Angels and Devils

Then - Nationals, junior year… absolutely the lowest point of my life, and yes, that's even taking into consideration my idiotic drunken one night stand with Puck at the beginning of sophomore year and the nuclear fallout it created. Honestly, looking back I think my breakdown had been a long time coming. To an outsider, I'm sure it looked like I was just being a spoiled princess - hurting and acting out over losing my boyfriend to an irritating, opinionated, overbearing diva (for the second time) but I truthfully couldn't care less about who Frankenteen wanted to be with. I mean, sure, it smarted a little that he chose her over me, but it's not like I really ever wanted to be with him specifically anyway. Like I told Santana and Brittany – I just wanted somebody to love me.

"I think I know how to make you feel better," Santana said, as she and Brittany tried to cheer me up in that God-awful hotel room. As Cheerios, we'd been used to five-star luxury, and that room was far from it. It smelled like cats and had a revolting stain on the carpet that I didn't even want to think about. We sat at the foot of the bed, the two of them flanking me, just as they did when I was head cheerleader, ruling the halls of McKinley.

"I'm flattered, Santana, but I'm really not that into that," I responded automatically. I'd meant it too, at the time. I mean, I guess I'd considered the option, it's hard not to when my two best friends had been ramming their fluid sexuality down my throat (not literally) since I was fourteen. And, I guess I'd always appreciated other girls physically, but I'd always figured it was just jealousy or envy. I never questioned my sexuality up until then. Of course, Santana tried to deflect and insist that she wasn't even thinking about that but in the months ahead I'd have cause to wonder and question more times than I could count...

Now - Halloween, senior year… just had to fall on a Monday, didn't it? I hate Halloween. I freaking hate it. I mean, like Mondays aren't bad enough without half of the student body regressing to acting like demented five year olds, leaping out at each other from behind classroom doors or from around corners, wearing ridiculous horror movie masks… and, oh my God, is Rachel really dressed as Little Red Riding Hood? Does the girl seriously want to be ridiculed at every possible opportunity?

"Quinn!" Oh crap, she's waving at me, is it too late to pretend I haven't seen her? I'm still pontificating when Rachel bounds over to me like a toddler on a sugar high, bouncing on her heels, while I glance around furtively to make sure none of the jocks are holding slushee cups – I don't want to get caught in the crossfire and there's no way she's going to make it through the whole day in that outfit. "You haven't responded to my invitation," Rachel chastises, drawing her lips into what I'm guessing is supposed to be an adorable pout. "I need to know numbers."

"For what?" I ask, feigning innocence although I know very well what she's talking about. I received the e-vite, and the text message, and the hand-written pumpkin-shaped invitation she slipped into my locker. And even though I'd been pretending not to listen when she'd reminded us all during Glee Club on Friday, how could I not be aware of Rachel's upcoming Halloween party? Did I say I hate Halloween?

Rachel must know I'm playing dumb, but she doesn't call me out on it, simply rolls her eyes and proceeds to rhapsodize about how amazing her party is going to be. Her Dads have formed a decorating committee and she's planned several thrilling party games, she's been cooking for two days straight and… suddenly I'm really not listening any more.

Santana has turned the corner and is walking towards me, deep in conversation with a couple of junior Cheerios. She's wearing her omnipresent red and white cheerleading uniform, with its sinfully short skirt and fitted top making the most of her impressive assets. Her legs are toned and tanned and for someone so petite it's astounding how they seem to go on for miles. Her hair is, as usual, scraped back into an immaculate high ponytail, but I can't help but imagine it loose, cascading in a tumble of glossy curls over her shoulders, brushing the swell of her breasts. I surreptitiously wipe my suddenly sweaty palms against my skirt, and my heartbeat automatically speeds up and becomes erratic, as it does whenever I catch sight of her these days. I guess I should explain...

Then - start of summer vacation, junior year… after we got home from our not too stellar twelfth place finish at nationals, I was still pretty much a basket case. I mean, seriously, how was a haircut going to be the answer to all my problems? But Santana and Brittany stuck to me like glue, the unholy trinity back together, and I began to feel like maybe, just maybe I was going to be okay. Who needed guys when I had friends like these – willing to give up their summer plans to babysit me and my insecurities? We hung out at the mall, went to the movies, arranged a trip to Six Flags, and slept over at each other's houses every weekend. I was a perpetual third wheel but neither of them seemed to care. I began to notice that they weren't quite as touchy feely as usual when I was around, but I guess I put it down to them being considerate of my feelings – not wanting to flaunt their happiness in front of their pathetic and loveless friend.

