Pairing: Rachel/Santana

Synopsis: After the fallout, it seems that the friendship has hit the wall. Santana is pretty sure there's nowhere to go from here, but when she's about to give up and let destruction take hold of her friendship with Rachel, she realizes that it takes a wrecking ball to lay the foundation for something else.

A/N: This is a gift for my friend Dorrie, to whom I owe it to. My sincere apologies that I didn't get to this for your birthday. You know how things have been. To my Pezberrians: you know where my heart lies in the Glee fandom, at least half of the time. I don't even watch the damn show but I still love these girls and always will. I also really don't watch the show and I have no idea what's going on or what's happened other than the basics. Also (sorry Dani fans), Santana isn't with Dani in this fic. I think that Pezberry is where it's at lately on the show, at least what I've seen in GIFsets. The story is pretty basic, and it's a one-shot, but I really love how it's turned out.

###

i.

"I think I'll dismember the world and then dance in the wreckage."
Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 1: Preludes & Nocturnes

It's not like Santana hadn't suspected for a long time that the easy peace between herself and Rachel was temporary. The primary reason was that they were both so damn competitive it was impossible to come to an agreement. Also, if Santana was honest with herself, she had a big ego and so did Rachel. They bruised easily, even if they didn't want to shoulder the responsibility of being honest about it. So when she found herself face-to-face with Rachel in a shouting match – the shouting match that would cast Santana from the happy ranks of their little trio – she wasn't really surprised at how things had ended up.

She was, however, surprised to find that it really fucking hurt to think that Rachel didn't want her around. They'd both spat such hateful words, so Santana couldn't remember all of it (or any of it, really) but she knew she was in a lot of emotional pain beneath the desire to tear things from their places on shelves as she stormed out.

She was also surprised to realize in the aftermath that it wasn't her own pride that had led to the ruin of a really good friendship; it had been Rachel's pride that brought the fall. Rachel couldn't bear the fact that someone had won a treasured role over her. And the thing was, the thing she didn't get to tell Rachel in the midst of the argument, was that she could have the damn role if she wanted it. Santana wanted it but not enough to ruin everything.

After everything, she'd really started to give a damn about Rachel. They'd spent enough nights alone together that Santana had come to know the most intimate things about the shorter girl. She knew that when Rachel got ice cream, she only got three scoops and never any nuts because there was too much weight retention in salt. At least that's what she said – she would eat two bites, make an excuse to go back up to the counter and come back with what would've been a thimbleful of nuts.

Rachel mumbled in her sleep, hummed at her reflection in the mirror, dabbed her face delicately when she washed it, and tied her hair back while stretching her elegant neck. She examined her reflection, her profile, after she washed off her face mask.

Santana had come to know Rachel so much that it was a little creepy. She was sleeping in a goddamn hotel and staring out the window like she'd been broken up with. Her friendship with Rachel had sort of changed her. She still had her unbeatable wit and quick temper, still lapsed into Spanish when white people had started to drive her up the wall with their ignorance, and she still trusted no one with any information that could potentially harm her.

Rachel, though. She had trusted Rachel. And here she was, worse off because she had something and lost it. Rachel had been something important; she'd been sort of like a flotation device for Santana. Now she was alone, and angry with herself because she had continued to check her phone like Rachel might text her and say, Just kidding, only kidding, come back.

Rising from her place beside the window, Santana tossed the damn phone onto the bed and knelt in front of the hotel's mini-fridge. There was no alcohol to speak of, except those shitty eight dollar bottles of liqueur that wouldn't even get Santana buzzed on an empty stomach.

She crouched in front of the mini-fridge until her knees started to ache. The undersized thing shut with a quiet thud and Santana sat heavily on the bed, grabbing her phone. She considered calling Quinn – they talked from time to time, even though for a little bit things had gotten weird when they slept together. Maybe the blonde would have some advice. Of course, Quinn and Rachel had always been like two sides of the same coin in their own way, and the former HBIC seemed to know Rachel better than Santana ever could.

Note: Santana only considered calling Quinn. Instead she dialed through her contacts six times before finally resting on the one she wanted to reach out to.

Berry.

A picture they'd taken together was Rachel's icon. Santana thumbed over it thoughtfully before she hit the call button. It rang once, twice, and the timer hit 27 seconds. It was that crucial point where default voicemail inboxes took over.

