a/n: This story kind of came out of nowhere and took my life over. It's written as a one shot but I have a feeling that I'm going to be revisiting this universe sometime down the road so for now I'm considering it part I. The title comes from the song Stay Young by We The Kings. Enjoy :)

Let's Burn Our Dreams into the Skyline

I blame the sunset for my actions. Her dark hair is shining brilliantly against the crimson and orange sky and the summer sun has tanned her skin to a deep bronze. Shoulders are bare in the warm night's air and hers rubs against mine as we sit side-by-side looking over the ocean. Around us, our drunken friends chase one another and splash on the edge of the surf. Normally Santana would be instigating the fun, but tonight she is calm and introverted, her toes drawing lazy circles in the damp sand.

It didn't matter that our friends are all around and could obviously see us. It definitely didn't matter that Santana and I haven't been the best of friends over the past couple of years. For some reason, my brain only focuses on her stunning beauty and the calmness that washes over me when her shoulder brushes mine.

She looks at me, a hint of playfulness lurking on her face, which quickly turns into a smug smile when she registers what my glance meant. I am not supposed to be looking at a girl the way I am in this moment, but for some reason it doesn't matter (I blame the sunset).

My cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I don't shy away from the pounding of my heart in my chest. I want this more than I have ever wanted something in my eighteen years of existence and I won't forgive myself if this moment slips through my sweaty fingers.

I surge forward, connecting our lips and am immediately surprised at how soft and tender they are as they slide along mine. It is a whole other universe from the chapped lip kisses I have shared with a handful of boys over the past four years. I keep my mouth pressed against hers, unmoving, unsure of how to proceed. Our friends are all around us and are definitely going to see this newest development.

Santana takes the decision right out of my hands when she laces her fingers through my short blonde hair and runs her tongue sensually along my bottom lip. I haven't stood a chance in the first place, but now I am completely a goner.

Before I really have a chance to object, I'm on my back in the sand and the only thing I can see is Santana's hair falling in a curtain around her face as she hovers above me, biting her lip adorably. She ducks down and captures my lips with hers again and I groan against her, letting my hands move to grip her hips in an attempt to see if this is a dream or reality. Definitely reality.

Despite my greater wants, I wake up in my own bed to the bright Florida sunshine streaming through the sliding glass door in the morning. I'm completely alone, but I've never felt so content in being by myself before. Just down the hall, the girl I have loved for four years slumbers peacefully and she likes me back. She likes me back.

It's my first time in Florida, but Santana has been here a million times visiting her Dad's family. I would be content spending the remainder of the week lying on a blanket on Miami Beach, trying to coerce my pale skin to absorb some of the rays without giving me a killer sunburn. Santana decides that it's unacceptable and drags me out to her Jeep Wrangler to take me sightseeing. The rest of our friends are left unceremoniously at the beach house to fend for themselves, but it doesn't bother me once I'm sitting in the passenger seat and Santana is holding my hand lightly on top of her gearshift.

We shop in downtown Miami, we eat amazing food, and we take dorky pictures together. But as sunset approaches, she drives us back down the beach and parks the car so that we're overlooking the crystal blue ocean. The top is off of her Jeep and the salty breeze blows through my already messy hair. I try to run my fingers through it to tame it, but she pulls my hands away, replacing them with her own and kissing me as the sun ducks beneath the horizon.

There is a deep-rooted need in me to communicate, to figure out what it is that we're doing. In less than a month I'll be at Yale and Santana will be in Kentucky and college life and new friends will be invading our lives.

I try to just enjoy the moments now that I finally have given into years of yearning for her soft skin pressed against mine, but the lingering thought of what is going to happen next keeps me from inviting her back to my room that night. Santana's drunk and I'm pretty tipsy, our feet sore from dancing the night away at a downtown club. Her kisses and touches grew more daring as the evening wore on and her body had me pressed against the doorframe of my room before I said goodnight and slipped into the room without her.

I try to amend my guilt for leaving her hanging by delivering her a cup of coffee in bed. I know from years of being around her that she won't eat with a hangover. The aspirin and glass of water are lying on her nightstand. Santana is the only person I know that is smart enough to lay out hangover supplies before she goes out drinking.

She groans loudly when I nudge her awake. Immediately her hand finds the little pills and she tosses them into her mouth before taking a swig from the glass of water. I smile at how adorable she looks with mascara smeared around her eyes and the lines of her pillow still etched on her face. She looked apprehensive about my presence like she was internally debating whether she should pull me into her bed or try to pierce me with a snide remark to mask the hurt she's feeling from my rejection. I don't give her an answer; instead I climb into the bed, scooting behind her and draping an arm over her waist. She doesn't protest and I feel the anxiety slowly seep from her tired body.

When I awake again, it's to an empty bed. Santana is sitting at the vanity on the other side of the bedroom brushing her hair. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she gives me a shy smile; it's one that shows me that I'm forgiven. It's like she can read me even though there are no words there for her to see. She sees my fear of this overwhelming love and what the future holds. But we still don't speak because to say it aloud would ruin this boxed-off universe we've created.

Today she takes me to the Everglades and laughs as I squeal and hold onto her arm as our tour guide zips through the water on the boat. I know we are surrounded by wildlife that could kill me and he points out the giant alligators along the banks and I hold Santana even tighter. Santana loved adventures; I played it safe. But our worlds were colliding, fighting to find a common place for us to survive. I wasn't surprised when dusk found us lying in the hammock on the deck of the house, staring up at the sky. It was painted with bright colors again and my head was against Santana's shoulder and our fingers were laced as they rested on her stomach. Our friends were out drinking and partying and the house was quiet. Santana was giving into my serene lifestyle the way I was giving into her crazy one.

In two days we'll be back in Lima and in two weeks, Santana will be leaving for cheer camp at the University of Louisville. We can't put off actually discussing our situation that much longer. As soon as we're back in Ohio, things will be different. Right now we're living in a comfortable vacation bubble.

It takes Brittany innocently asking us over dinner if we're together for us to sit down and really talk. My hands are shaking as I look at the beautiful girl sitting across from me; wanting to say everything right to make sure that I never lose her because not having Santana after getting a real taste of what we could have would make me break. I've crumbled too many times in the past three years to do it again. Playing it safe won't work here because deep down I know that love isn't safe.