Two weeks into summer break, everything changed. Brittany was away on a family vacation so it was just Santana and me. I didn't mind in the slightest. I loved Brittany dearly and she was a lot of fun to be around, but she was exhausting too. With Santana, everything was just so much easier. We were lounging by my pool wearing bikinis, idly watching Puck clear out the leaves and assorted detritus. He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans, and kept glancing over at us, obviously (and unsuccessfully) trying to impress us with his muscular and tanned physique, while we studiously ignored him. If it weren't for the fact that his was the only pool cleaning business in Lima, I doubt my mom would've let him set foot on our property at all.

I glanced over at Santana and rolled my eyes dramatically as Puck flexed his bicep and grinned. She snickered from behind her fashion magazine, tilting her chin down to peer at me over the rims of her Ray-bans.

"Hey, Q," she murmured in a soft, sultry tone that didn't carry as far as Puck. "You're starting to burn – you want me to top you up?" She picked up the bottle of sunblock and waggled it in my direction, her eyebrow raised questioningly.

I obediently sat up and gathered my hair up, exposing my neck, shoulders and back to Santana. As the cold lotion hit my warm skin I squealed and gasped, catching Puck's attention. He'd been checking the pool's filter but he paused to unabashedly check us out. I scowled at him but from the way Santana's hands slowed over my skin, stroking lightly in concentric circles across my shoulder blades, playing over my muscles with the pads of her fingers, I knew she was trying to torment him… two of his exes showing him exactly what he was missing. Then, Santana's hands hit a particularly sensitive spot just below my ribs and I bit down hard on my lower lip instinctively… God, that felt good. Better than good. Subconsciously, my body arched into her touch and I found myself stifling a moan.

In a flash, I was on my feet as though I'd been burned. I felt my cheeks flush and prayed that Puck was as clueless as usual and would simply put it down to the sun.

"I'm hot," I announced, trying to control the wavering note in my voice and sound like the HBIC I used to be. "I'm going for a swim." And without another word I dove into the pool, wondering whether it would be possible to just stay under the water until I drowned.

If Santana noticed my sudden flood of tension, she didn't say anything for the rest of the day. Puck left to clean some of the other forty or so pools in Lima and Santana and I continued our day of strenuous lounging around. My mom was away visiting my sister and Santana was staying over to keep me company, so by dusk that night we were snuggled up on the couch in our pajamas, watching movies and eating our own body weight in popcorn.

"Brittany started seeing someone, a guy, I mean." Neither of us had spoken in almost an hour so Santana's sudden announcement came as a bit of a surprise. It took my brain several seconds to process the information. Santana and Brittany may not have officially been a couple but I'd gotten so used to them as a unit that the thought of Britt being with anyone else seemed bizarre. Santana spoke nonchalantly but I knew how much she cared for Brittany and she had to be hurting over this.

"W-when?" I stuttered finally. I could have told her I was sorry or asked if she was okay or simply thrown my arms around her and given her a hug, but my higher brain functions seemed to have ceased. My heart was thumping erratically in my chest and my palms were suddenly sweaty. Shocked at my physical response to Santana's admission, the question I asked was the only word I could come up with.

"A couple of weeks ago." Santana sounded calm and unconcerned, whilst I fought hard to contain the fact that I was having a heart attack or a stroke. "Britt was worried about telling you – she thought it might make things awkward." Santana was studying me carefully, her dark eyes searching my face for any sign of a reaction.

"Why?" I asked. Oh great, I still couldn't manage more than one word questions. I wanted to ask if Brittany thought I was so pathetically loveless that seeing her in a relationship would push me completely over the edge.