"This is Rachel. I'm not available but I promise I'll call back as soon as possible. Leave a message!"

The phone beeped. Santana listened to the tone that indicated she should speak, and when she drew a breath she thought she should say something but words remained jammed up in her throat. She hung up, wrist limp between her thighs, and covered her face.

"Whatever, man."

It wasn't so easy pretending not to care anymore.

###

When she called the show manager to quit, he'd sounded personally affronted so Santana came up with an excuse: her cousin was sick and she had to fly home immediately. The man's voice had softened over the line and Santana hung up, following her successful career destruction with a taxi to the nearest and most crowded gay bar.

She slipped among the crowd, aloof enough to draw attention from the fool-hardy young lesbians who were ready for a good one-night stand. They were the self-destructive sort that would whine when Santana pulled on her pants after a session and left the hotel room without so much as a scribbled name or number. They dropped like flies sometimes, clinging to Santana and promising a really good time and then falling short.

Santana had some experience, in other words.

Tonight she wasn't expecting to hook up with anyone, but she did plan on getting really drunk and trying her best not to look at her phone and try to will Rachel to call her. Somewhere in the distance someone shouted approval as the Spice Girls drowned out the sound of the crowd. The DJ was apparently feeling nostalgic.

Santana downed three shots and sat down in the nearest booth, tilting her head back and listening to the rejuvenated version of her childhood idols. She ordered three more shots before her phone vibrated in her pocket.

You forgot something at the apartment. Where can I drop it off? – R*

Out the nearest window. – S.

You know very well I won't. – R*

Coulda fooled me. – S.

Don't be childish. – R*

Double Tree Suites. Room 4305. – S.

See you then. – R*

One of the cuter waiters cleared away the quickly accumulating stack of shot glasses. Santana was wobbling a little on her feet as she stood, left a tip, and asked where the nearest liquor store was. The younger man had said something about her not needing any more, but nodded his head in the general direction.

"Three stores down," He'd shouted over the din of the crowd.

Santana shoved a ten into his palm, gave him a wet kiss on the lips, and stumbled outside. She fumbled with her wallet as she stopped outside the storefront, the whole scene a little bit like one of those under budget indie films – fluorescent lighting tended to do that. She passed through the door, nodded in greeting to the small Korean man behind the counter, and grabbed a big bottle of Southern Comfort.

After the purchase, Santana tucked the heavy bottle under her arm, and headed back to her modest hotel room to await the arrival of the very reason she was drinking herself into the worst hangover in a long time.

###

Santana was about a third through the bottle of Southern Comfort by the time she heard a muffled knocking at the hotel room door. She wasn't sure she had left the door unlocked, so she set the open bottle on the night stand and tripped her way toward the sound of knocking.

Rachel was standing there, dark jeans and a white tank, hair tied back and those bangs – her eyes glinted indignantly as Santana gaped at her. "Here's your - Santana, are you drunk?"

"I don't know, are you? That's not my business if you've been –" hic "drinking. Shouldn't you know if you're drunk?" Santana lurched, grasping for her suitcase but watching in confusion as Rachel pulled it away.

"I didn't ask if I was drunk, I asked about you." Rachel advanced, causing Santana's head to tilt back a little as she stumbled back from the sudden intrusion. "God – you smell like whiskey and beer."

"Thanks," Santana grabbed for the luggage again but found it pulled from her grasp a second time. "Man, give me my shit. That's the only reason you came over anyway – wanna get rid of me like everyone else. Let me speed up the process for you," she grabbed the luggage with success this time, wrenching it from Rachel's hands. "Don't look at me like that, like you feel sorry or something, 'cause if you really –" she lost her train of thought, pulled the bag behind her and crumbled onto the bed tiredly.

Silence fell, and Santana stood up to remove her shirt because suddenly she was sweating a lot. "Fuck," the word spat out of her in shock. "You're still – you're standing there –"

Rachel was hovering in between the entrance hall and the hotel room, her hand poised on the wall.

"Why are you still here, Berry? It's not like we're –" the room spun, but she swung her hand lazily to the bottle of alcohol and took a swig, tottering forward on her toes, "still friends. You made that clear."

"Don't be so stupid, Santana," Rachel responded bitterly, and she was suddenly right in front of Santana and grabbing at the bottle of whiskey in Santana's hand. "God, you're going to end up with alcohol poisoning. Go to bed."

