Title: Springing from Breakpoint
Author: bana05
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Mercedes/Sam
Spoilers: None - AU
Disclaimer: Glee ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.
Summary: While on spring break in Miami, Sam Evans realizes it's time to put up or shut up when it comes to his best friend Mercedes Jones.
Author's notes: Conflictfetish prompted me this: "An old friend of Sam's comes to visit from the South. While hanging out, Mercedes finds out something about Sam that she didn't know, or discovers a side of him that wasn't revealed before, and she doesn't like it. They have an argument, and Sam has to woo her back." I tweaked some things around, made it AU, and then it got away from me. Hopefully, it's still okay and y'all will enjoy! Also, please forgive any lingering errors!

For a short, fat girl wearing tall wedges, a wonderfully indecently tight minidress, and slight inebriation, Mercedes Jones had a bit of pep to her step; so much so that Sam Evans had to walk-jog in order to catch up with her as she marched down the sidewalk. He almost growled at the appreciative looks, catcalls, and whistles sent her way, but Mercedes didn't acknowledge anything but the Art Deco condo building in the distance.

"Mercedes—"

She didn't turn around, but she did raise a hand to him—or rather, one lone finger that just also happened to be the longest one—and kept it moving. Sam was so shocked he stopped and gaped at the obscene gesture, wincing as passersby cackled at him, before jogging again to reclaim the ground he'd lost.

He knew if she got to that condo without him it would be a wrap—for the remainder of their spring break— so he turned on the jets and actually ran until he blocked her path, gripping her shoulders when she would've bulldozed right over him. They were only on night two of six; he had to fix this shit now.

"Mercedes—"

"You know what? Fuck you with a rusty chainsaw, Samson Evans! Get your gotdamn hands off!"

She screeched the last word, making him wince again and distracting him just enough so she could slap his hands away and continue her march.

This time he didn't follow her, throwing his arms in the air in frustration. "He was just gonna hit it and quit it, Merce! I couldn't let him do that to you!"

This time she stopped all on her own and slowly turned to him, placed a hand on an ample hip, and eyed him like he'd never been eyed before.

Sam gulped. Hard. "Mer—"

"But you could let him do that to other girls?" Mercedes asked, pitching forward just a little. She was standing directly beside a lamppost, the amber light, now a spotlight to her pose. She looked pissed and fierce as hell, and Sam had to shuffle his stance to alleviate the force of her gaze and the tightness growing in his pants.

When did she become so hot? he asked himself, his hand twitching with the need to make a crotch adjustment.

Truth be told, she'd been "hot" the moment he'd seen her early in the fall semester of their freshman year, looking all Bohemian hip-hop with funky earrings, an off-the-shoulder mango top that offset her dark skin and exposed a brown tank-top strap he'd wanted to snap with his teeth, and a long, flowy black-and-gold swirl skirt with gladiator sandals. And while Sam wasn't usually the type to commit someone's outfit to memory, Mercedes Jones had been looking too fine not to take a mental snapshot of that, even if she'd been doing something as mundane as sitting in the quad and reading, of all things, a Vixen comic.

That alone had dictated Sam to strike up a conversation with her.

She'd looked at him warily when he'd approached, no doubt wondering if he were lost considering not many white people attended Central State University—let alone out-of-state white people. But his best friend Carlos Gutiérrez had begged him to tag along with him on a district-wide college tour during spring break their junior year in high school; and although Sam had attended an all-boys boarding school, he'd been allowed to take the trip with Carlos.

It'd been cold, with overcast skies, but the CSU campus had been dynamic with activity when the tour had stopped there. Of all the schools they'd visited, it'd been Sam's favorite, especially since they'd been treated to a performance by the Central State Chorus. They'd been amazing, to the point he'd had to wipe tears from his eyes when it'd sung its rendition of "Steal Away".

Carlos had ragged on him about that for the entire nine-hour bus ride back to Memphis.

He hadn't questioned why, out of all the schools, CSU had been the one for him—especially considering he wasn't a target demographic—but when he'd seen the golden girl on that bench reading that comic, Sam thought he'd finally discovered the answer.

He and Mercedes had struck up a friendship that day, talking for a long time on that bench before sharing a meal together afterwards. They'd learned he was majoring in Studio Arts and playing on the football team while she was majoring in Music Performance and Music Education. When she'd revealed she was part of the chorus, Sam had almost pumped his fists in the air. He'd asked her to sing a little something for him—actually "Steal Away"—and she'd blinked at him in surprise before softly singing the chorus. He'd closed his eyes and put his hand over his chest as it'd swelled with each note she'd sung.