"I think she thought it might change the dynamic," Santana explained, picking idly at a loose thread at the hem of her shorts. Her long legs were curled up beneath her and, with a start, I realized I was staring at them. They were smooth and soft and unbelievably tempting. I dragged my gaze away reluctantly. "She's with Sam," Santana confessed, chewing anxiously on her lower lip. "She says it only happened recently, but I kind of suspect something was going on between them in New York. I promised her that you'd be okay with it. I know you guys dated but you're not still interested in him, are you?" Was it my imagination, or were her eyes asking me a different question than her mouth? I shrugged it off and tried to get a hold of myself as a maelstrom of emotions began to swirl within me.

"No," I said hurriedly. "And, of course it won't change anything," I agreed, swallowing hard. "We're the unholy trinity, aren't we?"

Of course, I was lying… or if I'm being kind, I was kidding myself. It did change the dynamic. How could it not? It wasn't for the reasons Santana thought it might though. It wasn't because I still wanted Sam or even because I felt awkward forcing my two best friends to spend time together when I knew their relationship with each other had changed, it was for much more selfish reasons than that. I couldn't help but see Santana as available now, in a way I never had, and that thought alone was enough to terrify me.

Later that night as Santana slumbered peacefully on my bedroom floor, I awoke with a start. My skin tingled from head to toe and my heart felt like it was going to pound its way through my chest. I felt flushed and panicked as I tried to catch my breath. There was a distinctly uncomfortable throbbing between my clenched thighs and my shirt clung damply to the contours of my traitorous body. I felt like I was on fire, and yet freezing from the inside out at the same time, as I recalled the content of my dream.

We'd been in that dingy hotel room at nationals, but this time only Santana was there to hear my impassioned plea about wanting somebody to love, and this time when she'd told me she knew how to make me feel better, I hadn't responded the way I had the first time.

"How?" I'd whispered, tasting the salt of my tears on my lips. I'd gazed at Santana almost pleadingly as she'd smiled softly at me.

"Like this," she'd murmured, leaning close and brushing her mouth against mine - causing fireworks to explode - first in my brain, and then decidedly further south as her impossibly soft, warm, wet tongue had stroked over my lower lip, begging for entrance. Skilled hands had torn at my clothes, waking up my body with gentle caresses and reverent strokes until I'd been naked beneath her. Her fingers had been purposefully trailing up my inner thigh when I awoke - aching, trembling, and freaking out.

I'm a little ashamed of the way I reacted to my dream, I can admit that now. When Santana left my house the next day I called my mom and told her I needed to get away. I tried to sound calm and composed but I guess she must've heard the tone of desperation in my voice because she called my uncle in Atlanta and two days later I was on a plane, without even a text message to Santana or Brittany explaining my decision.

I didn't return to Lima until the day before school started, and by then I'd come up with a new plan to protect myself and keep my friends at a safe distance. I had pink hair and a nose ring, and I acted like I didn't give a damn what anyone thought. I cut classes and spent my days behind the bleachers, smoking cigarettes and hating the world. I even spread a rumor that I was dating a forty year old guy who worked at the gas station and I started to hang out with the skankiest girls in school. I quit Glee Club and acted like no one from my previous life even existed. It worked like a charm – for about five minutes.

Eventually, I realized I couldn't run away from myself. It wasn't easy, and if anyone asked me I would deny it until the end of time (and probably find some way to make sure they died in a horrific and painful accident) but I couldn't lie to myself any longer. I was in love with Santana Lopez.

Now - Halloween, senior year… and Rachel is still wittering on at me about her ridiculously lame party, but it's hard to concentrate when Santana is just being so goddamned enticing, tossing her head so that her ponytail bounces perkily. I'm drawn to the deliberate and practiced sway of her hips, the defiant 'look at me' angle of her chin, the steady tap of her fingers against her slender waist as she sashays down the hallway.

"Uh huh," I find myself saying, without even hearing Rachel's question. Then Santana rounds the next corner and she's out of sight and suddenly I'm aware of Rachel beaming at me from under that hideous red hood.

"So, I'll see you at seven," she says happily, already starting to skip down the corridor to her next class. "Oh, and Quinn, it is a costume party so please try to make an effort?"

In seventh period calculus, I'm still fuming about the party. I don't want to go but I'm trying to make an effort with the guys from Glee Club. They've taken me back so many times after I've screwed up and I want to make it work this time. I'm so sick of all the drama. It's my senior year and I just want to feel that sense of belonging.