She sits rather patiently, absentmindedly picking at her chipping nail polish and waiting for me to start the conversation. I can hear the laughter of our friends splashing around in the pool outside and for a minute I wish that I had never started this situation so we could be out there with them, no complications in the way of our friendship. My conscience intercepts that idea and throws it away, knowing I couldn't have taken the ache in my chest much longer.

Santana and Brittany had broken up for the sheer reason that they both couldn't handle a long-distance relationship. Brittany had always moved fluidly in everything and as much as she loved Santana, she was able to move on quickly to hooking up with a junior football player shortly after our graduation. The tall blonde dancer was Santana's first true love and I had watched her spend our entire high school careers doing everything to make sure that Brittany was safe and happy. They had only broken up two months ago and I couldn't start this conversation because it would mean discussing the truths. I would have to tell Santana how much I stood beside her as she suffered over our mutual best friend, wanting nothing more than to show her that I could love her more than Brittany.

Neither Santana nor I are good with discussing feelings, so I'm not surprised that it's past one in the morning when we finally get through. My cheeks are tear-stained and I watch Santana bat away a little tear that has slipped from her left eye. It's been an emotional night and we've only made a tiny step of progress, but it's something. I knew it wasn't going to be instantaneous and I'm still worried about the future, but tonight I'm lying in Santana's arms and I fall asleep to the sound of her breathing.

On our final night in Miami, we find ourselves on the beach with music and a cooler full of drinks as the sun starts fading. The boys collect armfuls of sticks and driftwood and built a fire pit in the sand. As the sky fades into orange, they start the blaze. Santana sits with her head on my shoulder and our arms intertwined. I can feel Brittany's eyes flit towards us every once in a while, but she seems content to see Santana happy again after a long two months.

The sun is nearly rising when the fire finally burns itself out, leaving a pile of ashes and charred pieces of wood standing out against the white sand. Santana is breathing evenly in sleep beside me, a throw blanket tossed over us haphazardly. The sand is hard against my back, but Santana's sweatshirt is curled under my head as a makeshift pillow and I'm surrounded by her sweet perfume. I've only gotten two hours of sleep, but I don't care because it was one of the best nights of my life so far.

I roll on top of Santana and she gives a raspy growl at being woken up. It's absolutely endearing to get to see the soft side of Santana and I realize that she's been like that so much this week. She kisses me back when I lean down and meet her lips. We're rolling in the sand and I can feel it scratching my limbs when Santana flips me onto my back and presses her body against mine. My whole body is tingling under her touch and I don't want this morning to end. We have to leave for Lima in a few hours and I know the magic spell that has been over us for the past week will be lifted as soon as we hit the Ohio state border.

We pull ourselves off of the beach, sand stuck in our hair and clothes but I don't even notice the discomfort as we walk back to the house hand in hand. I've never felt so content in my entire life as I do after making out with Santana Lopez until the wee hours of the morning on a beach in Florida.

By mid-morning, we're all showered and packed and have packed huge thermoses of coffee for the ride back to Lima. I call shotgun in Santana's Jeep and I don't even complain when Puck and Sam end up in our back seat. We stop in Tennessee for the night and we get cheap motel rooms. Puck finds a barbeque place that we go to for dinner and then we break out our fake IDs to hit some bars downtown. We all dance and get drunk and enjoy one of the last real nights we have together before we head in our own directions.

It's after three in the morning when we get back to the motel. It takes Santana four tries before she gets the key card into the swipe. The door clicks and she pushes it open and holds it for me, letting me walk past her. I flip the light switch on, but she hits it off again as she walks by, pulling her skintight mini dress over her head.

My mouth waters at the sight. Her skin is perfectly tanned from a week on the beach. Her skin is glistening with sweat from the walk back in the humid August air and I feel an urge to run my hands down her perfectly chiseled abs.

Santana is standing in the middle of the room in a bright blue bra and thong set and is smirking confidently as me. I stumble to the edge of the bed and climb onto it, gesturing her over with one finger. She wastes no time before she's sashaying over and is climbing across the comforter on her hands and knees until she's right in front of me.

"Kiss me, Lopez," I breathe, the alcohol giving me all the confidence I need to not freak out in this moment.

Santana takes the command without hesitation, leaning down and capturing my lips with fevered passion. I groan when she bites down on my lip and pushes me back against the pillows. In my eighteen years of being, I have never been so lost in a moment.

I don't stop her when she hikes up my sundress until it is around my waist. Her hands are on me, all over me, and I feel like my entire body is on fire.

"Take it off," she says in between kisses, yanking on the dress that was separating my skin from hers. I pulled back and looked in her eyes for a second.

Her gaze is dark, pupils completely blown and I don't doubt her attraction to me even in the slightest. I don't want to be her rebound from Brittany; I don't want to be her summer fling before we head off to college in less than a month. I want to mean something to her the way she does to me.

But I'm drunk and she's so damn sexy and I want this so badly in the moment that I force myself to forget about what happens after tonight, so I sit up and I pull the damn dress over my head and toss it unceremoniously off the side of the bed.

Santana practically growls as her eyes rake over me and I'm self-conscious for all of two seconds before her lips and tongue are working magic on my neck and her hand is palming my boob. Two months ago I couldn't even admit to myself that I wanted this so badly and now I'm in a cheap motel room, half-naked with a girl that has seen me in the Cheerio showers a thousand times.

But this is intimate and scary and freaking amazing all wrapped up into one and I keep pushing away my doubts and try to focus on the amazing surges of pleasure Santana is giving my body. She reaches behind me and undoes my bra with practiced ease and I let it fall from my shoulders.

Santana pushes me back down onto the bed again and lets her body rest on mine; her hips grinding down into mine lightly, the lacy fabric of her underwear gliding wetly along my thigh. I've never done this; I've never even really let myself think about this moment but now it's here and I wish I had the tiniest clue about what to do. Santana is moving with precision and she grinds down hard at one point while biting my collarbone and I can't control the moan that releases from my throat.

The sound is all she needs to pursue her course of action and she reaches behind her own back to unclasp her bra and pulls it off, leaving me with the mouth-watering sight of her surgically enhanced, perfectly perky tan chest. She grabs my hand and pushes it roughly against one breast and it feels completely foreign and extremely normal all at once.

