The Game of Consent

Santana Lopez does bad, bad things to Rachel Berry. Santana reminds her every week when she makes the soprano beg the Latina to do it. Rachel can't explain it to herself, and she hates that. Santana and everything to do with the girl doesn't fit into the boxes Rachel sorted her life into. Some weeks, she dreads going; sometimes, it's all that carries her through everything else. She never skips a week, and she never regrets it afterwards. Santana does, or at least she says she does. She crosses her arms and tells Rachel so in a cold voice, saying it's all Rachel's fault. Rachel doesn't know what, exactly is her fault, and sometimes it keeps her up at night, but when Santana tells her that, she just begs and begs for a chance to make it up to her. That's what Santana's after, and she knows it.

This week, Rachel is sitting cross-legged on Santana's bed, hands in her lap. Her lip trembles as Santana gracefully walks two fingers up her shoulder and to her mouth. She presses gently on Rachel's bottom lip, and Rachel parts her teeth a little, just enough to taste Santana's fingers. Santana pries Rachel's mouth open as far as it will go with a bemused expression on her face. She gives up her purchase as she slides her fingers over Rachel's tongue, almost far back enough to make Rachel gag. She can't gag, though; Santana will laugh.

Santana leans forward until the tips of their noses are touching, her right hand still blocking their mouths. Rachel's breathing through her mouth (she's been singing for so long that she's practically forgotten how to breathe through her nose), and the sound of her own excitement is hot enough, but compared with those harsh eyes? Those eyes she wants to please so much? Rachel doesn't stand any more of a chance than she did last week or the week before that.

Santana keeps her eyes trained on Rachel's as she unbuttons Rachel's blouse and unzips Rachel's skirt. Rachel knows the rules: She's supposed to take them off herself. It's a part of their dance, the one where she shows consent to these atrocities.

If this was happening to someone else, and a boy was doing what Santana is, I'd call it abusive, she thought, but it can't be abuse if you actually want it, right? Rachel slid her tongue between Santana's fingers, stretching it up as far as she could. She wanted to gag again, but she wanted to impress Santana more. Santana jammed her hand farther into Rachel's mouth, and she did gag this time. Santana didn't laugh, which was almost worse because she pushed Rachel onto the bed and taunted her.

"You're lucky you're with me, Berry. That shit wouldn't fly if you were with one of the guys." Rachel whimpered to hear Santana's raspy voice against her neck. This was the closest they ever got to pillow talk. "We should do something different today."

Rachel hugs her knees while Santana pulls something up on her laptop. She rolls her tongue around in her mouth, trying to recapture the taste of Santana's fingers. She doesn't know the words to describe it, but Santana's whole body tastes like different flavors of naughty. She knows; she's tried just about everywhere.

Rachel squeaks in horror when the porno turns on. She hears Santana's throaty chuckle in her ear as the ex-cheerleader situates herself behind the soloist.

"Do you want to do something else?" she asks.

"Yes, yes, please -" she knows she made a mistake; she's only supposed to talk when Santana actually tells her to.

"Just a few minutes. If you really don't like it we'll try something else."

Rachel isn't sure if she's lying; Santana loves to make Rachel uncomfortable. It's part of the game. She makes Rachel keep watching, and Santana runs her fingertips over Rachel's legs, teasing her before running them along her bikini line. Santana rests her head on Rachel's shoulder, eyes on the computer screen, when she tucks her fingers under the edge of Rachel's panties. Rachel's legs tense, and she bites her lips. How can Santana be so gentle when the woman's words were made of steel?

"Do you like what he's doing to her?" she asks. "It feels like you like it. Do you want me to find someone to do that to you? I could, you know. It wouldn't take much convincing, even if it is you." Those poisoned compliments haunt Rachel's dreams sometimes. She's used to criticism, but she isn't used to craving it like hydrogen peroxide on a scraped knee.

Rachel gasps when Santana finally touches her clit. The man in the video is pounding into some blonde, and Santana won't let her look away. She feels like she's intruding on them; she feels embarrassed; she feels guilty that she's so turned on right now, and she wants to tell people that it isn't the video, it's just Santana.

"God, Rachel, everyone thinks you're such a fucking prude, don't they?" She sounds like a cat that's caught a canary. "I know the truth, though. I know how big of a slut you are. I know how much you want it."