"Get out of my room," Santana reached for the whiskey bottle but failed, her fingers suddenly tangled in the fabric of Rachel's tank as she lurched forward.

"No." It was a sort of firm response that made Santana feel a little more sober. There was something she couldn't make sense of. She searched Rachel's face confusedly, trying to let go of Rachel but finding her hands pinned around Rachel's waist. "I'm not leaving you like this."

"Leaving me," Santana echoed unhappily, but her arms felt suddenly heavy. She felt nimble fingers at her front, unbuttoning her shirt and slipping it from her frame. Cold air bit into her skin but she felt weirdly vulnerable because of the way Rachel's eyes trailed over her. She was about to inquire about why she was being disrobed when she realized Rachel had, at some point, retrieved a hoodie from Santana's things and was gently pulling it over her head and helping her into it.

"Lay back," Rachel demanded softly, kneeling on one knee, half-standing, as she unbuttoned Santana's jeans and hitched her fingers at the hips, tugging harshly.

They'd sometimes slept barely clothed on the couch, but never before had Rachel taken control and taken Santana's clothes off. Drunkenly, Santana felt a little turned on. However, it was the tenderness in Rachel's eyes that made it sting. Damnit, she really did care even if she'd kicked Santana out.

Her head swam, and she thought maybe she felt fingertips trace the outer part of her thighs just as Rachel coaxed Santana under her covers. She was nodding off into a drunken coma, but the weight on the mattress shifted downward and she knew Rachel had not yet left her alone.

###

The next morning Santana woke up slightly panicked. Two things she noticed: aspirin pills and a glass of water. These were what waited for her as she sat up, and she gulped the water slowly. Her stomach was sort of heaving but it was her head that hurt the worst.

Sadness swelled over her. Rachel had left her in the night and maybe it was the last time she'd see her. At least for a while.

She was about to bury herself under the down-comforter and clean sheets in misery when she heard the door click shut and the lock slide into place.

"I got you some protein. It's not much because you'll probably vomit if you have too much right now, but it should help the headache," Rachel's voice greeted Santana's senses and welcome relief washed over her.

And there was a pang of emotion as Santana sat up, legs swung over the side of the mattress, and she was grasping Rachel's waist and tugging the shorter girl to her. She didn't give Rachel a choice, because she was so overcome with relief that the only logical response was this. She embraced Rachel tightly, buried her face against Rachel's taught stomach, and felt tears burning her eyes.

"I quit the role. I called the show manager the next day," she admitted, words muffled against Rachel's shirt, Santana's grasp probably a little too forceful. "I didn't mean any of the stupid shit I said, Rachel, but damnit I can't believe you'd just –" Santana fell to tears. It wasn't noisy, the way she cried. Her expression crumpled and she pressed her face more completely against Rachel's midriff.

Rachel's fingers trailed along Santana's scalp, tangled in her hair, and Santana could feel the warmth of Rachel leaning over her delicately and familiar arms wrapping around her head. "I'm stupid sometimes, Santana. You know this. I'm sometimes vain and unforgiving and unthinking," Rachel's words were gentle murmurs somewhere near the top of Santana's head.

"You said we weren't friends, that we weren't ever really friends – "

"I was lying. I was jealous. I didn't mean it," Rachel apologized desperately. "You have to know I wouldn't leave anyone in the cold like that, much less someone who –"

Santana clutched closer, feeling herself trembling a little from her need to be comforted.

"Sweetie," Rachel murmured more quietly, beginning to coax Santana's away just enough. Her fingers forced Santana by the jaw to crane her neck upward. "Hey," warm, feminine fingers trailed along Santana's hairline, brushing hairs back that didn't need to be. "I'm sorry, okay? I wouldn't just – throw away our friendship like that – I wouldn't just cast you aside like you didn't mean anything. I was an idiot and I know I can't take back the things I said."

Santana nodded tearfully, but she couldn't let Rachel go just yet. Her hands were grasping Rachel's hips hard still, as if letting go meant severing the bond. Rachel had become her best friend in the time she'd been living in New York. They'd forged something special and almost losing it had created a desperation in Santana that she nearly couldn't handle. "I'm sorry I'm an asshole," Santana's voice hitched and broke a little, and she ducked her head against Rachel's stomach again.

"I was the asshole this time," Rachel excused.

"Learned it from the best," sadness was still heavy on Santana's shoulders, even as Rachel's hands untangled from her hair and started to drop down Santana's back.