I feel her nipple start to harden against my still palm and Santana grinds against me, giving herself the friction that I'm apparently denying her. The groan she releases pulls me back to my senses and I move my hand, cupping the weight of her breast and using my fingers to roll the hardened nipple. She tosses her head back, her hips moving more insistently against me.

I feel empowered by the effect I'm having on her and I take the opportunity to push myself up on my elbows and capture the nipple between my lips instead. Santana releases the sexiest noise I've ever heard when I flick my tongue against it and I finally give myself over to the pleasure instead of worrying about what comes next.

I gasp when I feel Santana's hand cup me through my panties and she hovers above me, her eyes looking down at my face. I'm panting with need and I'm filled with want. She's surveying me, silently asking for permission. I respond by rolling my hips up into her hand and shutting my eyes tightly before I can think. I'm relieved when she gets the message and moves off of me to pull my underwear down my thighs until I can kick them off.

Santana is sitting back on her heels and the sight is breathtaking. Her hair is tousled and her chest is heaving and I don't think I've ever seen her look more beautiful. Her hand is back in between my legs resting against my inner thigh and I hold my breath with my eyes shut tightly.

I feel her other hand come up and stroke my cheek as her lips brushing soothingly against mine. She's soft and patient and I release the breath and allow myself to kiss her back.

"Quinn, look at me," she says quietly. I feel her increase the distance between us a bit and I crack my eyes open to see her frozen and hovering above me. There's concern staring back at me and she looks so fucking vulnerable and adorable.

I bite my lip and force myself to not break our gaze. Her hand is still pressed against my inner thigh and I know she's looking for permission to proceed.

"San…" I whisper. I know she can hear the shakiness of my voice, but I hope she can see how much I want this. I just can't convince myself to say it out loud.

Her hand inches upwards until she's cupping me. I know she can feel how wet I am and I immediately blush. She kisses me again lightly before sliding her fingers through my slit and forcing a whimper from me. Her smile is soft and tender and I find comfort in staring into her eyes.

The minutes drag on and I know I'm getting wetter and my hips are starting to move without my control and, damn, I just want to feel her inside me like right now. Her expression changes into a taunting smirk and I know that she's completely aware of how turned on she's made me. She finally gives me a little relief by rubbing slow circles on my clit and I moan softly at the sensation.

Her fingers move downwards again and I can feel the slight pressure against my entrance. She is looking down directly into my eyes and I nod slightly before closing my own eyes in anticipation. Santana moves slowly and deliberately, dipping a single digit into me before pulling back out. I feel the need growing exponentially and I just want the feeling of her really inside of me. In my urgency, I push my hips up into her finger, enveloping it with my warmth. We moan in unison and she settles into a rhythm of push and pull, the pad of her finger dragging along my sensitive inner wall.

This is nothing like sex with Puck. He's my first and until this moment had been my only. With him, it was all about business. I had wanted him; I had wanted to know what all the fuss was about and he made me feel good with his smooth talking. Santana is different in all the right ways. I want her, but it's not just about getting the deed done. All of it has been about the journey.

She takes cues from my movements and the sounds falling from my lips to make adjustments. I feel her pull out and re-enter with two fingers, twisting them to give the perfect angle as she pushes in. A loud moan rips from my throat and I can feel her radiating smugness at the effect she's having on me.

She's quickly pushing me towards the edge with her fingers moving and her thumb drawing sloppy circles against my clit. My hips are moving with her every movement, drawing her fingers deeper and pushing her pace up a notch. I reach a hand out and run it along her chest, teasing her nipples with quick twists and pinches. I peek out from my hooded eyelids to see her fiery gaze from above me, her jaw slack and her forehead covered in a layer of glistening sweat.

The sight alone is enough to make me clamp around her fingers. I pull her face down to mine and kiss her greedily, our teeth clashing in passion as my orgasm takes hold. My hips are bucking wildly but Santana hangs on and draws out my pleasure until the heightened sensation is too overwhelming and I push her off of me.

She giggles the sweetest giggle as she brushes the hair out of her face. I roll onto my side to face her, the smile huge on my face as I look at her. We're in a dingy hotel in Tennessee and all I can see is how sexy she looks lying there in only her lacy thong in amazing contrast to her dark skin.

"C'mere," I mumble nearly incoherently. I just want her body close to mine as I recover.

She obeys without fuss and moves closer to me, her arm draped lazily over my hip. I inhale the mix of her perfume and our combined sweat and I push my lips against hers again, starting to heat up again already. In all actuality, I have no idea how to reciprocate but I'm determined to get her to feel as amazing as I do right now.

We're kissing and Santana is moving languidly against my more hurried movements, obviously trying to keep the pace calm for the time being. I'm grateful and annoyed all at once. I'm scared shitless about what I'm supposed to do next, but at the same time I just want it to happen so that it's over.

I catch a glance at the alarm clock over Santana's shoulder and it's nearly five in the morning. The sun will be rising soon and we're meeting our friends for breakfast before we finish the drive back to Lima. I really should let Santana sleep because she's going to insist on driving the bulk of the distance and I don't want her doing that on absolutely zero sleep two days in a row.

"Q, please stop fretting and fucking kiss me back."

The nervous giggle slips out of me and she wraps her arm tighter around my waist, holding me close against her. Her lips are on mind, erasing all other thoughts from the forefront of my mind. It's become a familiar action over the past week and I let myself melt into it, still letting Santana lead.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I say shakily, letting my fingers move up to run across her chest, playing languidly with her nipples. I'm scared to head south right now so this seems like a fair compromise.

"Just keep doing that," Santana pants, her chest heaving slightly at my ministrations and her lips are back on mine before I can protest.

I kiss her as my fingers explore still tentatively. Santana encourages me with more passionate kisses, her tongue probing my mouth greedily. She pushes into the touch of my hands, her hips rocking into me as she grips my waist tightly. I know she wants more, needs more but I'm terrified.

"You don't have to do anything you're not okay with, Quinn," she mumbles, tearing her mouth away from mine and instead leaves a trail of kisses down my jaw and onto my neck.

"I-I want to," I stutter. "I just have no idea what to do." I hate admitting that she's better than me at something after spending so many years as her leader. She's had three years of sleeping with Brittany while I was wasting my time with the boys of McKinley.

Santana didn't respond; she lifted her hands until they covered mine. I felt her breath hitch as I kept moving. I could feel her tongue massaging the tendons in my neck, her teeth randomly nipping at them and marking me as hers.