I'm so distracted that Mr Franklin calls on me three times before I even hear him. Luckily, it's an easy problem so I'm able to give him the answer and smile sweetly at him until he moves on to some other unsuspecting victim. At least I haven't totally lost my knack, I can still flutter my eyelashes and wrap most of the teachers around my little finger.

Brittany is sitting next to me, doodling pictures of unicorns in her notebook. She hasn't even gotten her textbook out of her bag and she's looking at me with a quizzical expression.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, hiding her mouth behind her hand. I nod and pretend to focus on Mr Franklin but Brittany is undeterred. "Is it about Rachel's party?" she asks, astounding me with her uncanny ability to hit the nail on the head. "You should definitely come. I think it'll be fun. Rachel said I could go trick or treating. I'll share my candy with you if you come. Except for the Butterfingers – I've already promised those to Lord Tubbington." She pauses and grins at me. "What are you going to wear?"

I groan inwardly. I hate costume parties. I hate Halloween. I don't own anything remotely suitable… unless I go as a skank, but I'm trying to distance myself from that persona. I shrug aimlessly.

"I can lend you something," Brittany offers. "I was going to go as a devil, but I think I want to be a ghost now, or maybe a pirate, or Judge Judy."

I can't help but chuckle at the images Brittany's conjuring in my head as I nod gratefully. At least that's one problem solved.

At seven thirty, I'm still standing in Brittany's bedroom studying my reflection critically in the mirror whilst her hugely obese cat stares at me imperiously, a superman cloak tied around his fat neck. Rachel's going to be pissed at us for being late – she's a stickler for punctuality, even at parties.

"I don't know, Britt," I say, anxiously tugging at the hemline of the red PVC skirt which barely covers my ass. "I don't think I can wear this."

"Why?" Brittany's brow furrows, perturbed.

"It's too short," I complain but Brittany shrugs.

"So? I think it looks hot, and it's barely any shorter than a Cheerios skirt," she says nonchalantly. She's right, but a Cheerios outfit isn't anything like as revealing as this. The bodice is lacy, cut low and tightly fitted, and although I have to admit that it frames and enhances my breasts perfectly, it shows off a lot more skin than I'm used to. Knee high, high-heeled red boots hug my calves but my thighs are left naked and exposed. I'm worried that I look like a hooker but Brittany had been planning to wear this outfit and I don't want to hurt her feelings by voicing my opinion. I'd much rather swap with her and go as her final choice, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, but it's getting late so I sigh and give in to the inevitable.

This costume isn't anything like any other devil outfit I've ever seen, and I'm wondering where Brittany found it as she hands me the final piece. It's glittery and lacy, a masquerade mask, covering my eyes and the bridge of my nose. Sparkly red horns jut from the top of the mask, and as I slip it onto my face, I'm grateful that at least no one will recognize me on the trip to Rachel's.

When Rachel answers the door, I can't help but do a double take. She's green. Literally, green.

"I love your costumes!" she squeals as she drags us inside and points us in the direction of her basement recreation room. We've partied there before, although my head still hurts when I think about the resulting hangover, and I promise myself there'll be no repeat of that night. "Everyone else is already here."

"Are you Kermit the frog?" Brittany asks, perplexed.

"I'm Elphaba!" Rachel is indignant but since it's immediately obvious that neither Brittany nor I know who Elphaba is, she simply sighs and ushers us down the stairs.

The basement has been transformed, Rachel's Dads really have gone to town. Black and gold streamers cover the walls, interspersed with twinkling strands of multi-colored fairy lights. Ornately carved pumpkins cover every surface, their candles flickering, bathing the room with a warm, orange glow. Carefully positioned decorations dress the space - glittery cobwebs, sparkly black bats, and shimmering ghosts. It's stunning and I can't help but be impressed.

I remember from Rachel's last party how amazing her sound system is, and the music is pounding so loudly that I can feel the floor vibrating. I think I remember her telling us that her Dads had installed soundproofing so that she could sing as loud or as long as she wanted. Thinking about that gives me a funny little pang of regret, I never practise at home, even now.