Mercedes Jones had claimed ownership of his heart that day, too; it'd just taken him until tonight to admit it.

Tonight, when he'd finally had the opportunity to introduce her to Carlos, who'd ended up going to the University of Miami on a football scholarship—for kicking of all things. Usually, Sam would visit him alone for spring break—Miami was a hell of a lot sexier in terms of location and girls—but after two years of talking "nonstop" about Mercedes, as Carlos had put it, his friend had said it was beyond time he'd met the mamacita.

"And wonder what her deficiency is that you haven't tapped that yet!" Carlos had snickered irritatingly.

Sam hadn't appreciated the insinuation or the implication. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Mercedes Jones. If anything, she was too damn right for a guy like him. Sure, he was a church-going, Mama-respecting Southern boy, but Mercedes Jones was the Vince Lombardi trophy of women, and he hadn't been ready for that yet. Not only that, Sam hadn't thought he was her type, quite honestly. She'd dated a big, black, hulking linebacker of a dude from freshman to junior year, his teammate Shane Tinsley. Dude could've squashed Sam like a gnat if he'd ever discovered the thoughts he'd had about his girlfriend; but Shane had truly treated Mercedes like the goddess she was until he'd decided to enter the NFL draft early and they'd decided to end their relationship on good terms. That hadn't meant Sam had been exempt from consolation duties. He'd held Mercedes many a night as she'd cried those few weeks after.

So excuse the hell out of him if he'd pumped the brakes on his boy making the moves on his girl when she wasn't but three months fresh off a break up of a long-term relationship!

"Well?"

Sam blinked, mildly surprised by his jaunt down memory lane and the fact Mercedes had stood and stared at him during it. Then Sam smiled, stuffing his fingers in his jeans pockets as he sauntered toward her. She didn't change her posture, but her eyebrow did rise higher and her lips pursed as if unaffected by his swagger.

Oh, yeah, he had swagger.

She'd told him so, in fact, the first time he'd walked with her through campus after their first football game (they'd won, of course) and she'd noticed how all the girls had stopped and stared at him. He'd joked it was because he was one of three white boys at the school; and she'd turned around and said it was because he was one of the three fine boys at the school—color be damned. Tall, blond, athletic, and genuinely nice—he had his pick of the pussy and she'd told him so, just like that. The last thing he'd expected out of her prim, Christian mouth was such a crass word.

It'd made him hard as a brick too.

But while Mercedes had been in her state of monogamy, Sam hadn't been so constrained. He didn't exactly have a reputation as a manwhore, but he'd had his fair share of women. Most of the relationships had been casual and consensual, though he was still a one-woman man through it all. He didn't like starting something new without finishing the old; it made things unnecessarily messy. He'd even tried his own crack at monogamy, with one of Mercedes' best friends from high school at that, Quinn Fabray. Mercedes introduced them and sang each other's praises as if she were performing a one-night-only stint on the Apollo Theater stage. Incidentally, they'd both had internships in New York City that summer, at the same publishing conglomerate no less, and they'd decided to make a summer fling out of it. And while Quinn might have been one of the smartest, most beautiful women he'd ever met, she still couldn't meet the standard Mercedes had unwittingly set.

Even if Quinn went to Yale and looked like she should grace the magazine covers her internship published.

"You're not that kind of girl, Mercedes," Sam said as he returned to the present, getting all in her personal space but keeping his hands to himself.

"What kind of girl?" Mercedes asked, now folding her hands underneath her breasts. Never before had Sam seen such a perfect pair and his mouth watered. They were so perfect that not even the lack of cleavage afforded by the teal dress could hide the fact they were spectacular. Large, supple looking, generous—he could play with those babies all day and night if she'd let him.

Him. Not fucking Carlos or Shane or anyone else. He was done with that.

"A 'roll-in-the-hay' kind of girl," Sam said, shrugging.

Mercedes cut her eyes away and shifted her posture, now cocking her hips to the left instead of the right. "You know what? I watched you and Carlos do this 'tag-team' thing all night, where you'd pick out a girl for some 'fun' and Carlos would soften her up for you. I didn't like—in fact, it made my stomach roil a bit—but that was your business and your penis at risk for chlamydia—"

"I wrap up Thor—"

"I'll always judge you so hard for that," Mercedes informed him.

"And I get tested every six months," Sam continued, ignoring her interruption, and then gave her a blinding smile.