We stay like this for a few long moments, Santana breathing heavily against my skin as my hands play with her nipples. She grasps my hands a little tighter and starts to push one of them south, leaving the left one firmly attached to her breast.

My fingertips skim down her toned stomach, feeling her abs tighten underneath. Her fingers are still holding my hand, but she's letting me dictate the pace and is giving me the time to adjust to every quarter inch movement. I know this must be sweet torture for her because I know how badly my body had been humming for her touch and this has already been way beyond that. But Santana is being patient and unbelievably sweet and understanding. I know there's nothing I want more than to repay her for all of that by making her feel even better than she made me feel.

Santana's hand released mine when we reach the top of her mound. She moved her mouth back up to mine and kissed me tenderly, showing me once again that there's no rush, no expectations at all. I keep moving downwards one centimeter at a time until I'm cupping her through her thong. It's completely soaked through and I groaned at the feel of her slippery hot wetness on my hand.

It is all I need to motivate me to give her what I know she needs. I pull myself up and drag the wet thong down her perfectly tanned legs and toss it off the bed with the rest of our clothing. She's on her back on the hotel bed, her legs slightly parted and welcoming me in. I drag my gaze up to her face to see her fixated on my face making sure that I'm okay.

I reach down again and cup her, feeling her smooth, shaved skin against the palm of my hand. I push my fingers further in, parting her lips. They are instantly coated in Santana's juices and I bite my lip at how turn on it's making me. I never thought being with a girl would be so damn sensual and it was making me get even lost in what I was doing.

I slide up slowly, passing her entrance as I gather more of her juices and move slowly up to her clit. She jumps when I find it a moment later and I smile with relief that I'm not completely incompetent at this. It feels relatively similar to touching myself, though so much hotter. She's soft and her lips are full and drenched in her arousal. Her smell is distinctly her own: tangy and sweet and absolutely mouth-watering. I have an urge to taste her, but that also scares the shit out of me so I choose to move my fingers in languid circles around her clit instead, feeling it roll beneath my fingertips.

Santana's hips are moving up into my hand and she's breathing heavily. Her eyes are shut tightly and her hands are tossed above her head, gripping the pillow tightly. I bite my lip at how open and ready she is, how incredible she can look while sweaty and slightly drunk and completely naked.

Feeling more confident, I move down the length of her slit again, gathering more wetness and moving up again, teasing her clit only briefly before tracing my path again. She's whimpering softly every time I approach and her hips buck as I hit the spots that give her the most pleasure. I stop on my next trail at her entrance and circle it a few times before dipping a finger inside.

Santana groans then, the first time she has done so audibly since I started touching her like this. I stay still for a second, adjusting to the new surroundings before sliding out slowly. I repeat the action and keep my eyes wandering up and down the beautiful sight that is the Latina below me. Her hips are getting more forceful, matching my own gentle thrusts with a little more need.

"I need more, baby," she whines, pushing up more frantically into my hand. I gulp because Santana is now calling me by pet names in the middle of sex and because I'm obviously driving her crazy. It's a rush of power to see her undulating from below me, completely lost in her chase for release.

I pull out suddenly, causing Santana to groan in her frustration, but I re-enter with two fingers this time. She's tight and my stomach flips at how amazing it feels to have her walls squeeze against my fingers. She's whimpering softly again and her hips are moving and I realize that I'm not actually moving.

I pull out and enter with more force, causing a guttural moan to be torn from her throat and just like that, I'm off. I'm thrusting in and out, trying to hit her clit with my thumb. As I pull out after a particular hard thrust, I curl my fingers slightly and drag them along her inner wall. The noise she makes is unlike anything I've ever heard in my life and I know that I'd do anything just to hear it again.

"God, don't stop," she moans and I keep thrusting, trying to curl as I withdraw and pushing my thumb harshly against her clit. All of a sudden she's clamping down my fingers and I feel her body begin to shake with her orgasm. I watch it all unfold, my fingers buried inside of her as she uses her hips to ride against them.

Finally she reaches down and pushes my hand away, signaling that the sensation has become too much. I can feel her and smell her on my fingers and I can't resist the urge. I lift them to my mouth, licking tentatively and releasing a small moan as I get my first taste of Santana.

"Holy shit, you are seriously the sexiest woman ever."

My eyes shoot open again to see Santana looking up at me with a hungry smirk. I smile bashfully and put my whole finger in my mouth, cleaning off the rest of the juices there. I see her body roll with her arousal at the sight and I'm instantly pleased with myself.

She pulls me down on top of her and kisses me hard. Her tongue is in my mouth and she is moaning at the taste of herself and I can feel myself get wet all over again. Santana Lopez has made me completely insatiable.

We get a total of two hours of sleep before Puck is banging on the door. Santana is mumbling under her breath in angry Spanish that I don't understand. I yell to him that we're awake before rolling over to face Santana. We're naked and I feel sticky but I can't help but smile at how freaking beautiful Santana looks.

I lean forward and kiss her nose, making her wrinkle her forehead adorably.

"San, the guys are here," I say softly, brushing her thick, dark hair from her face. "We should probably pack up and get going if we want to make it back to Lima at a decent hour."

She cracks open one eye to look at me. I see the half smile form before she yanks my face towards hers. Her hands are moving along my skin like she's been doing it forever rather than a couple of hours. I feel her nails scratch lightly along my bare shoulders and I moan into her mouth.

"What if I don't care about ever making it back to Lima?" she mumbles. I know it's rhetorical, so I answer her with another kiss instead.

My heart has dropped into my stomach though. We've hardly discussed our feelings or what is going to happen when we finally reach Lima or when we leave for college. I can feel happiness and dread radiating off of Santana and I feel exactly the same way. We're living in a dream right now and neither of us is ready to let go of this.

The banging on the door picks up again; this time it's much more forceful. I glance over at the alarm clock to see that it's almost nine already. We still have a lot of driving to do today. Santana knows we can't continue to delay the inevitable. She pecks my lips once more before rolling out of the bed.

I let my eyes linger on her retreating form as she slinks to the bathroom. She shoots me a smirk over her shoulder before going in and closing the door. I hear the shower turn on and I pull myself out of bed to repack my bag. Santana's voice is gravelly yet enthralling as she launches into one of her go-to Amy Winehouse songs. I hum along as she sings over the water running, smiling the entire time.