As Brittany dives into the fray, I pause on the bottom step to take in the costumes my friends have chosen. Finn's wearing his football jersey - totally lame. Tina and Mike have come as John Lennon and Yoko Ono, and they both look great. Sam is wearing what I'm pretty sure is a Star Trek uniform - I remember him showing it to me back when we were dating. He was insanely proud of it. I'm not sure who Kurt is supposed to be, but I guess he's emulating some classic movie star. He's wearing a designer suit and a hat and he's deep in conversation with Blaine, who is dressed as a zombie. Blaine looks pretty good, he would've fitted right in during our junior year homecoming performance. Mercedes is a fairly average witch, and Artie is a vampire. Puck is wearing a biker jacket and ripped jeans, so basically he's come as himself.

And then I notice Santana and it's like everyone else just fades into the background. She's stunning, there's no other way to describe it. She's wearing a figure hugging white dress and delicate silver sandals that set off her olive skin beautifully. On her head is a silver halo made of tinsel, and a set of glittery, shimmery wings adorn her back. Her long hair is loose and flowing in a waterfall of soft raven curls. She's an angel - figuratively and literally. And she's staring right back at me as though she's never seen me before.

"Really, an angel?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant as I sidle up beside her. I've been at the party for more than an hour and I can't avoid her any longer even if I wanted to. My whole body has felt like it's being pulled in her direction all night, like she's a star and I'm in orbit around her. "Are you trying to make an ironic statement?" Santana merely chuckles and tosses her hair over her shoulder. I'm immediately assaulted by the scent of her shampoo - it smells like honeysuckle and it's absolutely intoxicating.

"Nice boots," she replies, raising an eyebrow suggestively. My mouth is suddenly dry and I'm grateful when Rachel appears beside me with a cup of something and holds it out to me. I drink it quickly, barely tasting it, but the bitter aftertaste lingers on my tongue and I notice Puck smirking in the corner. I'm pretty certain he's spiked the punch, but I really don't care right now. I'm glad of the Dutch courage. Rachel is too busy playing the perfect hostess to stop and chat, for which I'm simultaneously thankful and panicked, and I'm quickly alone with Santana once again.

"So, do you think Berry's going to regale us with her version of It's Not Easy Being Green later?" Santana asks and I snicker. We really haven't spent much time together since I got over my skank phase - I've been avoiding her - but now it's harder than ever to deny how much I've missed her. I love her snarky attitude and her dry sense of humor. There's no one else quite like her. I feel like she completes me.

"She looks like a gummi bear," I add, rolling my eyes. "You look amazing though." Oh crap, I didn't mean to say that out loud.

Santana grins at me, perfect white teeth surrounded by luscious, full, pink lips. "I know," she says confidently. "But thanks."

"So humble and not at all conceited too," I note drily, rolling my eyes.

Santana chuckles. "Come on, Q, you know that you and I are the hottest bitches in this room," she says looking me up and down, and unless I'm imagining things her eyes linger on the swell of my breasts where the lacy bodice stops.

"Just in this room?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Not the highest bar, but I'll take it as a compliment." Suddenly I'm thinking I owe Brittany one for lending me the outfit.

"You're not dancing!" Rachel is back and she's glaring at us. She looks like an angry leprechaun and I bite back the urge to ask her if she's mad because someone's stolen her lucky charms. Santana eyes me quizzically as I struggle to curtail my giggles, but I shake my head at her almost imperceptibly. "I want everyone to dance!" Rachel insists desperately.

Sighing, but submitting to the inevitable, Santana and I allow her to pull us onto the dance floor. It's a real dance floor complete with a glitter-ball and although I've seen it before I can't help but be amazed that anyone has a dance floor in their basement.

When Rachel leaves us to it, Santana asks me what I found so funny a moment ago. I lean in and whisper my thought in her ear. Part of me instantly thinks I've made a mistake because it's so much harder to pull away again. I can feel the heat of her body, smell her perfume, and the delicate shell of her ear is so close that I just want to poke out my tongue and taste it. Santana seems to find my mean jibe even funnier than I did because she collapses in my arms in a fit of giggles and I immediately freak out because my heart is thudding erratically and I'm worried Santana will be able to feel it.

I fight the urge to run, swallowing hard, as Santana begins to pull herself back together. She gives a funny little hiccupy chuckle, and manages to regain control of herself but she doesn't make a move to pull away. And then, oh God, she wets her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and it's all I can do not to crush my lips against hers.