Rachel bites back her words. She used to deny it, but then Santana would deny her. It's part of the game of consent. Santana needs more than consent; she needs affirmation. She would wrench it from Rachel's dead voice if she had to.

"Tell me you want it, Berry." Rachel whimpers. It takes her a bit to summon the words, but if she takes too long, Santana would stop, and she just can't have that.

"I-I want -" she gulps "- sex."

"What kind of sex?" Santana tugs down on Rachel's earlobe with her teeth.

"Adonai – rough sex. Rough, unattached sex w-without any meaning." She scrunches her eyes up as if that could erase the words.

"In short, you want me, don't you?"

"Yes." Her back arches up against Santana as the girl pushes her fingers inside Rachel.

She remembers the first time this happened, how she came over to Santana's in a fit of rage ready to prove herself good enough, to prove that she was worth Santana's time. All she wanted was to stop being insulted, maybe some grudging respect. She didn't get it.

"You want my approval, Berry?" she said with a glare. "Get down on your knees."

She didn't have time to be confused before Santana kissed her. That was a sort of acceptance, right? That she was good enough? So she thought until the insults continued. But it felt so damn good to listen to them, to hear that mixture of anger and lust in Santana's voice. Santana knelt over her and gave her instructions on everything, sneering and cussing when she messed up, and she tried and tried again, but when it was over, all Santana gave her was a huff and a roll of her eyes. She wanted more; she needed more, so she came back again. She couldn't even get the words out when Santana demanded to know what Rachel Berry was doing on her doorstep at three in the morning on a Thursday. When she couldn't, that wicked, familiar smile crept onto the cheerleader's face for the first time.

"You like it. Rachel Berry, the girl who dresses like a Catholic toddler, is a filthy whore at heart." Rachel tried to correct her, but Santana told her that if she wanted to stay, she had to put her mouth to better use than talking. So Rachel obeyed, and she hadn't stopped since.

"Rachel," the present Santana says, "do you want me to find you a boy? I could, you know. I could tell him all about you -" a moan catches in Rachel's throat "- which spots to hit, what things to say." Rachel doesn't think she'd be able to stand it if someone else said those horrible things. Santana's always been mean to her, but if someone else says it... well, then, it's that much more real, isn't it? "Or maybe you wouldn't want him to touch you. That's okay. He could watch. He could listen to just how depraved you are. I'd make you watch him jerk himself off while I touch you. I'd make sure you'd come right when he does."

Rachel shakes her head.

"No? Another girl, then? Or maybe you do want a guy, and you want to watch him fuck me. Is that it, Rachel? Is that what you want?"

"N-no..."

"Are you sure? You're so fucking close, Rachel, I can practically taste it. You like being treated like a piece of fucking trash, don't you?"

"N-no. I deserve better."

"You deserve what I give you. You want what I give you."

That's when she comes. Everything is bright for a second, and she gets to wallow in hormones, but then Santana snaps her laptop closed and rolls Rachel over.

"You're not done."

Rachel ends up unzipping Santana's jeans with her teeth. She licks up the center of the athlete's underwear before she pulls that off with her teeth, too. She feels Santana shiver, and the air is tense. She has a chance this week, she knows it. She can get a real compliment if she just tries. She's caught between focusing on her mouth and watching Santana's reactions. She relishes the feeling of Santana's fingers digging into her scalp, the breathless gasps, the hip thrusts that she only just gets under control. When it's all over, all she gets is a pointed "Mediocre."

"M-mediocre?"

"Your best so far. One day, you might actually be worth the time I'm spending on you."

"I can do better, San, just give me another chance -"

"Your chance is next Wednesday."

"Wednesday? But today's Monday." She's been hoping for Sunday because that means their next one would be Saturday, and she would finally have two in one week.

"I have a life." Implying that Rachel didn't.

"I know I can do better, Santana -"

"You wanna do better? Do your homework." She doesn't look up from her nails as she scrubbed nail polish remover on them.

"What?"

"Touch yourself. Watch porn. Look up FAQs for fucking women. Whatever it takes. I've seen you run after something you want, and you come here every week like I'm some Holy Grail of sexual knowledge. I am, but there's only so much I can convey. If you really want something, you need to get it." She finally looks up at Rachel. "What do you want?"

"I want to give you the best orgasm you've ever had."

"You've got a long way to go, Man-hands."