"Please come back to the loft." It was the way that Rachel seemed to plead that made Santana's heart stutter into her throat. "You belong there, with me."

The mood took on an entirely new dynamic, even as Santana tried to distract herself by nodding. She couldn't bear to look up, to see those incredibly penetrative eyes searching for the answers to unspoken questions. Santana closed her eyes tightly, feeling butterflies roll up in waves. The good news is that her headache seemed to be subsiding.

"You scared me last night. Do you realize you could've ended up in the hospital with all that alcohol? That was too much Santana. Why on earth would you drink that much, that heavily?" Rachel was running her thumb over Santana's jaw, her cheekbone.

"I was really upset."

"But why?"

"I don't know. You'd just kicked me out and I didn't – I couldn't stand the idea that maybe there'd be a day where you didn't care whether or not I was around," Santana mumbled reluctantly, and as she started to pull away, she felt more tender touches along her neck and jaw. She felt responding goosebumps trail down her shoulders. She grasped Rachel's fingers, delicately removing them. She lay down on her back, tugging her comforter up to her neck and glancing darkly up at Rachel.

When there was enough distance, Santana felt she could breathe a sigh of relief; all the touching was confusing. All the emotion was confusing. She rolled on her side, back toward Rachel because she couldn't bear the look of sadness in those dark eyes.

Yet, Rachel seemed unsatisfied with any sort of space, because she sat down on the mattress and ran a hand gently along Santana's side. There were no words to fill the silence between them; it was heavy and tense.

"Were you scared of losing me?"

"We're friends."

"That's not what I asked, Santana."

Santana closed her eyes tightly. "I'm a little – this is all a lot to deal with."

Rachel let it drop.

###

Santana's third night back, she crawled into Rachel's bed because she'd been feeling a whole lot of tension. It was like there was some conversation occurring between them – some non-verbal exchange – all the time and Santana hadn't ever really thought about it but they'd grown extra close right before shit hit the fan.

Maybe that's why it had hurt so bad.

Rachel rolled over expectantly and reached a hand out, tangling her fingers in Santana's and pulling her in. In the dark, Santana found that often it was she who accepted comfort. She closed her eyes and rested her head in the space between Rachel's neck and shoulder, her hand slipping over the familiar expanse of Rachel's stomach.

Rachel felt like home. And that was fucking scary. Suddenly, the fear of being separated had made their bond impossibly stronger and more intense, and now there was a constant need to have physical contact. If they sat on the couch, their thighs touched, or their shoulders, and if they were walking side by side it wasn't uncommon for Rachel to take Santana's hand.

Kurt hadn't really said anything. Rachel was a touchy-feely kind of person anyway, and Santana was usually compliant no matter what.

As they lay together in the dark and Santana listened to Rachel's even breathing, she found herself aware of the way Rachel's warmth felt. She found herself painfully aware of how badly she needed to feel closer to Rachel.

She tucked herself against Rachel's side and closed her eyes, hoping that the daylight would chase away her confusion.

###

ii.

"I'm not dangerous," I breathed.
He brought his face toward mine. "You are to me."
Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell

"Three months since you started crashing here again," Kurt teased, clinking his glass against Santana's. "Sorry I can't stick around for tonight, but I'm sure you two won't miss me too much," his smile was a happy one, and he sipped the last of his wine before standing. "Wish me luck," he kissed Rachel's cheek and patted Santana's head.

He was meeting a nice guy at some art opening and both Rachel and Santana had declined the invitation. Rachel had said something about being too tired from work and school, and Santana really wasn't the sort to stand around and look at a photograph of a bicycle in black and white. Rachel was stretched out on the couch, her legs resting on Santana's lap as the door shut a few moments later.

"So, should we do something to celebrate or -?"

"That's up to you. After all, it's your anniversary."

Santana shrugged her shoulders, "I'm not much for parties and shit. I mean if you think about it all that really happened was I got shit-faced for one night and came crawling back here like you guys matter or something."

Rachel gave Santana a knowing glare, "That's not really how I remember it."

Smirking, the taller brunette turned her gaze back to the television and started clicking through channels when she felt it snatched from her hands.

"Does that really describe the way you feel about it?" Rachel turned the television off, legs withdrawing as she sat up and leaned toward Santana. "I mean I thought that we were sort of … I don't know – bonding."

