A/N: This is a bit of a crack ship, but I don't care. 2 hot ladies = 1 hot ship. Also, I had intended Invincible to be a one shot, but I just couldn't walk away. Not yet. This will now be multiple chapters.

"I guess this means you're going to ditch Lima again."

Shelby glanced over her shoulder at the voice before returning to the rack of Trouble Tones' shimmering Sectionals costumes, dropping slipcovers over each dress. "I haven't made any rash decisions. We placed second – that's not so bad, considering our group has only been together for a couple months. New Directions has been performing together for three years."

"We should have won," Santana huffed, more attitude in her voice than she really intended.

Shelby hung the last dress on the rack, just as Sugar and Mercedes returned. "Would you girls mind loading these in my Explorer? The back should be unlocked."

"Sure, Ms. C," Mercedes said, dejected.

"Sure, Ms. C!" Sugar parroted, seemingly unfazed by their loss.

"I thought we were guaranteed a win. We had you and your five years of nonstop domination."

Shelby turned and crossed her arms over her chest, obviously taking the loss personally already, without the added guilt from her. "I'm truly sorry I didn't come through for you, Santana."

The sincerity of Shelby's apology made Santana's heart hurt. She didn't want her to feel guilty. After all –

"It's not your fault, Ms. Corcoran. You might be the most badass show choir coach in the country, but even you aren't a magician. Mercedes and I are awesome, but we needed more time to get a real group together. I know we could have crushed that sausage fest of a group if we had more time."

"Santana."

"What? It's true and you know it."

Shelby chuckled and leaned against one of the temporary vanities set up for the competition. "That doesn't make it right. I really would like you to try to bring down your…colorful commentary a few notches."

"Why should I?" Santana lifted her chin and squared shoulders. "This is who I am."

Shelby smiled that sad, lopsided smile Santana had noticed a few weeks ago when she had been attempting to help Sugar find the proper key. "No, it's not."

No one heard from Shelby for days. Granted, they didn't have Trouble Tones practice scheduled, since it was her policy to give her students five full days off after a competition, but it irked Santana enough to resort to communicating with Rachel between classes.

"Where's that rent-a-uterus mother of yours?"

Rachel winced, but responded as pleasantly as she could. "Shelby and I may be mending fences, but we don't exactly keep one another informed of our whereabouts. Why?"

"She hasn't surfaced since Sectionals."

"Isn't it her policy to –"

"Five days off, yes. But she hasn't even posted an update in our Facebook group."

"I'm sure she's just busy. If you're worried, why don't you just call her?"

"Calling teachers at home is weird you ask me. You're the one that was all, 'Everything I do depends on you' with Mr. Schu."

"It was just a crush, Santana, and that was two years ago."

"So gross," Santana responded, genuinely shuddering.

"Be that as it may," Rachel said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she closed her locker pointedly, "you asked me a question, I answered it. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, why am I standing here talking to a gremlin? And not the cute Furby one, but the gross one that Furby turns into when he eats after midnight." Santana huffed and walked away, making sure her shoulder collided with Rachel's as she passed.

Santana had been contemplating calling Shelby for three days before she had asked Rachel if she'd heard from her. She didn't know why the concept of calling, or even texting, Shelby was so nerve-racking. By the end of fifth period, she had talked herself up enough to plan to call after sixth, but then Ms. Corcoran strode into her American History class moments after the in-session bell and dropped her ever-present day planner on the teacher's desk to get the students' attention.

"Mr. Larson had to leave for the afternoon. My name is Ms. Corcoran, I'll be your sub today."

The class quieted down quickly when she turned to write her name on the board. Santana had noticed the effect Ms. Corcoran had on students when she was subbing in Geometry, but she had never really thought about why. Until today.

