DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee

First of all, I'd just like to thank catnipevergreens for being the most incredible friend ever and correcting every single mistake in this story. This wouldn't have been possible without you, so thanks! And of course, itsacurse, not0riety, ReadTheSubtext and the rest of the fandom, thanks for being generally awesome.

Jesus. This is awkward.

Your heart is still beating way too fast for your own good, your lips still tingle with the last bite they were given, and your right hand has a hot piece of ass – literally, a hot piece of hot lady ass – tightly grabbed. You could have sworn that the blond chick's eyes widened almost as much as yours, but there's no way to know when all your attention is on the hobbit standing five feet away from the bed where you and your hot date are right now. You feel the necessity to roll your eyes, because Rachel looks like a freaking fish with all the gaping and eyes like plates thing going on, so you do just that.

"I- I didn't mean to interrupt anything," she stutters out, and God, you can't believe just last night you were dreaming about all the things you could do to make her scream your name. You sigh internally because it has been way too long since you last had sex with someone other than yourself, and you need this as badly as the apartment needs walls, and - hold up - you were supposed to be getting it on with the hot blonde laying beside you, with an amused expression on her face.

Your lips form a shit eating grin because that face is so attractive, and that body is in your bed ready to be fucked into oblivion, when-

"I wasn't expecting you, Schwimmer," and hold up, how the hell does…Carly? Sandy? Know about Rachel, and most importantly why is she sitting up.

You frown, because you are genuinely confused by the constipated face Rachel is pulling off right now, and this is beginning to look like an episode of that stupid musical TV show where all the kids have banged all the kids while they sang Madonna.

"Cassie." The resolute tone she used to refer to the hot blonde almost has you gaping as well, because you didn't know she had it in her to be the slightest bit rude on purpose, and you don't want to admit it, but that makes her like, 10% more tolerable (and hot).

"And well? Were you just going to enjoy a free show or did you actually had in mind joining in?" What the fuck, Cassie.

"What? No way!"

"Oh my god." Rachel murmured to herself.

The hobbit looks positively disgusted even with her cheeks having turned a bright pink and her gaze directed to the floor.

Jesus. Christ. This is getting more and more ridiculous by the moment.

"Hold up a moment here. How do you know each other?" You look to your right and back to Rachel, but her lips are so tightly pressed together you seriously doubt she's going to give you a satisfactory answer anytime soon. The blonde just looks too amused for her own good, and everything is starting to get on Santana's nerves.

"Is Lady Hummel here waiting to cop a feel as well, or is there a reason for your oh so welcome appearance?" You spit it out looking at the ceiling, fed up with the way in which your date is ignoring you and your promising evening is being tipped over to the awful section.

Rachel just opens her mouth for a second, looking affronted, just to lift her chin a moment later and turn around, yanking the curtain closed behind her as she leaves the two of you alone once again. You look incredulously at the spot where she stood until not even ten seconds ago when you hear a muffled "I'm going out to join Kurt" outside your cubicle and the big wooden door being slammed closed. Behind you Cassie lets out a raspy chuckle as she moves forward and pushes you back down on the bed, smirking down at you. God, that smile.

"Always so overdramatic," she purrs just before her hot mouth is opening against yours, and you let a sound of satisfaction escape your throat because fucking finally. Not even two minutes have passed when her hand caresses up your leg, and you don't even feel bad anymore that Kurt is not going out tonight but at Adam's apartment, and Rachel knows it.

It's only after three days that Rachel talks to you again.

"Where are you going?" she asks, trying not to let any kind of inflection cover her voice, but you sense it anyways.

"Out," you say, as you finish putting your awesometastic new earrings on in front of one of the multiple mirrors Gay Ken and Jew Barbie have around the apartment. Next, you proceed to put on your most expensive lip gloss – one would think that being friends with Kurt would actually come in handy one day, but you still have to pay for everything you want to put on – trying to ignore the way Rachel is burning holes through your head with her eyes.

"I know that much, I'd just like to know where."

"Isn't it more on the lines of with who?"

She just clenches her jaw and crosses her arms, making her cleavage jut out that much more in her barely-there tank top. There's a moment in which you have to physically force your eyes away from that part of her anatomy, because as nice as it is you still want to live there.