Santana rolled her eyes, narrowing them on the shorter girl. "Rach," she spoke quietly. It was her answer. Sometimes Rachel forgot that behind all the sarcasm and sex appeal, Santana had a whole lot of feelings. Feelings she almost talked about.

Rachel looked thoughtful, chewing on her bottom lip before scooting close and wrapping her arms around Santana's waist, burying her face delicately against Santana's throat. Sometimes she did things like this – as if she too needed to feel physically closer to Santana.

"Don't go soft on me," Santana teased, but her expression fell serious as she sifted her fingers through Rachel's hair. "Hey, you know I was kidding. You know – I mean, I'm not great with words but –" but they had been sleeping in the same bed for almost three months straight. They held hands sometimes. They spooned. Sometimes Rachel kissed her on the cheek goodnight. Call Santana old-fashioned, but that meant something emotionally.

Rachel nodded. She disengaged a hand and grasped at one of Santana's, tangling their fingers together and pulling it to her stomach.

"This is a good way to celebrate," Santana's tone was full of mirth, but the way she held Rachel was delicate.

It took a little while, but eventually Rachel disengaged and agreed to share a bowl of popcorn and pop a movie in. That was always less complicated.

###

The nights themselves went by somewhat quickly when Santana wasn't thinking about her feelings too much. It was three hours past midnight and Rachel was climbing into bed, Santana already half asleep, when she felt the familiar warmth press close to her side.

"Santana," Rachel's sleepy voice coaxed Santana into semi-consciousness. Fingers traced Santana's jaw.

"Hmm?"

Instead of answering – since words were sort of Rachel's thing – Santana felt shock wake her completely as she realized Rachel had taken her hand and guided it under her t-shirt. Rachel's skin radiated heat, and Santana resisted every urge to take full advantage of this gutsy move on Rachel's part; Rachel's breath, her warm mouth, was lingering minty and tempting centimeters from Santana's.

"Not that I'm opposed but what the fuck are you doing?"

Rachel's eyes searched Santana's, almost too intense to process completely; Santana's hand was still being guided over Rachel's torso – her ribs dipped sensually beneath Santana's fingertips and then suddenly there was soft, goosebumped flesh and there, Rachel was pushing Santana's touch against a semi-erect nipple, letting out a quiet, satisfied gasp.

"Rach –" Santana groaned, "Are you sure this is –"

Rachel gave a slow grin, "Shut up and go with it," her voice was more seductive than Santana had ever heard it. Her eyes closed languidly and Santana watched, fascinated, as Rachel gasped the moment Santana's fingers started to insist in circles around Rachel's sensitive nipple. The brunette's head dipped forward against Santana's shoulder and her hips pressed near Santana's thigh. "I've been waiting –" a caught breath lingered against Santana's throat as Santana tugged on Rachel's nipple, massaged it with a slow, languid hunger – "been waiting a while for this."

"Rach," her voice pitched low, Santana pleading softly, "it's gonna kill me if you don't kiss me right now," Santana was surprised at her own request, but happily so as Rachel's head lifted just enough to crush their mouths together. It was a gluttonous kiss, full of lazy arousal and desire that had almost gone too long unsatisfied.

She could've lived in that kiss, that one moment.

She wasn't sure who had the most control, but her question was answered as she felt Rachel's thigh swing over her hips and suddenly she was being straddled, her hand held down with one of Rachel's as the shorter brunette dropped her shirt from her shoulders. (Button down shirts were really hot on Rachel.)

The body Santana had only distantly admired and often fantasized about was now completely accessible. And the sight of Rachel forcing Santana's palm against her breast was sensory overload. Rachel's hips rocked slowly, and suddenly Santana was sitting up and capturing Rachel's mouth in a searing kiss. She groaned when she felt Rachel's hands tugging at her own shirt, happily assisting her in getting it off and then gasping when she felt hot skin rubbing against her own.

Steadily, Rachel's hips rocked, again and again. They kissed slowly, passionately, the joining enunciated with quiet whimpers and soft, wet noises.

Santana prided herself on control, but she had none of it after what seemed to be a very long time locked against Rachel's lips. She grabbed Rachel's hips, a little hard, and used her strength to remove Rachel from her position above, pinning the shorter girl to the mattress and holding Rachel by the wrists.

"Once you're mine, you'll be mine forever – you know that, right?" Santana husked against Rachel's mouth, pulling away just enough to deny Rachel the desperately sought kiss she was leaning up for.

