A/N: This fic was supposed to be a 21 page one shot. I let myself see new episodes and I tweaked my original idea too much. Sorry for the wait. I present to you… the final chapter of Dirty Fingers. I hope you like the "happy ending", and please—review. Any mistakes are my own… I have no beta.

Chapter 3

Rachel Berry's House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza actually turned into a party sometime between wine cooler tickets and spin the bottle. She chilled with her girl Tina for most of the night- happy girl drunk laughing at all the buffoonery happening around them. Sometime after Rachel and Blaine's duet, couples began to disappear into separate corners of the basement. Being one of the only single people in the room now, her thoughts began to wander about all of the gossip she would have to spread at school on Monday. Like the looks Finn and Quinn kept shooting each other when they thought no one was looking. She rolled her eyes as Brittany and Artie rolled into the bathroom; the lock click sound of the door shutting left her alone to the mellow music and random slurping noises coming from various directions.

She stood, steadying herself to make it up to the couch she'd passed on the way into the Berry residence. She stumbled past Mike and Tina tearing at each other's clothes, and pulled her feet lazily up the modern staircase. The house was a push and pull of elegant and quaint, weirdly odd and fitting at the same time. She could appreciate the tastes of the Berry men, and she mentally thanked them when she pulled off her high tops and fell back on the long, plush couch. She would have dozed off there had something not caught her attention.

It was Rachel, in her hideous dress, belching up the steps with a glass of water. She watched her hold on to the banister of the modern staircase, slowly dragging her feet up the familiar steps; tilting often to steady her spilling water. By the time she let her head fall back against the couch, she could hear another voice pulling her away from sleep—

"Wait up RuPaul—we got unfinished business!"

She lifted her head again at the noise. Santana had dried and wiped away tear streaks still on her face, her vest somewhere abandoned. She was more agile in her drunken state. She reached the top of the stairs before she could sit up enough to follow the noise. She suddenly wasn't tired anymore. She stood quietly, tip-toeing over to the staircase. She was alert now, the situation somehow suspicious to her gossip-sniffing senses. She learned early in the game that sometimes, being quiet and just listening to the conversations you weren't supposed to hear would often put you in a place to discover everyone's secrets. It kept her entertained, honestly. She ninja stalked the steps up to the hallway, following the conversation going on between the girls who were loudly talking right into the hallway of Rachel's open door. She listened, holding her position so she could hear through the slightly open door.

"Santana, don't. I-I don't want to do this anymore…"

She heard the scuffle of multiple steps, and what sounded like kissing. She wanted to peek around the door, but didn't want to chance them catching her. She stood still, listening for clues to what they were doing. She heard Rachel whimper, the sound muffled with scraping clothing and more footsteps. This gossip would be juicy.

She had to suppress her urge to girly squeal at the thought.

"Stop. I said no. Santana, this stops here. I'm serious…it's gone too far and—" She was hiccupping, it sounded like she could be crying, still drunk, trying to talk and catch her breath at the same time. "…and you're with Sam now, you're putting me into a compromising position, and I don't know how I feel about what you're coercing me into."

She heard Santana smirk, her laugh tumbling out with the tone of her voice.

"Oh give it up, dwarf. You liked when I popped your cherry, and besides… Sam is a lame lay; Britts is off doing the paraplegic. You'll suffice. Stop acting like you don't like it."

She was confused. She hadn't known about any of the things going on between them. Gosh she was slipping. She shook her head and listened harder, trying to visualize the position they were in with the heightening voices and heavy footfalls.

"Santana, don't—I don't want to.'

She heard ruffling fabric and the distinct sounds of wet pecking and panting. The seriousness of the situation was sobering her. It didn't sound… consensual. It sounded like Rachel was struggling. It sounded like Santana didn't care.

She was panicking in the hallway, standing against the wall debating if she should interrupt what she was hearing. She was torn between believing they were just doing the nasty, and believing the pleading in Rachel's voice. Luckily, it stopped before she had to intervene—

"Santana…please—I'm…I'm on my period. I can't."

She heard an intake of breath, like Santana had pulled away from Rachel's face or neck, and she let out a breath of her own, guessing that Santana had finally backed off. She heard her take a step back, and edged away from the door in fear that Santana would walk into the hallway.

"Are you wearing a tampon?"

She grimaced. Rachel interrupted the mental image.

"I just can't…Santana. Please jus—just go away …"

She walked away from the door, moving toward the steps before turning around like she'd just ran up the staircase. Santana pushed by her, slurring a quick, "Move it Wheezy," before angrily heading down the steps.