It was the way the charcoal pencil skirt hugged her hips and sat high on her waist, the way her legs looked in those black pumps, and the way she would mindlessly toss her hair over her shoulder as she scrawled her name. Santana didn't know why she was noticing this now. She knew even less why she hadn't noticed it earlier. Ms. Corcoran was…hot. Suddenly, Santana felt like Puck, objectifying her in her imagination the way she knew he probably did every day: a tight skirt even tighter and shorter, a shirt unbuttoned far too many times, a lace bra peeking…

"Santana?"

"H-what?" Santana jumped, jerked from her reverie by Ms. Corcoran's voice. "Here." She tried to ignore the giggles from her classmates.

"I can see that," Shelby said with a smile as she brushed her hands together a few times to get rid of chalk dust. "But I'm not taking roll. I asked if you could please define 'suffrage' for the class."

Santana felt her cheeks burning, from both her lingering thoughts and getting called on when she wasn't paying attention. "Um, the right to vote?"

"Are you asking me or are you telling me?"

"Uh…telling?"

Ms. Corcoran put her hands on the teacher's desk, leaning forward, a glint of a teasing challenge in her eye. "I don't know if I believe you."

"Telling," Santana repeated, growing more embarrassed by the second.

"That's correct." Shelby straightened and began pacing the front of the classroom. "And who can tell me where the Women's Suffrage movement started?"

Santana breathed a sigh of relief that Ms. Corcoran was moving on. She never let teachers get the best of her – why did she just let that happen?

She was startled again when the bell rang a minute later. Confused, Santana stared at the clock as the rest of the class fled in mass exodus, the majority finished for the day. The last hour had flown by without her even realizing it. She moved to pack her things, noticing she hadn't taken down a single note the entire hour. Her textbook was still open to the first page of the chapter on Women's Suffrage. She'd been so consumed by thoughts of Ms. Corcoran that –

"Where were you today?"

"What?"

Shelby sat on the edge of the teacher's desk, ankles crossed. "I don't think you heard a word I said all period."

"Don't be stupid, of course I did." Santana frowned and slammed her textbook closed, stuffing it in her backpack with her notebook. She forgot to close the notebook first, though, and a page started tearing from the weight of the book sliding past it. She grit her teeth. She hated when her notebooks got messed up.

"What did today's lecture cover?"

"Women's right to vote." Santana stood up, chin high as she strode down the aisle toward the door – and Shelby. "I defined it for you. Remember?"

"Can you tell me who any of the key campaigners were?"

Santana stopped short of the door and turned to face Shelby. "Susan…Boyle?"

"B. Anthony," Shelby corrected. "If you want, I can set aside some time this week to help you review –"

"Look, I'll read the chapter tonight," Santana interrupted. "I was just distracted today."

"By what?"

"You." Santana felt her heart plummet into her stomach. She hadn't intended to say that. Not at all.

Shelby looked taken aback. "Me? What do you mean?"

Santana fumbled internally for a few seconds before straightening her spine. "You've been M.I.A. for days, and then you just waltz in here like you own the place when you haven't even posted your practice reminder for Monday."

"It's been three days, not counting the weekend. And every time I post a reminder in our Facebook group, you comment on it saying you don't need to be reminded."

"Yeah, well…" Santana adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder, glancing from Shelby to the door and back.

"Look, Santana. I'm genuinely sorry about Sectionals. I know how badly you wanted win. But we did our best, and you really were so wonderful up there. If you want to go back to New Directions and have a chance at Regionals, I wouldn't take it personally. It's your senior year, you should go all the way if you have the opportunity."

Santana felt her stoniness faltering. "And go back to being background singer for The Rachel and Blaine Show? No thanks."

"So I can expect to see you at practice on Monday?"

"Does that mean you're staying?"

"For now. I have a meeting with Mr. Motta next week. I guaranteed him a win for his daughter. If he yanks my funding, I'll need to find a new full-time job."

"But why are we even going to practice? We lost Sectionals. We're out of competition."