"Whatever Santana. It's clear you cannot hold a proper conversation."

"Yeah, right. Like you were heading for a conversation anyways. Listen Berry," you state as you walk towards her and situate yourself between her field of vision and the TV, "If this is about that chick I brought the other day, I'm sorry okay?" Honestly you don't know what you are apologizing for, but with Rachel it's always better to be safe than sorry. "Tonight we can go to her place if you'd-"

"What?"

Whoa, the girl can screech. "What's the damn matter now?" you have barely finished asking, when she's inquiring back:

"You're going out with her again? Tonight?"

You just stare at her because you are pretty sure she was not this stupid back in high school. Then you remember what you were doing in the first place and just shake your head a bit and start walking to the kitchen counter to retrieve the black coat you had left there before.

"Santana Lopez!" she huffs as she gets up from the couch to follow you like a lost puppy, and you are honestly considering punching her in the nose at this point.

"What?!" You turn back to her, affronted, as you put your arms through the coat sleeves, looking disinterested and very frustrated.

"You can't- she's-"

You walk up to the wooden door and stop in your tracks, waiting for a suitable explanation on why the best sex you've had in months would not be worth it and curious to discover how did they know each other.

"She's a bitch."

You laugh drily for a moment as you slide the door open. "So am I."

You are still panting when you roll off Cassie's sweaty body, and her bed is luckily big enough to fit the both of you without having to get close or whatever. Not a shocking surprise considering she lives in a loft in SoHo, to be honest. Everything is going as you want it to; you are hooking up on a (hopefully) regular basis with an extremely hot bitch who seems not to have any kind of attachment problems, she has a buttload of money and the sex is great. You've even found a small studio five blocks away from yours in which you are positive you'll get to record something, but still there's something nagging at the back of your head, kind of like when you locked Lord Tubbington inside Brittany's closet in seventh grade because he wouldn't stop eating your popcorn and she wouldn't stop crying because she thought he had escaped.

Was it Rachel? She had seemed genuinely upset before you left the apartment, but there was no coherent explanation for her behavior. You start to think that maybe she just did it to look out for you, because she is paranoid like that, but you rule that out because she has never had that concern before and you don't think she's going to start now. So that leaves you with another option you don't want to think of (for unknown reasons) but you know you're too stubborn to let pass.

"Cassie," you rasp out as she fiddles with her cellphone not looking like she was given an earth shattering orgasm three minutes ago. She 'mmm's to let you know she's listening, and you decide to put your hand on the flame for the sake of your new fuck buddy status – and maybe for Rachel.

"Where do you know Rachel from?" Straight to the point, there's not need to beat around the bush with this woman.

She doesn't even look at you."She's my student."

The door to your apartment hasn't even closed yet before you are shouting. "I know it now! Ha!" You walk into the diaphanous kitchen to find Rachel chopping some vegetables in the shortest pair of shorts to ever short. She doesn't look up from her task, and you take the opportunity to ogle her infinite legs and perky ass with no shame.

"You sound like a little kid," she admonishes, but stops cutting the carrot to flick her wrist in a 'go on' motion, "And what is it so important that made you enter the apartment like a little kid high on sugar?"

You click your tongue against your teeth as she bends the slightest bit forward to move the contents on the stove, appreciating the sight the shorts provide you for a little bit longer.

"I asked Cassie where you knew each other from," you sing song, and although she doesn't say anything you can see her shoulders straightening more than usual.

"And?"

"And I still don't understand why you didn't tell me that before."

She actually huffs and turns around, and you ogle the big knife still in her possession for a moment.

"Of course you don't understand! How could you when every encounter you two have is just to copulate like wild monkeys!" You gape at her, and consider how long it would take you to grab the blade of the knife and twist it out of her hand, just to hit her with the handle. On the nose.

"Hold up encanto, let me tell you something. First, the sex is great, so don't even try that tactic with me, got it? S'not my fault that the only guy you dated worthy of the term 'lover' ended up being a hooker. A cheap one at that." Okay. So you don't want to break Rachel, just give her a wakeup call and welcome march into the real freaking world. "And second, why are you so concerned about who I see or when I go out?" Rachel's eyes are shining – presumably because of the jab at Brody – and her chin trembles for an instant before she sticks her chin up and inhales deeply, not breaking eye contact.