She needed to talk to Rachel.

000 0000 000

She was walking home. She needed to get laid and that little garden gnome had ruined her last ditch effort to get her rocks off. She was over these lames. Sam had been boring her for a week with his impersonations and random acts of weirdo. She was tired of seeing Artie roll around on his big wheels with her girl on his lap. She honestly wanted to take it out on someone.

And who better than Rachel "Man Hands" Berry to be her own personal punching bag. The big red road block in the way of getting her Mack on had other plans. She hated the little leprechaun, well—she convinced herself she did. Now, she kind of just wanted to have her all the time. It'd happened a few times since Christmas, when she found herself in need of something tasty. She found ways to get her alone with her. She fought each time before falling into the feelings of her orgasms. She liked it that way. And now she was in need of a fix. And she was dry out of ideas.

000 0000 000

Mercedes knocked on her door. She pushed it open a little when she didn't respond to her name being called out. She just wanted to be left alone. She was tired of being that needy girl. That girl still hung up on the guy who dumped her in December. That girl clinging to someone who was using her like a toy…

Mercedes was sitting on her bed now, trying to rub her back to quiet her crying.

"Rachel… what's going on?"

She heaved, wiping the wet feeling from her cheeks before catching her breath to speak.

"I—I like someone I shouldn't Mercedes…"

She paused, looking at Mercedes, who's reassuring voice interrupted what she was about to say.

"I—I already know."

She wasn't shocked. She knew someone would find out eventually; especially when Santana had been bold while cornering her in various areas of McKinely. She let her continue.

"Is she hurting you, Rachel? Is Santana…" she inhaled deeply, "… forcing you to do things you're not ready to?"

She looked up some when Mercedes ended her sentence. The question furrowed into her knit eyebrows. She gulped, and looked away. Hesitating slightly before answering—

"I think I like her. I mean. I wouldn't let her do it if I really didn't want her to… right?"

Mercedes was staring at her, like she was waiting for her to admit something specific. She decided to continue… needing to get it out, while she had someone willing to listen.

"I like the fact that she…wants me that way. I always thought she was pretty. I like how it…feels. I just hate how I feel afterwards."

Mercedes sighed. She blew the air out of her cheeks and rubbed her palms against her thighs.

"I think… if you want more maybe you should stand your ground. Don't let her overpower you. Underneath all that bitch Santana is a scared little girl. Show her that you're on even ground and don't let her tear you down like that girl… you're better than that. Don't let her manipulate you into thinking otherwise."

Mercedes was right. She was right and Rachel had lost her fight. She went after things she wanted, and she didn't let things get in her way. She was going to make this right. And she was going to make it right very very soon.

000 0000 000

She was walking to class late the following Wednesday. The rest of the week had consisted of drinking, puking and moping, and she'd still felt like shit after going shoplifting after school the previous day. It was always more thrilling to steal the things she could so easily pay for. She was still horny. Brittany was still holding out, but she was sure she'd have her sex buddy back after a few words in her ear that negated all the cheating she'd be doing on Artie. She was ready for that suckfest to end soon.

But she couldn't deny at the same time, that she'd been feigning for some Berry. The thought used to repulse her. But it'd been a while and she was craving something different. The munchkin had been different. She seemed like her old full of herself…self. The only thing that was odd really was her spike in confidence. There was purpose there. She said what she wanted to and did as she pleased and that was so unlike the prim, proper and predictable Rachel Berry. She smelled bullshit. She was waiting for something to happen with the girl soon… it sort of had her on edge.

The halls were empty and the door to the janitor's closet was wide open. It was one of the ones kids averted because it was usually locked. She went to close it when a pair of hands pulled out and tugged her into the darkness. There was a scuffle, a series of clicks and the sound of metal meeting metal. A light clicked on from the middle of the small closet, the yellowed and dull bulb weirdly illuminated the stocked closet. She looked down at her hands, which were clicked into place by handcuffs, the chain linked trapped between openings in the aluminum shelf bolted to the wall.

"Really Berry? Really? Let me go you little freak or I swear to God I'll—"

She laughed. The Hobbit giggled before leaning into her personal space. She could smell remnants of vodka on her breath.

"Or you'll do what Santana? Scream?"

She closed her mouth instantly. The little dweeb thought she had the upper hand. She smirked as she spoke.

"Well? What did you go through all this trouble for, Berry?"