She looked away again and scrunched up her face, but he knew she was trying not to laugh.

"But I'm serious," Sam said, reaching out to grasp her shoulder because he wasn't able not to touch her anymore. "What's a spring break fling? You, who was practically married to Shane and just got out of a long-term relationship—"

"Exactly!" Mercedes hissed. "And it's been months since I've gotten any, and you just fucked up my opportunity to get fucked! I don't appreciate that, Samson Evans!"

"With my best friend?"

"Why not? He's nice; he's cute; and he's your best friend, which means he has to be a decent guy! Better than some random we both don't know, right?"

"Hell no!" Sam said through clenched jaws. "Bros before hos—!"

"So now I'm a ho? Just because I want to get broke off?" Mercedes huffed out a laugh and took a step away from him. "Boy! You ain't my daddy! And unless you feedin' me, financin' me, or fuckin' me, you don't get a say on how I live my life!"

And with that, Mercedes spun around and continued her march toward their rented condo. Sam muttered a curse under his breath, dragging his hand through his blond hair, and waited another few seconds until he began following her again. She didn't know these streets well enough, and he'd rather her chew his ear off than have some random-ass dude with no good intentions offer his "help".

No, fuck all that.

He sent her a text letting her know he was following her, and she gave him another one-finger salute. Sam grinned. Who knew that underneath the happy drunk was also a belligerent one?

He didn't immediately enter the condo after her, deciding to give her some time to cool down before he did so. They were sharing a room on this trip—two full beds—because everyone else other than Carlos had been boo'd up and he didn't trust Carlos any further than he could throw an F-150. Carlos had given him hell for that, particularly after he'd finally met Mercedes.

"Guard dog," he'd said, snickering as they'd watched Mercedes talk with Carlos's friends. They'd been at a local bar all crammed in a booth. One of the girlfriends had commandeered Mercedes to the opposite side of the table and Sam had been trying not to sulk about it.

"Yep," Sam had replied.

"This is gonna bite you, dude."

"Good thing I'm a tasty S.O.B., innit?" Sam had replied with a wink, his turn to snicker when Carlos had groaned and shoved him hard for that.

And with karma nipping at his ass, he entered the condo just in time to catch a pillow to the face.

"Ow," Sam said deadpan, even though he wasn't in any pain.

"Futon tonight, buddy."

"Uh, hell no," Sam said again, tucking the pillow under his arm. Mercedes was wearing a shelf-tank and tiny shorts that was hell on his libido.

"Well, too fucking bad. I'm horny and I need to do something about it and I can't have you in there with me—"

"Why not?"

Mercedes frowned at him. "Uh…what?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe I could help."

Mercedes closed her eyes, dropped her head, then shook it. "Well, clearly I'm even more inebriated than I thought. Maybe I should just take my horny-ass to bed because I know I'm hearing things—"

"Wait, so you'll accept Carlos's help but not mine?"

"Yep," Mercedes said on a groan, standing and stretching.

"Uh, why?"

"Because I won't have to see his face again but occasionally. I can fuck him without fucking things up. Can't do that with you."

"Why?"

Mercedes dropped her hands heavily and shook her head again, staring at the ceiling. "Sam. You're the most important person in my life who isn't family. Hell—you are family—"

"Don't even think of saying I'm like a brother to you."

Her eyes snapped to him. "Whoa, son, what's with the tone?"

He ignored the question and her, he now taking over stomping duties as he entered their shared bedroom. He threw the pillow back on the bed he slept in and yanked off his shirt. The only thing worse than being friend-zoned is being brother-zoned. There was literally no coming back from that. Had he played it so close to the vest he'd put himself out of the running completely?

"Sam?"

"Not right now," he ground out, his tone not as rough as before, but he still wasn't cool enough to face her.

"I didn't mean to make you mad."

"You're the most frustrating woman sometimes, Mercedes," he admitted on a sardonic laugh, shucking off his jeans and toeing off his Chucks.

"But I was just saying—"

"Something I really don't wanna hear, not from you," Sam said.

"Why?"

"I don't wanna be your brother."

Mercedes sucked her teeth and scoffed. "Oh, wait, so now you salty? Did I cockblock you? Nobody told you to babysit me on this trip! You invited me to come and I said yes because, for once, I just wanted to have a good time without having to worry about my behavior or anything like that! Bein' a gotdamn goody two-shoes! But here you are actin' like my keeper! What's up with that? Just because I'm from small-town Ohio doesn't mean I'm completely naïve, Memphis!"