Shelby smiled another one of her lopsided smiles – this was one of her happy ones. "Contrary to my reputation, not everything I do is solely about winning. Sometimes it's about having fun, just doing what we love."

Santana couldn't help but smile, too. "Yeah, okay. I'll be there Monday."

She couldn't wait for practice now. She always loved Trouble Tones rehearsal, but as her heart pounded in her chest as she walked to the parking lot, she realized she had an entirely new reason to anticipate it. And it was only Wednesday.

Mr. Larson was out of school the rest of the week. Santana barely had a recollection of what they'd covered in American History for the past three days. She remembered voting rights and something about a store exploding or a plane crashing into a market and everyone losing all their money. She had tried to read the chapters every night, but each time she pulled out her textbook, Ms. Corcoran's face was on the cover, and her black pumps were in the pages, and her cleavage was on her notebook, and she couldn't focus no matter how hard she tried.

"Dammit," she muttered as she slammed her book closed, defeated. She rapped her fingernails on the glossy book cover, refusing to look down and see those green eyes challenging her across the classroom again. Instead, she glanced at her iPhone a few inches away. Shelby had offered to help, after all.

Santana stared at the screen for a full two minutes, biting at her thumbnail and rewording her text message multiple times before holding her breath to hit Send. "Completely lost with the stock market crash. Help?"

She dropped her phone on her bed and walked away, unable to sit and wait for a response. She hated that Shelby had done this to her – more so, that she had allowed it to happen. No one got under her skin this way. She pulled the elastic tie off her high ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair a few times, allowing the release of tension to distract her for a few minutes.

She had almost forgotten she sent the text until her phone chimed a few minutes later. She dove for it, glad no one was around to see her lacking her usual composure.

"Of course. Meet at The Lima Bean in an hour? Gotta find a sitter."

Santana used the hour to pull herself together and change out of her Cheerios uniform and into more comfortable – and mature – pair of jeans, boots, and a striped knit top. She had bit the bullet, accepted that she was ridiculously attracted to her teacher. Substitute, she reminded herself. Asking to meet outside school hours was the first line she crossed. Granted, most of the time she was with Ms. Corcoran was extracurricular by the very nature of their association. But this was different. They were meeting for coffee, not practice.

And studying. Santana laughed at that thought. She'd made up her mind. She knew what she wanted, and she found it as she scanned the tables at The Lima Bean.

Shelby held up two lidded coffee cups as her greeting. Santana put on her best smirk and sauntered across the room, dropping her backpack unceremoniously on the floor as she slid into the chair across from Shelby.

"Thanks for taking the time," she said, accepting one of the cups. She made a pointed effort to let their fingers graze when doing so.

Shelby smiled and opened the notepad she had in front of her. "What kind of teacher would I be if I turned down a student's plea for help?"

"In my experience? One like every other teacher at McKinley. Except Mr. Schuester; he's always eager to hop-to."

"Will does love his students."

"It's a little creepy if you ask me," Santana said. "He could tone down the creep factor a little."

"He's just enthusiastic," Shelby replied, dragging the end of her pen down the margin of her notes. "So what did you want to cover? You said the stock market crash. Did you ever re-read the chapter on Women's Suffrage?"

Santana opened her mouth to lie, but realized the less she admittedly knew, the longer they would be sitting there, together. "Not yet."

Shelby smiled and flipped back a few pages in her yellow legal pad. "I figured. Let's start with the Seneca Falls Convention of 1848."

Santana was surprised at how good of a regular teacher Ms. Corcoran was. Of course, she knew she was a great show choir coach, but being able to make droll topics like voting rights and economics even remotely interesting was an attractive quality. As if Santana needed more reasons to be attracted to her.

They burned through Shelby's notes together. For a few brief seconds now and then, she forgot completely about the way Shelby's eyes sparkled, or the way her lips moved, or the way her left-handedness was completely endearing. Often, she would lose interest in taking her own notes. Shelby would become so animated about something so boring as the Great Depression that she couldn't help but prop her chin on her fist and stare.