"Do you... want to..." she begins hesitantly, but we're interrupted by Brittany who bounces up to us to inform us that Mercedes and Artie are going to take her trick or treating.

The moment is lost and we both take a step backwards, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Brittany dances away and moments later she's dragging Sam out of the back door, closely followed by Artie and Mercedes.

I look around us and note with a start that everyone else is blissfully coupled up. Rachel is in Finn's arms, they look somewhat ridiculous - he's like a foot taller than her - but I realize that I'm happy that they're happy. Tina and Mike are canoodling in a corner of the room, and Blaine and Kurt are dancing so close that I doubt there's even a molecule of air between them. Puck has disappeared - he's probably off TP-ing someone's house, so that just leaves me and Santana, standing awkwardly on the dance floor without moving.

"You want to sit down?" I ask, gesturing towards the side of the room.

Santana has an unreadable expression in her dark eyes and it's making my skin tingle expectantly. She shakes her head emphatically.

"No, it's too hot in here," she states, although I'm actually feeling a little chilly. "Let's go outside?"

It's forty-five degrees outside and I'm not dressed for it but I follow her out through the back door without a word of protest.

"Fuck, it's freezing!" I can't stop the curse from tumbling out of my mouth the second the night air hits my exposed skin and Santana snorts, her eyes glinting with amusement in the darkness.

"Language, Q!" she teases with a throaty chuckle. "That costume's obviously having a bad effect on you."

I laugh but it sounds somewhat forced and a touch hysterical, and rub my hands up and down my arms in a vain attempt to warm myself up. Then, Santana steps into my personal space and I almost forget about the cold.

"How much of a devilish influence do you think your costume has on you?" she asks lightly, reaching out to trail a hand over my forearm, tracing the goosebumps with her fingertips. I swallow a whimper, and bite the inside of my cheek as electric sparks shoot up my arm. "Do you think it might encourage you to try something really naughty?"

"Like what?" I'm stunned at the way my voice sounds. It's low and breathy, and kind of sexy. I don't sound like me at all.

"You look beautiful tonight," Santana continues as though I haven't spoken. "I've missed you, Q." I can barely see her face in the darkness, just her eyes shining in the moonlight. "Why did you go away?"

"You know why," I whisper. I'm not sure Santana hears me, my voice is so low, but then I see her nod slowly.

"I do," she agrees. Then she seems to doubt herself again. "It's amazing that we ended up wearing complementary outfits tonight." She's backing off a little, testing me to make sure this conversation is really going the way she thinks it's going.

"Brittany lent me the outfit," I blurt out without thinking. Damn it, I'm sure I've just killed the mood. Then Santana does the oddest thing - she laughs. She laughs until she's doubled over, clutching her stomach, tears pouring down her cheeks - their tracks glittering in the moonlight.

I'm torn between confusion, anxiety, anger, and amusement when Santana finally regains control of her emotions.

"What's so funny?" I demand petulantly, sounding like a spoiled six year old. Santana sobers up quickly.

"Who do you think suggested that I come as an angel?" she asks, and realization floods over me.

"You mean, Brittany played us?" I say with an audible gasp.

"She certainly gave us both a push in the same direction," Santana notes, shaking her head. "People think Britt's dumb, but she can read people better than anyone I've ever known." She takes a step towards me and she's tantalizingly close. I can feel her warm breath on my cheek.

"And what did she read in us?" I can't help but ask. I've been wearing my mask all this time but now Santana reaches up and tugs it gently off my face. The tip of her nose is barely an inch from mine and even in the darkness I can make out the delicate curl of her eyelashes and see the soft contours of her perfect lips.

"What do you think?" Santana responds breathlessly as her mouth descends onto mine. The first touch of her lips is electric and I already know I never want to let go. She's soft and sweet and wet and incredibly warm. When her tongue sneaks out to tease my lower lip it's a million times better than our dream kiss. My body is already thrumming with desire as I eagerly acquiesce, opening my mouth and inviting her in.

Her hands tangle almost painfully in my hair but I don't care, I only want to get closer to her. I can feel the heat of her body radiate into me and with an audacity I didn't know I possessed, I cup her delectable ass, pulling her against me - hard and verging on desperate.

