she laughed, almost painfully, having to cough and clear her throat and shake her head before continuing, "You're fine, alright? I know…" Lowering her voice, she furtively stared at the door leading into the kitchen and other rooms, then turned back, "You didn't mean to, but accidents, hey, Rache, look at me, they happen, and we're okay."
She didn't say how sickly good it had made her feel. Nor how inside, she couldn't help wondering about if they ever…
Would they ever go that far?
The tops of Rachel's ears were red, dark, but her hair moved, signifying she was nodding. Good. Distracted back into the moment, Santana hmmed, managing to smile as she tapped her fingers on Rachel's shoulder, breathing in deeply as she pulled away, "We's all's right." She had to laugh again at the disgruntled exhalation that got, murmuring affectionately, "You're a dweeb," and straightened and patted the spot next to her. Picking up the remote control to rewind the movie, she lightly kicked Rachel's side, grinning at her when she looked up. "C'mon, sit up here with me. I promise I won't tickle you again."
"I don't believe you," Rachel muttered. Santana swore she could see a dark eye peering up at her.
Santana smirked toothily. "Just gonna hafta trust me." She opened her arms, wiggling her eyebrows. "C'mere."
She wondered if Rachel could see how honest she was being behind the teasing. Or how unsure she was.
Breathing in deeply, Rachel pushed herself up, sliding slowly onto the couch next to her. Their shoulders and sides touching, she blushed, blindly whacking Santana's stomach when she smirked at her again. "I don't know why I like you," she whispered.
"I do." Santana pulled her hand into hers. Squeezing her fingers, almost breathless from the everything holding Rachel's hand always did, she clicked the movie back on and relaxed to make sure they looked sufficiently innocent, "It's because I'm the only one who can handle you."
Rachel's lips curved up. "And vice versa."
Santana rolled her eyes, grinning. "Told you. Dweeb."
When soft, shy smiling lips brushed along her cheek, accompanied by her cousin's low voice murmuring, "As long as you don't mind," her heart almost burst, splattering against her lungs and ribcage.
Everyone was just about the right amount of drunk when they went downstairs to seem to barely care that Santana and Rachel had obviously something between them and had left to do something after having kissed each other like it had meant something even more something.
Kurt and Mercedes were crumpled in front of the corner of the couch, giggling and alternately jeering or cheering as each other made use of the karaoke machine. From the fact that no liquid was sloshing out of their cups as they swung them around in the air, it wasn't a surprise they were barely understandable. Santana smirked, and planned to take as much video and pictures on her phone as she could to insure they would never cross her again and hope to get away with it unscathed.
Brittany was currently killing it on the DDR pad, Mike and Matt clapping and urging her on behind her, what looked to be like, oddly, two of Brittany's dad's ties tied around their foreheads. Taking one look at the trio, Quinn laughed and shook her head, leaving Santana's side to make her way over to make sure Brittany's exertion wouldn't shift the dance pad close enough to end up with her elbows or feet toppling over the curio case near the TV.
Tina and Artie were wheeled backwards into the coffee table, the vampire stutterer draped over her soon-to-be-it-was-so-obvious-it-was-disgusting-boyfriend's lap, hiding her face in Artie's shoulder and unable to keep back fits of giggles as Finn and Puck, completely shit-faced, were attempting to play Guitar Hero on the TV dragged in from… Santana squinted - yes, those were the stickers Brittany's sister loved to put on everything on the side - the hardest setting and failing miserably at it.
And there, all by their lonesome, were Santana's pizza and whiskey untouched and waiting for her.
Oh god fuck yes.
Food and alcohol. Could only make that night better. Besides, she turned and looked at Rachel, taking in the scene in front of her with wide eyes and parted lips, it wasn't like Rachel wasn't going to join her this time, right? Maybe not shot for shot, but…
Oh. Oh fuck.
Santana sucked in a breath.
If she did, Santana wouldn't be able to get her off her.
As soon as she thought that, Santana slammed her free hand into a fist, curling her fingernails into her palm, her other hand almost bashing herself in the thigh with her cast.
Food! Food would be good, she thought, it coming out in a strangle even inside her own mind, desperate to distract herself. She was trying not to bring any more attention to herself and Rachel, after all, and doing nothing to stop Rachel and herself from…
In front of everyone…
Would not be good.
And she could control herself.
She could.
She could.
…
Fucking hell, who was she kidding? She could try to control herself and see how far that got her.
Try.
She sighed.
Yes. That's what she was going to do.
Try.
…
Like that was a recipe for success.
Oh god. Santana needed to stop talking to herself.
So. She was still standing just inside the doorway of the living room, taking everyone in like an idiot. Which meant it was time to do something. And that something? The first part in trying to succeed in controlling herself?
Reaching out to snag the sleeve of Rachel's short sleeved shirt, Santana gave her a smile and inclined her head. "C'mon. I'll kick the queens off the machine. You want to sing, don't you?"
The blinding smile she got back once Rachel blinked and focused on her, the lines around her eyes crinkling in excitement, practically made Santana's legs go weak. Fuck, but the way Rachel had always looked, ecstatic to sing, had never not taken Santana's breath away. Her cousin was beautiful. And then to add in her voice and her performing? She was radiant.
And at this point, Santana thought, tearing herself away before she kissed Rachel and pushed her back into the wall – she actually had to fucking lock her knees and waver on her feet, looking back and forth between Rachel's eyes and lips for what seemed like forever as heat sizzled under her skin and Rachel rose up to meet her until Wheezy's obnoxious braying laugh brought them back into focus, catching sight of Rachel's cheeks darkening as she ran her hand through her hair and picked at her shirt, coughing self-consciously with a small smile on her face as she twisted away – maybe she should just give in and let herself enjoy it. Enjoy Rachel.
They had that night, after all.
Plenty of time for the unavoidable shitstorm later.