Rachel wasn't paying her attention; she was undoing the zipper of Santana's high waist pants, sliding them down quicker that she could stop it. Her pants fell to her ankles before she could kick out, and Rachel was leaning in to kiss her. She wasn't going to stop it. She wasn't' going to fight it, or even try to participate. She was horny and she didn't care how it happened this time she just needed the contact. Rachel's hand dipped into her panties then, and she leaned back against the shelf and pushed her hips out as Rachel found her clit.

It had been too long.

She couldn't tell if it felt this good because she had been so wound up for so long, or if it was because Rachel knew what she was doing. She didn't care—but it crossed her mind as Rachel dipped her fingertip into her opening and pressed against the heat. Her palm had flattened against her hardening clit… and she didn't know if her knees would buckle if she came. The rhythm was erratic, and her moans were drying out her lips… she felt the need to lick them every so often. She was close enough to creaming her panties when Rachel pushed her middle finger all the way inside her. She squeezed… bucked and mewled.

Rachel pulled out quickly, and tore her hand away from all the parts still aching to be touched. It took her a minute to register the absence. Her muscles were still confused and gripping at what was gone. She felt swollen and ready to pop. And the yellowed bulb in the eerie janitor's closet shed weird shadows on Rachel's devious face.

"You want me to finish… don't you?"

Her mouth was dry. She felt the tension squeezing her longing insides… she needed the release that was starting to burn inside her. She licked her lips.

"Say it Santana! You like it… and you want to cum."

She was being stubborn. Rachel reached for the doorknob, no intention of letting her out of the handcuffs. She yielded.

"I-I like it… and I want to cum."

Rachel beamed. She stood in front of Santana, hooking her thumbs under her bikini cut purple underwear, and tugging them down. She took a shuddering breath as Rachel came face to face with her again.

Her hand slipped back into her without effort. She was squealing against the pressure Rachel was putting on the nerves inside her, and she tumbled up her climax and fell into her orgasm, sweating and bending into the girl who was half holding her up and half letting her drop. She was muttering her name as she relaxed, satisfied and semi-unconscious. She watched Rachel as she tugged a key out of her sweater pocket and unlocked the cuffs. She slouched against the shelf and rubbed her tender wrists.

"Admit that you like me, Santana… I'm tired of playing these games."

Santana looked at her, the yellow of the room not as dull all of a sudden. It was unbearably hot and she wasn't up for talking about feelings. Feelings were for pussies.

"Whatever, Berry. Thanks for the quickie. I have to head to class."

Rachel stood in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest. Santana was gathering her underwear and pants, readjusting her clothes.

"No. We need to talk."

"I don't do talks."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Well I don't do casual, Santana. Either we talk about this…or this stops now. I don't share myself with just anyone."

Santana scoffed. Rachel was being hilarious.

"Well, midget. I didn't give or share anything with you. I took what I wanted, got off a little. Win-win. Now move."

Rachel was staring at her. She wasn't budging and Santana didn't feel like fighting when her legs still felt like jelly.

"Well this is done. I won't allow it to happen again, Santana. I'm not willing to have sex with you without emotional attachment. I value my standards, and if you can't respect that you aren't worthy of my affection—"

She was talking too much. The blah blah blah coming out of her mouth was boring her honestly. She was babbling about morals and issues and self respect. And all Santana could really think about was how her tongue would feel moving that fast over other things…she supposed she wasn't getting action. And it'd be nice to have a regular again. And okay, the whole scene with the handcuffs had totally gotten her all heated—and maybe if they did other things she'd have someone interesting to occupy her time. She may have thought about it a few times recently. She was thinking between Rachel's jabbering. She was coming around to the idea of hot sex and better company than Sam would ever be. Rachel was still talking.

"I will not lower myself to some—some harlot in order for you to toy with my emotions afterward and I will no longer stand for it, Santana—"

She held up her hands, quieting the smaller girl with a quick hand motion.

"Fine, Berry. Whatever. I'm not ready for Velcro strap sandals and puppy training just yet. I'm not going to style my hair in a pixie cut and sew rainbow flags into my rustic messenger bag okay? This doesn't get out."

"I suppose we shouldn't draw any more attention to ourselves…I wouldn't want to go any lower on the food chain that I already am."

She looked like she was in deep thought, drawing conclusions before speaking again.

"One condition."

She rolled her eyes.

"What, smurf?"

It was Rachel's turn to scoff.

"You have to call me Rachel."

A/N: I hope this lived up to expectations. Feedback is appreciated.