She emerges ten minutes later fresh-faced and wrapped in nothing but a tiny white hotel towel. I rake her nearly bare body appreciatively, eying the water droplets dripping from her hair and down her shoulders and chest. Everything about Santana is a sight to behold.

"Your turn, Q," she says, dropping the towel unceremoniously and bending down to rifle through her bag for clean clothes. I gulp at her ass sticking out in my direction. She's definitely trying to kill me.

I grab my shower things as quickly as possible and disappear into the already steamy bathroom.

I've cooled down a little bit by the time I shut the water off. Before I never had a problem controlling my sexual urges by reminding myself that my last rash decision in that category led me to being a mother. Being around Santana makes me completely throw out all my rational thinking.

Thankfully Santana is fully clothed when I emerge. Granted, her legs are completely exposed in her tiny white shorts and the halter-top shows plenty of cleavage and toned arms. But at least I can breathe around her again.

I change quickly, avoiding looking at Santana. I can feel her eyes on me, but I will myself to focus on the task at hand instead of giving into joining her under the covers again.

The boys are waiting in the Jeep when we finally leave our room with bags in hand. Puck is shirtless and is lounging across the backseat while Sam is in the passenger seat drumming on the dashboard. Santana tosses her duffel bag right into an unsuspecting Puck's lap, who groans under its weight.

Sam laughs at him and Puck gives him a playful glare before sitting up and throwing Santana's bag into the trunk. I open the door and shove Sam, who scrambles into the back seat next to Puck. Santana plops herself in the driver's seat, dark sunglasses shading her eyes. She turns the key in the ignition and we're off once again, the cars with the rest of our friends following behind us.

By the time we stop for lunch, Puck is moaning and clutching his stomach that he's starving and Santana is on the verge of killing Rachel who has called every twenty miles for the last four hours. We pull into the parking lot of the restaurant and pile out of the car. I notice Rachel immediately dashes inside to put in our name, but I know she's probably avoiding the wrath of Santana.

We split between a few booths and immediately dive into menus. Santana and I end up sitting with Blaine and Kurt, who are both dressed immaculately for people that had been out drinking all night and have been sitting in a car for hundreds of miles. Santana is too involved with making her many menu selections to even acknowledge their presence, but I chat amicably with them.

It's not until I feel Santana's hand rest on my knee right below the hem of my sundress that I lose my concentration. Kurt is rambling about applying for fashion internships since NYADA didn't work out and Blaine is beaming at him and suddenly their importance has greatly diminished. Santana is rubbing lazy circles with her fingertips and my leg erupts in goose bumps at her feather-light touches. My whole body is igniting, embarrassingly so, from the simplest semi-innocent touch.

Santana seems to notice my cheeks growing warm and she skirts her hand to my inner thigh, pushing my dress up a half-inch. I nearly choke on my Diet Coke and Blaine and Kurt drop their conversation to look at me with concern.

"I'm fine, really. I just need a minute to freshen up."

I slide out of the booth and head for the ladies' room still coughing. I jump when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.

"If you wanted to get me alone, you didn't need to feign choking, Q."

I glance up to see Santana's reflection next to mine in the bathroom mirror. I scowl at her giddy expression. She's the reason I had a coughing fit and she's not even sorry.

"Seriously, Santana? I'm half-dying and you're standing here laughing at me?" I choke out between hacking coughs.

"Do you want me to kiss it and make it all better?" she asks with a sly grin and I have an urge to either slap her or roughly kiss the smirk right off of her face. I choose the latter; before she can react I've shoved her against the wall of the bathroom and attack her lips with my own. She grunts as I press myself against her hard, but her hands find purchase on my ass and hold me there.

It's not until I hear Rachel Berry's voice from directly outside the bathroom door that I tear myself away from Santana. I'm not sure how long we've been in here, but I wipe my mouth hastily and turn to wash my hands at the sink. Santana is just kind of slinking against the tile with swollen red lips and glassy eyes.

Rachel swings the door open and scrutinizes us. I know my dress is wrinkled from the combination of being in a car for hours and from having Santana gripping it as we kissed. My hair is slightly untamed and my lips look thoroughly kissed.

"The food has arrived. I thought you might want to take a break from your sapphic activities to have a proper meal before we get back on the road."

I have the decency to blush at Rachel's comment, but Santana just scowls like she's unhappy that we were interrupted. I mean, what did she think was going to happen in a public restroom? I turn the faucet off and grab a handful of paper towels before following Rachel out of the bathroom. Santana is right behind me and she reaches out to grab hold of my hand as we walk back to the table.

A grilled chicken salad is waiting for me next to Santana's massive plate holding her cheeseburger, fries, and onion rings. She has hardly sat down before she's shoving a handful of fries into her mouth. It's typical Santana, and it should be completely repulsive considering she's eating like a cave woman. Yet I find myself not caring as long as there are more days like this in the future.

As soon as the bill is paid, we gas up and get coffee from the gas station across the street before heading back onto the highway. We have about four more hours to go before we'll be entering the city limits of Lima.

Puck passes out within the first hour back onto the road and Sam is playing some game on his PSP. It feels like it's just Santana and I tackling the endless stretch of highway together. We laugh and sing our way through the rest of Kentucky and into Southern Ohio, my hand covering Santana's on the gearshift.

There's a change in the atmosphere as soon as we hit the "Welcome to Lima" sign on the outskirts of town. Santana's posture is more stiff, her expression more serious. I fight the urge to relinquish my grip on her hand. It feels weird to be home after everything that had happened this week.

We pull up at Puck's house a few minutes later and I'm forced to let go of Santana's hand so I can let the boys climb out of the backseat. We hug and all promise to hang out before Santana and I leave for college.

Once we get back into the car, silence falls over us. Neither of us want the spell to be broken and speaking about it guarantees that everything will come crashing down around us. I look out straight through the windshield as Santana backs out of the driveway and starts to head in the direction of our neighborhood on the other side of town.

As we pull into our development, I finally get the courage to open my mouth.

"I really don't want to go home," I say quietly, instantly embarrassed. Part of it is me not wanting to leave Santana after all of this, but a large part is the dread settling in that my mom will probably be drunk and passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of wine. There will be a dinner by myself and a whole night of lying in my room counting the hours until I can be setting up my new life in New Haven.