"Well," Ms. Corcoran said with finality and a tap of her pen on her notepad, "I think we have you up to speed for Monday's class. Maybe you'll impress Mr. Larson."

Santana's shoulders slumped. "He's coming back?"

Shelby laughed, clipping her pen horizontally across her notes. "I'm just the sub, remember?"

"Yeah but you're so good at this. I didn't think anyone could make history interesting."

Shelby smiled shyly. "I was a bit of a history nerd in high school."

"It shows. In a good way. I think I learned more tonight than I have all semester."

"You flatter me," Shelby laughed, finishing her coffee and tossing her cup into a nearby trashcan.

That was it; she had opened the door. Santana smiled one of her most seductive smiles and leaned forward, resting her hand lightly over Shelby's.

"You deserve it."

Shelby glanced at their hands, but didn't move to pull away. "Santana…"

"You're amazing."

Shelby was blushing. "Like I said, just a history nerd."

Santana let her fingers slip under Shelby's palm, fingernails grazing her skin. "You're beautiful."

"Santana." Shelby was holding her breath. Her eyes flicked around the mostly empty coffee shop. "You're being inappropriate."

"According to who?"

"Whom," Shelby corrected automatically.

"Knowledge is so sexy." She let her thumb trace slow circles on the back of Shelby's hand.

"Santana, please."

"So is begging me." It was Santana's turn to hold her breath. Shelby had frozen at that comment. Maybe she had gone too far, been too direct. She didn't even know if Ms. Corcoran was into other women. She didn't back down, though. It was too late for that.

"I'm your teacher," Shelby finally whispered.

"Substitute." Santana could see her internal battle. Shelby was tempted, even giving it serious consideration, given that she had yet to try to pull her hand from Santana's. The word hung in the air between them. She saw Shelby trying to form a response, but cut her off before she could get that far, voice low. "I want you, Ms. Corcoran."

Shelby's eyes fluttered closed, and Santana saw her swallow, hard. She knew she had her, and she took a minute to congratulate herself that she could have the same effect on women that she'd had on boys for years. "You live nearby?"

Santana's chair screeched across the tiled floor, the ear-piercing sound making Shelby's eyes snap open. Santana was already standing, backpack over her shoulder, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Shelby seemed dumbfounded, staring at her now-free hand, Santana's tucked away in the pockets of her Letterman's jacket. She didn't say a word as she stood and slid her note pad into her oversized black designer purse, nor as she buttoned her coat, nor as she turned and walked toward the door.

Santana followed quickly and pushed the door open for her from behind. Shelby glanced back, barely acknowledging the courtesy.

After trailing behind for a block, Santana realized Shelby had walked to the coffee shop. Knowing this meant Shelby did live close made her heart race. She quickened her steps to catch up, falling in line beside Shelby.

"Felt like a stalker, following you like that."

Shelby just tucked her chin down against the December wind that was picking up and kept walking.

Three blocks later, Shelby stopped on a corner, and looked at Santana for the first time since she had made her desire known. "Wait here. I need to send the sitter home." She turned walked a few buildings up, disappearing through a public entryway.

Santana started to protest, offended that she was being left on a street corner, but the fact that she was just being told to wait, and not told to go home, made her shut up and stay put. She stood behind one of the many uniform oaks that lined the sidewalk, using it as a windbreak while she waited. A few minutes later, she saw why she was told to wait – Puck, unmistakable with that ridiculous overgrown mohawk, walked out and used the railing on the stairs for leverage to launch himself over it instead of just walking down the steps. She tried to slip further into the shadow of the tree, kicking herself for wearing the ridiculously bright Cheerios jacket. He didn't see her though, having parked right outside Shelby's building. He hopped into his truck and was gone.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket a moment later – a text from Shelby. "Comeup.#4A."