"Please," Rachel begged wantonly.

Fuck the word games. That's all Santana needed to hear. She quickly pressed her mouth against Rachel's, using a skilled hand to tug Rachel's bottoms off and toss them aside. She could almost feel the heat and need coming from Rachel as she used her palm to spread Rachel's thighs apart.

"Can't finish til I say so," she breathed against Rachel's throat, dragging her teeth against where she felt a pulse throb. "Understand?"

Rachel nodded, whimpering needfully as she felt her lovers kisses move lower.

Santana used teeth and tongue to draw the other, previously unstimulated nipple to match the other, feeling a sort of devouring hunger and throbbing heat low in her belly. It was hard to keep herself under control. She wanted Rachel to remember every moment of this, and what was more, to enjoy every moment of it. Santana knew she was talented, knew that if she could pace herself, Rachel would experience release she'd never expected.

She'd never had such a difficult time controlling herself before. Knowing Rachel ached made her ache just as much. Santana focused her mind, made sure to taste every bit of Rachel's skin on her way down. Lips grazed Rachel's belly button, feeling it dip and expand in surprise at the sensation. And lower, one of Santana's hands reaching up, her fingers tangling in Rachel's, surprised at the strength of Rachel's grasp when she was this full of need. She felt Rachel's thighs twitch, her hips buck upward in tiny increments with every kiss.

Santana tasted the sharp edge of Rachel's hip, and descended lovingly to the warm place between Rachel's thighs. She felt her own desire surge through every nerve ending, and she pressed a palm against Rachel's inner-most thigh, spacing just enough to taste –

Her tongue met the eager nub, her teeth grazing enough to tease, and suddenly a new kind of need swelled in her. Emotion surged, washed over Santana's every sense as she realized this was what it meant to make love. She needed to touch the most emotional, vulnerable place in Rachel.

Her fingers dug into Rachel's thigh and suddenly her needs were physicality and emotionality crushed together and suffocated. She felt Rachel's hips drive against her hungry mouth, her tongue and ministrations unrelenting and unforgiving as she listened the muffled moans from above. Rachel sounded near tears whenever Santana's name spilled from her mouth.

Right when she felt the familiar tensing of thighs around her head, Santana drew her mouth away despite Rachel's protests. She needed to see this. Rachel's hips were still writhing as Santana climbed her way back up, felt demanding fingers and a pleading grasp dig painfully into her shoulder blades. Santana kissed Rachel's mouth lovingly, even as Rachel's eyes filled with tears of need and desire and love.

"Please," Rachel's hips accentuated the word, pressing upward to any part of Santana they could find contact with. Santana's hand trailed between them – she wanted to remember the spark of life as it showed, the way she knew it would when her fingers pressed inside Rachel for the first time.

"Tell me –" Santana didn't have to finish the question, her fingers trailing painfully close to where she needed to be, where Rachel wanted them to be.

"I love you," Rachel pleaded, near-tears. "I love you, I love you," she repeated desperately.

Santana sucked her bottom lip in, concentrating on Rachel's hooded expression. Suddenly, without any further denial, she pressed a single digit, and then another, just inside Rachel's warmth. She massaged slowly at first, but the way Rachel's hips demanded made it difficult to keep it slow. Rachel's eyes were full of fire and sparks when she could manage to open them.

"Oh, my G-god," the words chattered from Rachel's mouth, jaw shivering in pleasure, and her hips arched into Santana's touch. The fucking was languid and loving, but quickly became needful. Rachel's hand shot between them and grasped at Santana's arm, needing some stabilization.

"I love you," Santana whispered against Rachel's mouth as she fucked her, her hips punctuating each thrust.

The admission touched something primal, and suddenly Santana's free hand tangled in Rachel's hair and tugged just enough to warrant a cry of pleasure, Rachel's throat completely exposed to kisses that would leave bruises the next day. Suddenly her touch was unforgiving, fast-paced, and Rachel seemed to thrive under it.

The moans that broke the night around them were vulgar and needy, Rachel half-crying, half-laughing in pleasure the closer she got to that unforgiving edge.

A string of curses began to erupt, and the rough coupling came to a head as Rachel stiffened, grabbed at any part of Santana she could, her hips rhythmically searching for a way to come down after her orgasm shattered her vision.