"I don't care what you do, Santana. You can honestly…fuck anyone you want because I don't care the slightest bit." Her voice is burning with courage and something else, and you can't help but feel bad, because you know you've fucked up when Rachel Berry swears.

"Listen Rachel, I didn't mean to-"

"You never mean to do anything until you do."

"Okay, and what's that supposed to mean."

"It means," she hisses between her teeth as she violently plants the knife on the counter, "that if I didn't know you, I'd swear that you hooked up with the person who could hurt me the most." Turning back around, she turns the stove off before running off. You are dumbstruck, your eyes still eyeing the last place in which you saw her, and you distantly hear the bathroom door being brusquely locked.

"Is there something between you and Rachel?" You lay it out in the middle of your – what was its name again? The show with the singing teenagers in high school? She says she enjoys the drama (but you know she just ogles the female cast's legs) – marathon, just when Cassie bends forward to get a slice of pizza from the carton situated on the coffee table. She almost lets go of the piece, and you just watch in amusement as she tries to cover it with a "damn couch" under her breath. She eyes you with a suspicious glint, waiting for you to elaborate, but you don't.

"Schwimmer?"

You nod hesitantly, because you remember her calling Rachel that name the first time you brought her home almost two months ago. You are not dating or anything, but Cassie has become a quality friend with whom you can laugh at other people's insecurities and ignore your own, and you have noticed something.

Ever since that conversation you and Rachel held in the kitchen, you've been more alert, you've observed attentively. You dug a little deeper, joined points (you just asked Kurt), and discovered that Cassie is Rachel's terrible dance teacher. Well, not terrible in the quality sense – you have seen and heard enough to never consider that possibility – but on the… human sense. That much you can attest to.

It's the other stuff that has you risking destroying a very pleasant evening in an expensive ass apartment in SoHo with your friend, like for example those ten or so times you have found Rachel sneaking up to the communitarian roof terrace late at night to practice dance routines, or how every time you mention Cassie she seems to bristle and completely ignore the rest of the conversation. Of course you still remember a couple of times you arrived early to your dance classes at NYADA and decided to spy on Dance 101 for a while. You certainly weren't expecting the excruciating (sexual) tension sagging the room nor the way in which Cassie seemed to always be situated strategically so that Rachel always was on her field of vision. You are aware that it could very well be a teacher's license, because since when haven't they singled out students? But you also know Cassie, and you know that nothing she does in class is random or unintentional – her words, not yours – so it's just common sense to assume that something is going on.

You decide that you are not going to bring up those three times Cassie screamed Rachel's name when she was too drunk to stand upright, let alone remember it was you who was giving her the mind blowing orgasms.

"What is wrong with you?" she asks in that condescending tone you hate so much, and you feel tempted to shove the whole slice of pizza inside her mouth. Instead you kick her gently in the leg, muttering a "fuck you" under your breath at the same time you pick the remote up from the coffee table and practically punch the power button.

"I was watching that," she accuses whilst she swallows, and you'd bet your newest pair of Stilettos that she doesn't even remember what episode they were watching. Neither do you, to be honest.

"Not until you are honest with me." Wow. She really hasn't learnt anything in these last two months if she thinks her glare is going to work. You used to intimidate Principal Figgins with one half that strong, and you let her know by raising your eyebrow. Rolling her eyes, she gives the pizza another bite before acceding.

"What," she asks in this superficial, bored tone, and this time you do slap her in the knee. Hard.

"You like Rachel," you state in a matter of fact tone, but she just rolls her eyes again.

"Jesus, what are you, twelve?"

"Don't try to deflect the question, or I swear you'll have to learn how to go down on yourself."

She doesn't look at you for a while, stubbornly munching on her piece of pizza – which she rarely indulges in, but you've burned enough calories to counteract the greasy food – and examining her nails from time to time before launching forward to pick another slice.