Santana smiled and started walking, only for her phone to buzz again. "Bldg 1625." As if Santana had taken her eyes off Shelby as she walked away and missed which building she had entered?

"Coming," Santana typed in response. She knew the word had a double entendre. It's why she used it.

"Good," came the reply.

Santana grinned and walked faster. She took the stairs two at a time, using the balustrade to swing herself around the landing and up the next set. She was going to be winded doing this for four flights of stairs. She didn't care.

She found 4A at the end a short hallway. The door was open a few inches. She hovered for a moment. This was Shelby's condo. She'd brought her here. She knew what Santana wanted and had brought her here. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

The place was decidedly Shelby. Everything had a modern feel, accented with framed posters from Broadway shows sitting along the walls, waiting to be hung. It was disheveled, but organized – the sign of a single mother lacking the time necessary to keep house as well as she was sure Shelby would have preferred. The woman was near militaristic with her schedules and routines – the lack of perfection in her home was cute.

She set her backpack on the floor by the door and pulled off her boots, not wanting to track in melted, dirty snow. She draped her coat over the back of a chair in the kitchen and sat on the couch to wait, playing with the bead maze toy that sat on the coffee table in front of her.

Shelby appeared a few minutes later, closing the door to Beth's nursery carefully behind her. "Sorry, just needed to check on her," she said quietly.

"It's okay," Santana replied, matching Shelby's hushed tone. "I like your place."

Shelby smiled and shook her head, immediately stooping to pick up a few rogue toys scattered on the floor and toss them into the nearby playpen. "It's a mess."

"It makes you real." Santana watched Shelby flit about the room, picking up toys and toddler clothes and bowls and bottles. She couldn't help but stare appreciatively every time Shelby bent down. The jeans she wore were incredibly flattering; not that she needed much assistance in that department. "Who would have thought, the master drill sergeant of show choirs…"

"Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain," Shelby said as she disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, dumping the dishes and bottles she'd gathered into the sink.

"Ms. Corcoran –" Santana started when she came back.

"Don't." Shelby held up her hands. "Don't. Please. Just…Shelby."

"Shelby," Santana restarted. "What I said. I meant it."

Shelby seemed to take a deep breath before pushing herself forward to join Santana on the couch, sitting somewhat awkwardly. "I know."

"How are you so gorgeous?"

Shelby looked away, obviously blushing, and ran a hand through her hair to push it out of her face, only to fall right back into place.

It wasn't a dismissal, so Santana shifted a few inches closer. "Do you have any idea," she let her hand rest on Shelby's knee, "how you make me feel?"

Shelby glanced at her, obviously still fighting a losing battle. "H-how?" she stuttered, letting out a shaky breath.

Santana felt herself growing warm and moved closer, reaching to touch Shelby's cheek. "Like I'm invincible." She felt Shelby lean into her hand and moved closer still. "Like I can be anyone. Do anything."

"What do you want to do?" Shelby's voice was low, syrupy. Her eyes had fallen closed, and the line between her brows that had been visible when she first sat down was gone.

Santana licked her lips. There was about to be no turning back from this. "I want to kiss you."

Shelby turned, her lips grazing Santana's palm. The look in her eyes made Santana want to curl up and hide, or explode. Maybe both. There was so much desire in them that it made her knees weak. She was glad she was already sitting. "I won't stop you."

Santana bit back a moan and changed the angle of her hand, sliding her fingers into Shelby's hair. She didn't hesitate, leaning in to bring their lips together in a soft kiss. She felt Shelby's hand on her shoulder, creeping closer to her neck. She shivered in anticipation and kissed Shelby more firmly.

When Shelby's fingers inched their way up the back of her neck and threaded through her hair, Santana couldn't help herself. She parted her lips and Shelby did the same, letting her deepen their kiss. Shelby whimpered when their tongues met, and the sound was like a match igniting a fuse inside Santana. She became demanding with her kisses. If Shelby wasn't going to stop her, she was going to make sure she never would want to. She started to shift their position, slowly, until she could lay back and pull Shelby with her.