Santana doesn't respond or question me in the slightest. Instead she bypasses my block and continues straight to her house. We pull into the driveway and she kills the engine. I follow her up the stone pathway and through the front door. Something smells fantastic, which really isn't uncommon. Santana's mom is a great cook and one of the sweetest ladies I know. It always amazed me that Santana was, in fact, her daughter, but she often blames Santana's rude language and bitchy attitude on the fact that her grandmother Lopez used to babysit her often when she was young.

"My Santana! You're back!" Mrs. Lopez exclaimed as we walked into the kitchen. She was wearing her apron and she dropped her wooden spoon back into the pot she was stirring so that she could come over and hug Santana.

Santana let her mother hold her tight for a few seconds before pulling away and putting some space between them. Mrs. Lopez laughed and turned to look at me.

"Hi, Quinn! Are you staying over for dinner?" My family life was Lima's worst kept secret. I appreciate the fact that Mrs. Lopez didn't even question why I wasn't at my own house having dinner on the first hour that we are back in town. Immediately I'm enveloped in a tight, yet thankfully short, hug.

"Yes, Ma'am, if it's no trouble," I say politely, giving her a small smile.

"Quinn, honey, of course it's no trouble. And I wish you'd stop this ma'am nonsense and start calling me Maribel."

I nod dumbly, knowing that my Fabray upbringing is so ingrained that I didn't think I'd ever be able to call her anything but ma'am or Mrs. Lopez.

"We'll be in my room," Santana tells her mom and grabs my arm, dragging me from the kitchen.

I follow in Santana's wake along the familiar path. We pad up the stairs and into Santana's room. In all actuality, it is more like an apartment built inside her parents' house. All it was missing was a kitchen and that would have been stupid to install because nobody in his or her right mind would turn down Mrs. Lopez's cooking. Her parents had let her decorate it however she saw fit and never complained about the loud music that was often blasting from her surround sound. Santana has the perfect life as the oldest child and only girl.

Santana closes the door behind me as soon as I had cross the threshold and snaps the lock into place. We are alone and I have her all to myself and we are back at Lima, but some of the magic had been shaken off as soon as we had passed my house.

Things aren't easy here. We can't be carefree and spend our days doing anything we wanted with absolutely no consequences. All of it is starting to press down upon me and I can feel the tension making its way into my shoulders.

"What do we do from here, Q?" Santana asks as she starts to unpack her suitcase. I never thought there would be a day when Santana would initiate a discussion about her feelings with me, not after everything we've been through over the past four years.

"I'm not out. I'm not even sure I'm gay, San. Is it really fair of me to ask you to go back into the closet so we can have a few nights of great sex before we both leave for college with almost a thousand miles separating us?"

"Is any of life ever going to be fair?" Santana asks, her brow furrowed and her tone obviously challenging.

"You know what I mean. It's not realistic for us to act like this can become anything."

Santana throws a pair of shoes into her closet with a little more force than necessary. I know she is heating up; I had seen Santana like this a million times.

"It's unrealistic to think that it's not already something. You can hole yourself up in the closet of denial all you want, Q, but you kissed me on that beach because you wanted to. You spent a week happily with me being more than just friends. You made love to me last night. That's right, even I knew it was more than sex. So tell yourself whatever you need to so that you can sleep at night, but don't for a second try to make me buy into your bullshit."

I am stunned. Santana is always brutally honest with people: whether it is about their clothes or their annoying personality traits, Santana always tells people exactly how it was. Her words pierce through me like icy daggers. Everything she said is completely true and she is forcing it in my face to deal with. I am better at hiding, at skirting through life where I don't let my emotions play a part in my actions. But this week has destroyed all of that. I let the setting sun paint Santana in a beautiful, irresistible light. I let my actions match my inner emotions. And here I was, letting tears run down my face in the middle of Santana's bedroom all because she made me hear the truth.

Mrs. Lopez calls us for dinner and Santana huffs, walking into her bathroom and slamming the door. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. Santana comes back into the room, her face obviously having been washed. She sweeps past me and out the door before I can even string a sentence together.

I had no choice but to follow her. On my way down the stairs I compose myself, ready to wear my mask to get through this meal. Mrs. Lopez has the table piled with food. Mr. Lopez is sitting at the head of the table wearing his scrubs from the hospital. As soon as he notices Santana and I, he smiles happily and gets up to hug us. I let him embrace me before taking the empty seat across from Santana. It was my normal seat; the empty one next to Santana had always been Britt's and it still felt weird to fill that void.

Santana's parents chat animatedly with us as we eat and I feel the pang of jealousy at her family life just like every time I'm over here. She doesn't seem interested in talking to her parents about the trip, so I fill in the basic details for them instead.

As soon as we clear our plates, Santana yanks my arm and pulls me back into her bedroom. It's the last place I want to be, but she hasn't really given me a chance to object. I don't even see her close the door yet my back slams against it when she pushes me.

"What the fuck, Santana?" I growl angrily and try to twist out of her grip. It's useless with the hold she has and I'm growing angrier with every passing second.

"Just shut up. For once can you manage to not fight me on something?"

God, I want to hit her, yell at her. I want out of her bedroom even if it means returning to my own miserable home.

"This isn't some vacation fluke that you can write off because you're too damn scared. I'm not going to let you do that to yourself or me. You're so freaking frustrating, Quinn!"

I wanted to bite back but it was so hard to maintain my appearance of not caring when I could see the fire in Santana's eyes. It wasn't the typical one I was on the receiving end of when she was trying to take me down. They were pleading and emotional under the anger.

"How can we possibly do this?" I whisper, my voice cracking with the strain of holding back my tears.

"There are phones and computers and weekend visits and holiday breaks in Lima. Don't you want to at least not have any regrets? If we don't even try I'm gonna regret it for the rest of my life, Q, and I don't want to live like that. I know you don't either."

"And if it falls apart? We'll lose our friendship and everything. I don't want to lose you, San."

I couldn't stop the tears anymore. I felt the warm droplets roll down my cheeks and swiped at them with the back of my hand.

"It's impossible for us to not be in the other's life at this point, whether it's as old glee club friends or as something more."

I know she's right; we're too wrapped together to not always have connections. Even if we wanted to get away from one another, it would be impossible with glee club gossip and reunions.

I answer her by pushing forward and capturing her lips. She moves against me, her tears mixing with my own. My arms are around her waist and I know she just fits there.