"Cass! You're making my boobs ache for fuck's sake!" You hiss because there's just so much you can take, and you're not above presenting your boobs away from her for an indefinite amount of time if the situation requires it.

"I don't!" she snaps back, because she has apparently read the determination in your eyes and this is not the first time she has seen herself in an agree-or-else situation with you. "I still can't believe you really think so low of me." She plays offended, but it's not amusing for you. You want to find out the truth – not because of Rachel or anything, it's just the thrill of the discovery (maybe Rachel's legs and ass and boobs and whole damn body has something to do, whatever) – that gets you going.

"If you think about her while you get off, that's called attraction. I'd know; you can't start to imagine how many one-night stands I had as a closeted bitch in high school." You grimace at the memory, still too fresh.

"You're getting into dangerous territory here," she advises in that sickly sweet voice she only uses with her weakest students – and once again, Rachel.

"Look," you say as you sit straight, your feet touching hers on the couch, "I know it's difficult for you to admit things. You are a fucking bitch and I know I'm one too. But if I can say that I wanna bed Berry, so can you." You opt for the big guns now, and hope it works. Besides, who said she couldn't let a little hint sink in…?

"So, you're admitting…" she has this perverse smile she normally sports before jumping you, "that you'd like to bone Schwimmer?"

"Fuck off. I'm trying to get you to admit that you want it too."

"I don't."

"Yes you do."

You are ready to start the retarded game of yes-no when she just stares at you for a few seconds before she throws the piece of pizza she hasn't still eaten on the carton and readjusts her position on the couch.

"What do you want me to say." Her voice is serious, yet there is an edge of vulnerability there you've never heard before, and it sets you off a little bit. You blink a couple of times before shrugging non-committedly, telling her to say whatever she feels like telling. She just smiles sadly and puts her fingers against her temple with her head lolled to the right; you swear she looks ten times older than she did a minute ago.

"She's perseverant. She's determined. She's ambitious." She curls even more into herself, and it's just now that you realize that there are more shades to this woman than you ever thought there could be. "On the first day she stood wide eyed in front of me, waiting for praise." You snort at that, because it's so Rachel Berry you are surprised you didn't imagine it before.

"And instead I gave her the most real, ass-burning wakeup call she could ever have imagined." You both chuckle at that, and it's so weird that two of the most heartless-like people in New York are doing this right here, right now, that you feel like laughing for a totally different reason.

"And then at the Showcase…that little bitch. She did it on purpose. She knew I'd be there, watching her stomp on Alexandra Blasucci's sprinkled ass."

"What?" You asked confused, because when you talked with Kurt and his fantasy admission into NYADA, he didn't say anything about Rachel's bitch of a teacher. "You were there?"

"Of course I was," she snaps coldly, clearly still drawn back into her memories. "I was the star of that fucking Showcase back when I didn't have Vodka for breakfast and I didn't have to get on my knees to star in a production." The venom in her voice drips from her tongue in waves, and you actually envy the power the woman has even as she clutches her knees to her chest and presses her chin against them.

"Then Brody came in. Fantastic Brody Weston, my TA no less." You knew you couldn't be the only one to dislike boy toy before the truth came out. Thank God for ruthless bitches like Cassie. "Everything I did, every fucking single movement I made he always did the opposite. That's why he's already on Broadway, and why he's not gonna last." You can make out a low 'asshole' before she brings a glass of water which had been standing by the couch to her lips. You watch the action attentively – because honest heart to heart or not, you still tap that in almost a daily basis, so yeah, whatever – and lick your lips at the same time she does. She notices but doesn't say anything; in fact you're in silence for a while after that, and you let the peace help you join points and fill gaps.

"Get your ass up Berry, we're going out." You give her no time to react as you throw the shortest dress you found in her wardrobe in her face, walking to the TV and turning it off.

"What- No! Santana, what do you think you're doing!" You roll her eyes because her constipated face has always been priceless, and walk up to her once again to touch her hair teasingly. She slaps your hands away, and you laugh.

"C'mon hobbit, you may be hot but not even I could pull those pajamas off," you smile cheekily and walk away, ruffling her hair before entering your room to finish dressing yourself.