Santana saw tears slipping from Rachel's eyes, and suddenly they were kissing again, her fingers slipping along Rachel's sides and pulling her close. Love poured from each gasped breath, and Santana kissed Rachel in a bruising, possessive way.

It was Rachel, however, who surprised Santana by rejuvenating a little of her strength, enough to push Santana against the headboard. Her palm pressed just enough against Santana's throat to restrict her breathing in possibly the sexiest sort of way, their mouths crushing together and Rachel's dominant hand slipping beneath the hem of Santana's boyshorts.

Rachel's fingers were demanding the moment they entered Santana. She felt a shivering sort of ache, but it was soon satisfied by two digits, thrusting meaningfully against just the right spot. "Gonna show you exactly what I've been dreaming of doing to you," Rachel whispered against Santana's mouth, still pressing gently against Santana's throat with her non-dominant hand. "I'm gonna break you," Rachel murmured, her hand slipping away from the base of Santana's throat and caressing an overly-sensitive breast.

"Jesus, Berry," Santana gasped. Who knew that Berry had it in her? Here Santana had always assumed Rachel would be sort of vanilla.

Rachel fucked Santana in a way that she seemed to know wouldn't quite get her there, but would instead drive her mad with need for more. Harder somehow, more bruising. Her fingers massaged, coaxed, started to push Santana closer but the shorter girl drew her fingers away from Santana's clit, her palm grazing the sensitized bundle of nerves before Rachel placed a kiss on Santana's mouth.

The gaze that lingered between them was intense; Rachel dropped down lower and suddenly was pressing hot kisses along Santana's thighs and pressing them apart, teasing and denying Santana what she really, really wanted right now.

Santana had to admit that dom-Rachel was hot. And to think she'd somehow gotten lucky enough to be the one Rachel wanted to keep around.

Her thoughts were shattered the moment she felt a firm vibration, a hum, as Rachel's mouth covered the place where Santana needed her. Rachel hummed against Santana's clit, then sucked, the tip of her tongue circling – holy fuck where did Berry learn this?

It didn't take long and Santana's thighs locked around an insistent mouth, a quivering, explosive disaster as she came and came again. Vulgarities spilled from her throat and she was still gasping for air a half an hour later, Rachel unceasing and seemingly full of pent up sexuality.

Even when they finally settled, seemed spent, Rachel disappeared momentarily and Santana was still trembling a little when Rachel reappeared.

She wore a harness and dildo – holy hell.

Santana didn't really have time to process, because suddenly Rachel was climbing between Santana's thighs and pushing them apart, the head of the dildo tracing along a very suddenly turned on Santana's entrance.

"I told you –" Rachel warned with a playful tone, "I'm going to break you," and she captured Santana's mouth, kissing her more gently than Santana expected as Rachel pushed Santana's knees up just a little, pressing the head of the dildo in.

The thickness was just a little surprising, but as Rachel eased the firmness in, careful and loving in the way she did so, Santana was suddenly aching for just a little more. Rachel teased, giving Santana just enough to thrust upward and then pulling back just a little.

"Rachel Berry, if you don't fuck me I'm going to kill you," Santana warned half-heartedly and crushed their mouths together.

"Show me you want it," Rachel breathed against her mouth.

And suddenly Santana felt Rachel pull out, shift them just so, and as if they were about to spoon, she surprised Santana by lifting a tanned thigh and entering her from behind, Rachel's loving hand covering a breast as she pressed her front to Santana's back. Her hips moved slow at first, an even cant, but soon quickened enough to make Santana whimper from somewhere deep in her throat. Santana's hips drove back as Rachel's drove forward, the shorter girl fucking Santana in earnest and with skill, her teeth catching Santana's shoulder and biting down as if she derived pleasure from Santana's.

Santana's orgasm thundered forward; her vision went white and she was crying out, grasping Rachel's arm from behind and leaving half-moon marks in her skin.

They nearly fell asleep like that, Rachel still inside of Santana, half-covered by a loose bed-sheet.

Such a crescendo had not been expected, but the next morning when they were both awake enough, Santana listened to sincere "I love you's" punctuate Rachel's kisses, which quickly turned into far more, Santana's body jarred with each thrust and feeling that indeed, she'd found a person who could fill her in all the ways she needed to be – physically and emotionally.

Where she did not plead to be taken, she pleaded to be loved, and Rachel seemed to know just which of these Santana needed in their respective moments.

And just wait til she told Quinn how good Rachel was in bed.