The odds are against us from every angle. In two weeks, Santana will be nearly a thousand miles from me living her own life. But I'm not ready to give up on this.

~!~!~!~

Santana and Rachel are the first leaving for college. Puck insists on having a party to get us all together one last time before life changes. Santana and I attend begrudgingly; I would have definitely rather spent her last night in Lima with her all to myself. But instead I'm in Puck's backyard clutching a plastic water bottle. Across the yard, I watch Rachel cling to Finn's arm, tears streaming down her face and a half-empty wine cooler clutched in her hand. She has cried at least five times already tonight as she says her goodbyes

"At least I'm not that pathetic about leaving," Santana scoffs from beside me. She's been quiet all night and I know she's just as upset as Rachel is about leaving tomorrow evening even if she doesn't show it. Part of me thinks she's denying that she's leaving at all; she hasn't actually said goodbye to a single person all night. Instead, she's been standing next to me, casually brushing against my shoulder and clutching a beer. It's still her first of the night and she's been milking it for hours.

When Rachel starts fully sobbing and Finn can no longer calm her down, we take it as our cue to leave. She gives me a tight hug and soaks my shoulder with her tears in the process. I pull away and say goodbye to the rest of our friends before heading through the gate to my car.

Santana is sitting in the front seat already, her feet bare and resting on the dashboard. In the moonlight, she looks absolutely stunning and it makes me wish that I had my camera with me to capture the moment. I climb into the driver's seat and realize that Santana hadn't said goodbye to anybody before heading for the car. I debate for a second whether I should make her talk about it or force her to admit that this is, in fact, happening.

I decide I'm better off not starting a fight. If Santana doesn't want to say goodbye to them, it's her business. I'd rather enjoy the last night with my girlfriend.

My body shudders at even thinking of her as my girlfriend. Things had been pretty great since the Florida trip even if we were kind of sneaking around our parents. Her parents had welcomed her relationship with Brittany, but I knew that they saw how much of a mess Santana was when they had broken up. I knew that Mrs. Lopez didn't look at Brittany quite in the same light anymore and I didn't want to open that door when we had no idea how the next few months would play out. Santana went along with it figuring it was just part of me still being locked in the closet and I was grateful for the lack of pressure coming from her.

She leans over and rests her head against my shoulder as I weave down the side streets on the way back to her house. We don't speak, but the murmur of the radio is enough to keep it from being uncomfortable.

I park on the street in front of her house and turn the key. It gets silent when the radio clicks off and I feel Santana tense slightly against my shoulder. I don't want to make the first move, so I just sit there awkwardly letting her headrest on my shoulder. I watch her hands; they are twisting in her lap with obviously nervousness.

Santana picks up her head and opens the car door, climbing out and walking to the front door. I follow suit and scramble after her. The house is dark, her parents already having gone to bed. She unlocks the door and eases it open as quietly as she can manage. The only light is the dim glow of the nightlight above the stove, but Santana leads me through the house slowly, her fingers intertwined with mine. Her sweaty palm is pressed against mine and I can actually feel her rapid heartbeat pulsing through it as we close ourselves in her bedroom.

My old opinion of Santana would involve the fact that she would want to have a crazy hot sex marathon before we were going to be separated for a couple of months. But Santana is bordering on somber and depressed right now so I just eye her cautiously.

She pulls an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts from a drawer and replaces her tiny dress with the clothes in one quick motion. I dig through my own overnight bag and extract pajamas and change as well. We share the sink in her bathroom to brush our teeth and I follow her back into the bedroom. She climbs into her bed and I hit the light switch and crawl in next to her and pulling the comforter over the both of us.

Santana is distant, both mentally and physically. I slide along the mattress to close some of the distance between us but refrain from touching her. Her eyes are closed, but I can still see the worry sitting just beneath the surface. We lay there in silence, a foot of space between us but knowing that the other is awake. I rub my fingers along the material of the comforter to keep from reaching out for her.

"Everything is going to be different," Santana says finally. I have no idea how long we've been lying in silence, but I'm relieved to hear her voice again. It's not confident and piercing like Santana's words usually are, but it is still a million times better than silence.

"Of course it is. Life is always changing. But that doesn't mean it's not going to be great," I say optimistically.

"What if it is just too different and we can't handle it?" she asks, her voice weak.

"San, you're the bravest girl I know. Most people wouldn't come out in a judgmental little farm town or would risk their popularity to join Glee Club." I let myself reach out and stroke her hair, scratching my nails lightly along her scalp.

"Louisville is much bigger than McKinley and I'm gonna spend four years on the bottom of a pyramid to pay for an education that I don't care so much about. I can't pull the stupid shit I did here to get ahead or they'll just toss me off the team and then I'll have nothing to fall back on."

It hurt to hear how worried Santana was. We hadn't talked much about her accepting the scholarship. Most of our high school years involved us being in the same circles but having very little in terms of a real friendship. She always had Brittany, so I was more just around so that we could all maintain appearances. It wasn't until Brittany and Santana had broken up that I had grown closer to Santana. Even then, we talked about her relationship and her past, but never really took the time to discuss the future and what she really wanted out of it.

"Do you not want to go to Louisville?" I ask quietly, continuing to soothe her with my fingers.

"I don't know what I want. I'm eighteen and I'm supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life and I really just have no fucking clue. Louisville gives me a chance to get an education and save the money my mom gave me but I hate cheerleading and the only way to make it work is to cheer for the next four years."

"She gave you that money for a reason, S. Your mom wants you to be able to follow your heart wherever it may take you."

"I promised my dad I would at least try to make things work at Louisville before tapping into the money. I know he wishes I was motivated to be a doctor like him or something equally impressive. You know that I had talked to Berry about getting an apartment together in New York? I thought I'd try to make it work there, but then I talked to my dad and I just can't let him down. He's been so good to me and he deserves to have a daughter than he's proud of."

"Your dad is already proud of you. It's impossible to not see it every time he looks at you."

"You're just saying that," Santana mumbles, rolling onto her side so that she's facing me.

"I'm not. I can't even tell you how many times I've seen it and have felt so jealous of you for it. I would do anything under the sun to make my parents proud and it'll never earn me the look your dad gives you every single time you walk into a room."

"Q..." Santana starts, but I cut her off.