Not even ten seconds after you start straightening your hair, you hear an "I hate you!" followed by a "You both shut up! I'm trying to design something here!" resonating through the whole apartment. Your smile can't get any bigger.

It turns out the situation is just as awkward as you had predicted it to be. You are in the middle seat of the taxi, flanked by the two girls you have wanted to fuck into oblivion since you set a foot on New York – and hey, you've succeeded with one! – but your fantasy material is not very compatible in real life, or so it seems.

It's not until you get to the club with a glaring Cassie to your right and a very out of place Berry to your left that you start realizing that this might not have been the best of ideas. You pass your fake ID in front of the guard and look back to see Cassie already exchanging words with the hulky man, flirtatious smile on and chest jutted out. Five seconds later the three of you are inside the crowded club and headed for the bar, wanting to get as wasted as possible before dancing your brains off on the dance floor. Well, at least you know Cassie and you are there for that, you'll just have to see how Rachel adapts.

As you predict, it doesn't take much to get you on the dance floor grinding like a maniac against the hottest chicks you can see there, never leaving Rachel out of sight. You'd be damned if something happened to her – because obviously Lady Hummel would kill you – and Cassie is too occupied refilling drink after drink to notice. Well, now that you notice, it almost looks as if Cassie were keeping an eye on Rachel, playing the stereotypical awkward short girl dragged inside a club by her roommate. You don't let yourself feel bad though, and just keep grinding until sweat is coming out of your pores and you've practically learnt every bra cup size on the dance floor.

You knew it would happen. You just knew it. You have been living with one for four months, fucking the other for two, and you like to pride yourself in predicting these kinds of things. That's why when you near them you don't interrupt, instead you just ask for a dry martini and press your elbows on the counter, enjoying the show that is Miss Cassandra July practically mouth fucking Rachel Berry. She has Rachel trapped against the counter, her mouth hot on the brunette's, and you almost miss your mouth with the rim of your glass when you glimpse a tongue sneaking in between the two. It is so hot, and you can't believe you've been monopolizing the spectacle all this time with Berry just on the bed next to yours.

There's a moment in which your thighs suddenly feel too sticky and your mouth too dry, so you decide to throw caution to the wind, because you've been staring just enough. Finishing your fourth drink since you entered the club, you lick your lips at the breathless gasp you can faintly hear come from Rachel's mouth and move forward, grabbing Cassie's jaw ruthlessly and breaking the kiss, just to cover it with your own. There is another gasp, but this time you don't know whose it is. The only thing that matters is how damn good Cassie feels against you, and your brain can still process enough information to remind you that the other girl you'd like to bone is standing directly behind you.

You tear your mouth away from Cassie's – fuck, everything's so hot – and turn around, jut to be met with Rachel's hooded eyes. You don't know if they're almost black because of the alcohol or Cassie, but you honestly don't care when you cup her jaw tenaciously on your hand and bring the other one to the back of her neck, massaging with your thumb the sweaty skin there. There's a silent conversation going on between you two, and a solid agreement is reached when your lips meet for the first time. You honest to god swear you can't breathe for a moment; the sensations are that overwhelming, but you manage to get through it at the same time your tongue sneaks forward into the place it's been dying to for months. The taste is better than you expected and so are the skills, and you feel your teeth clack against each other's when your lips stretch into a very real, very Berry-like smile.

You haven't shared thirty seconds when a string of 'fucks' reach your ears, and you bite Rachel's bottom lip one last time before you pull apart and look behind you, just in time to see Cassie lunging forward and grabbing both of your wrists and practically carrying you off like a pair of little girls. Good comparison, you think, and oh Lord you're that drunk.

You're being led to the restrooms, that much you know, but are not exactly aware of your surroundings until Cassie opens the door just in front of the toilets which says 'Service only' and, yeah. This definitely counts as a service in your book.

Rachel is already attacking Cassie's mouth, and you cannot believe it took you this long to figure out this piece of gold. Now, you just hope you are not the awkward third wheel from now on.