Then, Santana's hands are everywhere and I almost forget that we're standing in Rachel's back yard and it's forty-five degrees out, because Santana is my whole world. It feels like it's taken me a lifetime to get here, and I don't ever want this moment to end, but I want more than I can have in such a public setting. Much, much more. My whole body is throbbing with wanton desire and I've never felt anything this intense before.

"Can we get out of here?" I pant against Santana's open mouth. Then I plunge my tongue between her parted lips, preventing her from forming words so she nods eagerly in response.

We don't even go back inside to get our coats or say goodbye to our friends. We stumble through the garden hand-in-hand, making a beeline for Santana's car. My mom's house is closest, and she's out at a party too tonight.

I thank God for my mom's newfound social life since her divorce came through. Santana has stayed over countless times but there's no way to explain our distinctly dishevelled appearances to my mom (it was far too hard to keep my hands off Santana on the car journey over here).

It takes us an age to get up the stairs and into my bedroom in between the kissing and the groping but once we're safely ensconced inside with the door locked, sudden shyness overtakes us both.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Santana asks me, deadly serious. She looks adorable - her full lips are red and swollen, her hair is mussed and her halo is wonky, and I can't help but feel a flash of mischievous pride at the sight of the darkening purple bruise on her neck that I gave her at the stop sign at the corner of Baker Road and Jefferson Avenue. "We can wait?" Even as she says the words, I can tell she doesn't believe them. Neither of us have that much self control right now. If we did, we would've stopped already.

I shake my head precisely once before I find myself crashing backwards into my bedroom door, the full force of Santana against me. Her body rubs up against mine delightfully and I experience a sudden thrill at the thought of doing this without the barrier of our clothes. Her hands are on my shoulders, tugging at the straps of my bodice and pulling the flimsy material down over my breasts. My nipple is in her mouth before I can even react to the cool night air on my skin. She's sucking and swirling her tongue and I've never felt anything like it. I never even took my top off when I had sex with Puck. I feel like my whole body is singing. When she grazes my nipple with her teeth, I let out a shuddering gasp that only serves to spur her on. I want to touch her too but I'm somewhat constrained by the straps of my bodice which are cutting into the crook of my elbows.

"Bed," I pant, and take advantage of the momentary respite to free my arms and grasp the hem of her dress, pulling it firmly upwards. Santana had to take her wings off to drive the car, and since her summer surgery before junior year she hasn't needed to wear a bra, so by the time we tumble onto the bed she's clad in just a pair of lacy white panties. She's glorious and I want to explore every inch of her. Her breasts are exquisite, of course, but I find myself fascinated by the curve of her hip, the beauty mark halfway down her ribs on the left hand side, the satin softness of her skin. I feel like I could get lost in her forever.

I'm kissing and touching every part of Santana I can reach while she struggles to rid me of the ridiculous devil outfit. I only pause to watch her unzip my boots, and a shiver of want runs through me when she follows the path of the zipper with her tongue. Then I'm down to my underwear too, and I'm glad that I chose to wear the black satin thong from Victoria's Secret because Santana is gazing at me like I'm the most wondrous creature she's ever laid eyes on. I'm splayed beneath her on my bed and I can feel her thigh brushing at the apex of my legs. I know she must be able to feel the extent of my arousal against her bare skin, and that knowledge only heightens my desire.

"Can I take these off?" she asks, fingering the waistband of my panties and I'm touched that she's asking permission. Wordlessly, I nod, and I stifle a whimper as Santana peels my underwear down my legs leaving me naked before her.

Santana's gentle hands are on my thighs, urging my legs apart, and I barely have time to marvel at how natural it feels and how I'm not in the slightest bit shy or embarrassed at being so exposed and vulnerable before she settles herself between my legs and runs a tentative, testing finger over my heated flesh.

"Fuck!" I cry out uncontrollably, for the second time tonight. I never curse, not out loud at least, but the expletive tumbles unbidden from my lips.