"It's fine, San. I came to terms with it a long time ago and I'm going to my dream school with my whole life ahead of me. You'll find your dream and if it's not at Louisville, then I'm sure your dad will support that wholeheartedly."

"You're pretty smart, you know that?"

I laugh, feeling the warmth melt through my body. Santana scoots closer to me, draping her arm over my hip and starts rubbing tiny circles on the small of my back.

"I never thought I'd be spending the night before I left for college with Quinn Fabray in my bed," Santana says, her smile reaching her eyes for the first time all night.

"None of us thought it would be like this. We all thought you and Britt would make it last forever."

"Everybody did except Britt. She missed the memo on that one," Santana says, a hint of bitter resentment in her voice.

"Do you miss her?" I ask, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

"Sometimes, but more in the sense that I miss having my best friend around all the time. It was the best thing about being together. Sure, the sex was great and shit but we used to spend hours just lying around and talking about everything and now we never really see each other unless it's in a group."

"Do you think you guys will ever work it out?"

"Nah, Britt's not the kind of person that should ever be tied down for long. She's going to fly and I want her to be able to go wherever the world takes her. She'll be my first love, but that's it."

Santana seemed confident in her answer and I knew that she was probably right. Brittany was a free spirit and she would do much better touring the world as a dancer than being a housewife to Santana. They had made the mature decision regarding the future of their relationship and I could respect that.

"Will you come to Louisville sometime in the fall?" Santana asked, her voice sounding meek with her insecurities leaking through her strong outer shell.

"You know I'll do my best. We're both going to be making big adjustments but we'll make time to talk and I'll definitely see you for Thanksgiving."

"That's three months away, Q."

"We'll work on it, okay? But can we please just enjoy our last few hours together?"

"Yeah, you're right," she says, using her arm to coax me closer to her.

I wake up to Santana straddling my hips and her hands pushing my t-shirt up to run them along my ribs and the underside of my breasts. She's smirking playfully down at me when I finally open my eyes and meet hers. Santana bends down and kisses me and there's much more behind it than a good morning peck.

I don't even have time to think about having morning breath when Santana swipes her tongue along my lip and then bites down playfully. My insides melt under her gentle caresses and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to get lost in the moment and not fixate on the fact that this is our last morning together for a very long time.

I don't bother trying to stop her as she pulls each of my layers of clothing from my body or when she then strips herself down. She slides back on top of me, pressing herself into me; we fit like a jigsaw puzzle. Santana needs to be in control and I let her, melting into her aggressive kisses and deft touches. It has only been three weeks of exploring like this yet Santana already knows exactly what I need. It's merely minutes later that I'm moaning her name and arching into her touch.

Santana doesn't even relinquish control when it comes to her own pleasure. She rocks her hips to dictate the speed and depth of my fingers buried within her. We keep eye contact until the moment of her first spasm. She tosses her head back with a moan, her hips moving furiously as she rides out the waves of pleasure.

Afterwards she rolls off of me and collapses limply onto the bed while trying to catch her breath. Her sweaty body is pressed against mine and I can't remember another moment where I've felt this content.

Mrs. Lopez has a huge breakfast waiting for us downstairs. She gives me a knowing look like she's aware that Santana and I are more than friends as soon as Santana insists that I sit in Brittany's old chair. I blush furiously, but take the seat anyway.

Most of the morning is spent loading Santana's belongings into the back of her Jeep. Puck and Sam stop by to help and the four of us eat sandwiches and drink iced tea on her front porch on our break from the work. Santana is looking tense again and I wish I could rub her shoulders or stroke her hair but Mrs. Lopez is weeding her garden on the other side of the yard.

The boys give her massive hugs and Puck slips a bottle of vanilla vodka, Santana's favorite, into one of the boxes as a going away present. She manages to keep her tears locked up once again.

As soon as the boys drive away, I take her back up to her bedroom. I dig through my bag and extract the box buried under my clothes. I hand it to her sheepishly, afraid she won't like the present.

Santana tears the paper haphazardly and lets it fall to the floor. She pulls the lid off of the box and looks down at the contents. I watch the smile find its way onto her face as she pulls one item at a time out. It's all just a collection of little silly things: a handful of photos of us from throughout high school and this summer, a couple of sample sizes of liquor bottles, my personal Cheerio pom-pom, and a small stuffed koala bear.

"This is sweet, Quinn, thank you," she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. I pull her close, hugging her against me as she starts sobbing. We stay like that for a long time, me comforting her in silence as she clutches onto me.

Finally the tears subside and she pulls away, wiping her eyes.

"I just figured I'd get a head start on sending you care packages," I reply, giving her a meaningful smile. I already have part of the next one started that I'm going to mail her when I move into Yale.

She pulls me in again, but this time it's to kiss me. My insides tighten, knowing this is the last time that we're going to have a moment like this for a while. I kiss her back, letting all of my emotions pulse through it, letting her feel how much I want this to work.

We only separate when Mrs. Lopez calls up the stairs to ask if Santana is ready to leave. Her parents are driving down separately to help her move into her dorm and they need to get on the road.

I kiss her once more and wipe her tears with the pads of my thumbs before leading the way out of her bedroom.

Mr. Lopez is already situated in the driver's seat of their Lexus SUV when we get out onto the front porch. Mrs. Lopez is standing by her door looking at the directions on her phone and avoids looking up at us. Santana throws herself into my arms and hugs me tightly, her hand grasping at the base of my neck.

"You're going to be amazing," I tell her, meaning it wholeheartedly. "Call me when you get settled in tonight."

She nods, seemingly unable to speak. I give her one more small hug then nudge her in the direction of her car. I walk over to my own and climb into the driver seat. I allow myself one glance over my shoulder and a quick wave to her before I pull away from the curb and disappear down the block.

When Santana calls me that evening, I climb out of my window and sit on the roof. It's not quite the view we had in Florida, yet I feel like I'm back in that sand wrapped up in Santana. Her voice is soothing and I let myself get lost in it as the sun sets over the rooftops of Lima.

"I miss you, Quinn," she says as the darkness begins to take over. "I've missed you since the moment I left."

"Miss you too, San," I mumble, willing myself not to cry over a simple phone call.

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay? And every day after that."

"Please don't make promises that are impossible," I beg her. I can't handle being let down by broken promises right now.

"It's not impossible," she says simply. "Goodnight, Q."

And with that, the line goes dead.