You're not given much time to think, anyway, when you see a blur – damn 80's bulb – and suddenly Cassie is pushing against you, her mouth insistent against yours and her hand in a place you'd like to reciprocate. You know that two steps back there's the door, and that's where you're headed until you bump into a warm body, slim arms instantly wrapping themselves around your waist as a hot mouth opens and closes against your neck. The whine you let out isn't going to be repeated ever again, and you're glad you have these two human columns, or else you would already have crumpled to the floor. You are Santana Fucking Lopez though, so you know that this arrangement isn't going to last with you in the middle. Your mouth is too thirsty and your hands too greedy for that shit, and just no.

Yanking your head back, you don't bother to push Cassie away and just enjoy the feeling of her breasts pressing against your body as your turn around to face Rachel, whose arms are still securely around you. Cassie just moves and substitutes you, pressing the smaller body against the door as her left hand creeps up the front of Rachel's criminally short dress, making it ride up a little and snap back into position. Once her hand covers Rachel's boob you could swear you've lived a long and full life, because this is paradise and you don't think you're going to survive it. Not wanting to be left out – and fuck Cassie and her expressive eyes now, every time you two fucked she refused to even make eye contact, why is she looking at Rachel like-? Oh. Alright. Whatever.

It's not like you care after Cassie moves the straps of Rachel's dress down her arms. The lack of bra makes you breathless – you're pretty sure the blonde bitch is hyperventilating right now – and you occupy you rightful spot by the brunette just as Cassie slides her mouth down Rachel's neck and clavicle, finally reaching a breast. You almost salivate at the sight, and you try not to sink your nail on Rachel's skin when she scraps your scalp, whimpers and gentle noises escaping her lips with every touch of Cassie's tongue against her nipple. You're not gonna lie; you wish you could be doing that as well, but you think that'd be pushing your luck right now with the way in which Cassandra keeps looking through her eyelashes as you two kiss, desperately trying to consume each other. The kiss doesn't last much long since it seems like Rachel can't keep her head quiet whenever Cassie delivers a bite, so you go for the next best option and press your mouth hotly against the olive skin of her neck. You lave at the skin with your tongue and proceed to suck, and you mentally swear that if she doesn't let you repeat this once you're home, you're moving out.

"Cass-oh," she gasps, and the need to watch what Cassie is doing to her wins over your hunger. "Fuck," you murmur when you see that the blonde has pushed Rachel's dress over her hips, and her tongue is getting acquainted with the smooth skin of her lower stomach. You've done much bolder things to Cassie and vice versa, but you don't think you're ever going to get over how damn erotic the sight of Rachel's hand gently running through Cassie's hair as she kisses her stomach is.

Whining pathetically, you forget that you are an active member in this encounter until Rachel forcibly yanks your hair to the right, making your mouth face hers again, and seeing such a dominant side of her with you while she's being gentle with Cassie ignites something inside your chest you didn't even remember existed. You push it aside though, and continue kissing the frantic mouth moving against yours until you feel Cassie moving to her feet once again, towering over the hobbit easily.

You don't cease licking and tasting, fondling Rachel's very touchable ass or caressing the skin just under her breasts even when a keening moan pushes its way through her lips and you feel the wetness between your legs become unbearable.

"You're so wet Rachel, almost dripping," You hear those words being purred against Rachel's ear, and hers are not the only eyes rolling back in anticipation.

You don't want to look down, you really don't, because you're barely holding it together in a room with the girl you've been fucking for months and the girl you've wanted to fuck for years, almost; but the flesh is weak and you end up whining at the way Cassie's hand is tenting Rachel's panties as she caresses her inflamed flesh, her own fingers trembling the slightest bit at the sensation of finally indulging in what she's clearly been craving for-fucking-ever.

You feel sorry for her, for how much she's gone through and put Rachel through to, in part, avoid this from happening, but the at the same time you're sure that even if this doesn't lead anywhere, none of them is going to regret a second of it.

You smile as you hear Rachel uttering an earth shattering "fuck!" when Cassie enters her, gentle and sure, making the brunette slam her head against the door and dig her nails in your shoulder and Cassie's neck, because neither are you.

Three hours later you are almost falling asleep in Cassie's bed with a brunette splayed in between the both of you, and you have to fight off a smile because Kurt is going to have to deal with so much shit from now on.