She let her hands start roaming, needing to feel more of her. She wanted to feel all of her, now, but pledged to herself to take this one step at a time. This was too fragile to mess up by being too aggressive, even though all she wanted to do was rip off Shelby's clothes, throw her against the wall, and take her. The thought made her moan and run her hands down Shelby's back, slipping under the plum-colored sweater to drag her fingernails across her warm skin. Shelby moaned in response, the sound making Santana lift her hips against Shelby's, yearning for more contact.

She gasped when Shelby finally broke away from their kiss, only to move to Santana's neck with lips and teeth and tongue that made her start to forget her own name. Shelby bit too hard and it sent a shock through her, groaning from pleasure and pain.

"Shh," Shelby said with a laugh, pushing away to sit upright, straddling Santana's hips. "Don't wake her up," she clarified, cocking her head in the direction of Beth's room as she crossed her arms at her waist to grasp the hem of her sweater and pull it up and off, letting it drop to the floor.

Santana grinned at Shelby's forwardness. For someone so non-committal about starting this, she certainly seemed to know how she wanted it to end. She reached up and hooked her finger in the front of Shelby's bra, barely still in place, the sides already unhooked.

"When did you do that?" Shelby asked, glancing down.

"Honestly?" Santana said, giving a tug to pull the bra down her arms. She struggled to keep her eyes on Shelby's face as she tossed the bra aside. "I have no idea."

"Sneaky." Shelby used the back of the couch for balance as she ambled back to her feet. She held out her hand, and Santana grasped it, letting her help her up.

"Where are we going?" Santana asked, hoping her guess was right. She felt herself pulled close, Shelby's arm tight around her waist.

Shelby's smile was almost wicked. "Somewhere with more space than a couch. Don't trip," she added as she stepped backwards.

Santana had to follow somewhat blindly. As soon as they were moving, Shelby had reclaimed her mouth, making it almost impossible to walk, let alone gracefully. She could tell they had moved through a doorway, and she opened her eyes long enough to make out the outline of a bed in the dim ambient light of Shelby's bedroom. Her hands automatically went to Shelby's backside. If they hadn't been of nearly equal stature, she would have tried to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. She settled for jerking Shelby's hips against hers, the dull, indirect friction burning low in her belly.

Their progress stopped and she knew they must be at the foot of the bed. Shelby made a move to sit, but Santana gripped her tighter and turned them to sit down instead, Shelby standing between her knees, trailing her lips down the center of Shelby's chest as she went. The realness of the moment made her take pause. She wrapped her arms around Shelby's waist and turned her head, resting her cheek against Shelby. Her skin was soft and warm and she wanted to touch every inch of it immediately.

She felt hands rest lightly on her head, fingertips teasing a scalp massage. She turned slightly, pressing her lips to the inner swell of Shelby's right breast. She heard a sigh escape Shelby as she placed kisses along its curve, slowly working her way closer until her lips grazed the tip.

Shelby shivered, a whisper of Santana's name on her lips as her fingers slid into Santana's hair, pulling her closer. Santana took the hint and caught the firming flesh between her lips, bathing it with her tongue before sucking gently. She looked up at Shelby, face clearly defined in the light from the street lamps filtering through her blinds. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, mouth open. That she was making Shelby feel this way aroused Santana more; how that was even possible, she didn't know. She'd never been so turned on in her life. She flicked her tongue against the nipple before moving to give the other equal attention while she dragged her nails down Shelby's bare back and around her sides, trailing across her firm stomach to find the button on Shelby's jeans. She undid it easily and the zipper gave way easily, letting her slip her hands along Shelby's hips to push them down.

Shelby's hands disappeared from her hair and reappeared on her shoulders, tugging at her shirt until she sat back, leaving Shelby's breasts painfully bare and unattended a few inches away while she let her pull off her shirt. As soon as it was off, she returned, teasing Shelby until she had to back away from oversensitivity.