Sam chuckled. She hadn't called him that since the beginning of sophomore year. "I know, Mercedes."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Right now, I'm trippin' out over the fact you're mad I didn't let you get treated like some ol' girl at the bar."

"Because that's who I wanted to be!" Mercedes said. "I wanted to do something reckless, just to say I could. I'd fallen into a rut at twenty! I need life-lessons so I can pass something on to my future children other than boredom!"

He turned to her then, his green eyes ablaze. "Then do something reckless with me."

Again, she shook her head and brushed away his words. "No. I don't want any regrets."

"What's there to regret?" Sam asked now approaching her, internally cheering she stayed her ground. He let his eyes drift over her, then his hand followed suit along her cheek, down her neck, to the slim strap of her tank, and he slipped his thumb underneath it. "What's more reckless than gettin' busy with your 'like a brother' friend?"

"Ew."

Sam laughed darkly. "Does it count if I don't think of you as a sister?"

She grinned at him. "You sure treat me like one."

"Damn; and here I was going for jealous boyfriend."

Her grin faded and she sobered up a bit going by the sudden clarity in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but he shut it with a kiss to her bared shoulder. She was salty from lingering perspiration and delicious. He moaned as he straightened, licking his lips and staring into her eyes.

"I'm drunk."

"And that's the only thing stopping me from throwing you on that mattress and fucking every familial feeling you have for me out of you."

"But if I were ol' girl at the bar?"

"Consensual sex only, Vixen."

She beamed at him then and he smiled. He'd called her Vixen to get her attention the very first time they'd met because he'd been sure "shorty" would've gotten him ignored. And though he'd eventually started calling her by her real name and variations thereof, he'd go back to Vixen to keep her on her toes.

"So you don't bang buzzed girls?"

"I have," Sam admitted. "But I'm usually buzzed too. I don't liquor girls up so I can lick 'em up and dick 'em out. Besides, drunk sex isn't all that great—it's sloppy, uncoordinated. Sober sex is where it's at."

Mercedes took a deep breath and shook her head. "I'm not horny anymore."

"Didn't think you would be," Sam said.

"Farreal?"

"You're a happy drunk, not a horny one. Besides, you liquored yourself up just so you could have the courage to be reckless."

Mercedes pouted and dropped her forehead to his chest. "Get me some water. I don't want a hangover."

Chuckling, Sam kissed her cheek and did as told. By the time he returned, Mercedes was snuggled under the covers and blinking slowly, just a few winks away from being knocked the fuck out.

"Wakey-wakey just a little longer, Merce," Sam said softly and sat on her bed to coax her up. She whined but did as told, throwing an arm over his shoulders and smooshing her face into his bicep.

"Would you really want to fuck me?" she asked.

Sam smiled a little, holding up a Krispy Kreme cruller for her to eat. "I have some Advil for you, Vixen."

She opened her mouth and he fed her the doughnut. After she swallowed, he handed her two pills and a glass of water, watching her to make sure she downed the entire glass after taking the medicine.

"Now, bed," Sam said, tucking her in.

"Do jealous boyfriends tuck in their girlfriends?" Mercedes asked on a sleepy giggle.

"Yes," Sam said, kissing her forehead gently, "usually after a good fuckin', though."

Mercedes cackled, then moaned, cradling her forehead. "Asshole."

"You love me," he challenged.

"You lucky I do," she agreed.

She fell asleep almost immediately, but Sam didn't follow her to dreamland. Instead, he sat in the living room in his boxers until the rest of his housemates returned. A few of the girlfriends threw him lascivious winks, appreciating his boxer-clad form and he returned them good-naturedly; but his grin faded slightly when Carlos staggered through the door.

"Hey, dude!" he greeted and waved his arms widely, as if Sam were fifty feet away instead of just five. "Did Mamacita make it home all right? She tore out like a bat oudda he—"

Sam slammed Carlos against the wall next to his room. "Would you have fucked her?"

"Yeah!" Carlos said and sniggered. "Who am I to tell a willin' lady noooo—?"

Sam banged him against the wall again. "Mercedes!"

Carlos frowned, then widened his eyes. "No! At least, not like that—"

"Carlos, so help me Jesus—"

"She ain't yours, Sammy-boy! She's free and fair game! You might wanna shove your own damn self against the wall instead o' me, hmm? Better me than some stranger bitch, right? Right?" Carlos asked, shoving Sam away with more force and alacrity than a "drunk" man should have.