"Oh, Quinn." Santana's voice is almost reverent. "You're so wet." She dips her head and I almost come undone when I realize what she's about to do. The first stroke of her tongue is like nothing I've ever experienced. It's intense and beautiful, evocative and overwhelming - almost more than I can stand - and I'm surprised to feel hot tears burning the corners of my eyes. I squeeze them shut but then I'm compelled to open them again because the sight of Santana's dark hair spread over my thighs and belly as her mouth pushes me towards bliss is too amazing a sight not to behold. I'm not a complete novice - I have explored my own body, but I always felt guilty whenever I gave in to those kind of urges. It always seemed wrong somehow, but not this. This feels so right, so perfect. I try to focus on each dip and swirl of Santana's talented tongue so that I'll know what to do when it's my turn to reciprocate, but I get lost in the sensations Santana is evoking within me. I'm gasping and panting, groaning, and, oh good God, did I just growl?

Every part of me is alive, my nerve endings are thrumming appreciatively and pressure is building low in my belly. Santana's fingers are caressing me and then she's inside me, stroking, rubbing, and curling. I feel complete, and like I never want her to let me go. She presses into me, harder and deeper, faster and faster, as her tongue continues its ministrations, and her fingers find this place within me that sends me flying up into the stratosphere, screaming Santana's name.

When I come down, I feel strangely detached from my body in a blissful haze. Santana has continued to stroke me through my orgasm, her fingers are still inside me but she moves up my body to capture my lips beneath hers. I can taste myself on her tongue and this simple revelation is enough to send another ripple of pleasure radiating through me.

"I want to taste you," I pant breathlessly, suddenly regaining my strength and pressing a surprised yet delighted Santana back against the pillows. Feeling suddenly bold and wanton, I begin to kiss my way down her delectable body. I pause for several minutes at her perfect breasts, taking one of her nipples into my mouth and sucking hard. I delight in the way it pebbles under my tongue. When I switch to her other breast I palm the one I'm neglecting, rolling the aroused nub between my thumb and forefinger. Santana hisses her appreciation and then it's her turn to curse when I repeat her earlier move and graze her nipple with my teeth. I chuckle and gaze up at her through my eyelashes and the curtain of my hair. I'm certain I've never seen anything more beautiful than Santana at this moment.

That thought spurs me on and I leave her breasts to rub my cheek against the satin soft skin of her belly. Experimentally, I dip my tongue into her navel and her hips buck up into the touch.

"Quinn, please," she whispers pleadingly and I feel a rush of arousal to hear her beg. I'd thought I was sated but now I want her to make love to me again. But first I want to make her come undone. I want to bring her to the edge of ecstasy and push her over the edge, knowing that I'm responsible for getting her there. With no more hesitation I peel her panties down her legs and study the goddess laid out before me. I can't imagine a more perfect moment as I swipe my tongue through her heated folds for the first time. She tastes tangy and a little musky and I can't get enough of her. Her thighs are silky against my cheeks and when I find the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center with the tip of my tongue, she utters a broken cry.

I continue to draw her closer to her orgasm by delivering a series of kitten licks that leave her squirming and writhing against me.

"More?" she begs, and obligingly I press a testing finger against her. Oh God, she's wet and velvety, and impossibly hot. I never dreamed she would feel this hot. She feels like heaven. I add another finger and suddenly Santana's mumbling my name over and over.

"Come for me, baby?" I murmur, surprised at myself and my audacity as I thrust my fingers rhythmically in and out, but with a gasp and a shudder, Santana comes apart.

Hours later we lie intertwined in the darkness. My head is resting on Santana's chest, over her heart. I've already lost count of how many times we've made love, and I'm a little sad because I wanted to commit every single exquisite moment to memory.

"So, that's what it's supposed to be like," I find myself murmuring sleepily.

Santana giggles and I delight in the sound. She sounds so free, so happy. I lift my head to gaze into her eyes.

"Hmm," she agrees appreciatively, tangling her hand in my hair and scraping her fingernails lightly over my scalp. "Any regrets?"

I shake my head and plant a tiny, chaste kiss against her nipple, grinning as I watch her bite down instinctively on her lower lip.

"None," I confirm, stifling a yawn. I'm reluctant to let reality in just yet. I know there are going to be questions to answer - what should we tell our friends? Our families? Where do we go from here? What will tomorrow bring? All of that can wait though, I'm too tired and too content to worry about anything right now. As I snuggle into Santana's warm embrace and pull the blankets over our naked and spent bodies there's only one thought that invades my sleepy mind.

"I love Halloween," I whisper as I drift off into a blissful sleep.

The End