"God," Shelby said breathily when she arched her chest away from Santana's mouth.

Santana smirked, licking her lips. "Yes?" Her hands were back on Shelby's backside, nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric between her fingers and the skin Santana was waiting impatiently to explore.

"Funny," Shelby smiled as she bent to kiss Santana, unhooking and divesting her of her bra while doing so. She replaced the cups of the bra with her hands without hesitation, and Santana couldn't stifle her groan.

"Now who's God?" Shelby whispered, earning an airy laugh from Santana. Her hands moved to Santana's waist, undoing her jeans. Her fingers gripped the waistband and she urged Santana backwards with her kiss. "Move back."

Santana worked her way up the bed, twisting her hips a little to let Shelby pull her jeans off as she went. She stopped when Shelby caught one of her ankles, lifting first one foot and then the other to slip off her socks, dropping them somewhere on the floor. Santana didn't care if she ever wore socks again, if only Shelby would join her in bed.

A few seconds later, she was doing just that, but tantalizingly slowly. A right hand, then a left. A right knee, and the left. Crawling closer until she glided into Santana's arms, nearly nude bodies in contact for the first time. Santana squeezed Shelby's hips between her thighs and pulled her face close for a rough kiss.

She needed Shelby, and she needed her now. She was done with foreplay, done with teasing. She reached between them, the thin fabric of Shelby's panties proving easy to move aside. She felt heat and wetness, and Shelby moaned against their kiss.

She found what she wanted in a matter of seconds – the spot that made Shelby forget to breathe, forget to be quiet. She teased the swollen bundle of nerves, making Shelby's hips rock against her, driving the back of her hand against her own body in a dangerously pleasurable game of cat and mouse.

Not happy with her lack of control, pinned beneath Shelby as she was, Santana rolled them over, Shelby letting out a grunt of surprise when her back hit the mattress and a whimper of disappointment when Santana took her hand away.

"Getting rid of these," Santana said, yanking Shelby's useless panties down her legs. She ran her hands back up them, slowing as she moved higher, absorbing the moment. She could see how turned on Shelby was, had felt it. "I want to taste you."

Shelby's moan was broken, high-pitched, desperate. She rolled her hips. "Santana, please."

"I told you begging me would be sexy." Santana shifted until she'd settled between Shelby's legs, slipping her arms under them, her fingertips moving gently over Shelby's abdomen.

"Please," Shelby repeated, lifting her head long enough to make eye contact before dropping back to the pillow.

Santana gave her what they both wanted. Shelby kept forgetting to be quiet, but the baby monitor remained blissfully silent. Santana kept her eyes on Shelby's face, having to work a little to hold her hips down so she could, actually, see her. She knew Shelby was close when she started biting the back of her own hand, struggling so hard. It was beautifully sexy, but a little cruel nonetheless. Santana replaced her mouth with her hand and moved up over Shelby, plunging her tongue into her mouth to muffle her cries as she quickly brought her the rest of the way.

"Mmm," Shelby managed, gently pulling Santana's hair to break their kiss so she could breathe.

Santana smiled, taking pride in Shelby's obvious state of contentment. "Mmm?"

"Mhmm." Shelby took a deep breath and stretched, pursing her lips in a silent request for a kiss, to which Santana eagerly obliged.

It happened so quickly, Santana didn't even know how it had happened, but suddenly she was on her back, looking up at Shelby instead of down.

"My turn," was all Shelby said, but it was nearly enough to make Santana combust then and there.

Shelby was at her neck again, making her shiver. She felt hands, seemingly everywhere all at once – her face, down her arm, glancing across her breasts, her stomach, pressing between her legs, tugging at her panties until they were gone. Everywhere Shelby touched her, fire was left in her wake. Santana was sure she was going to set the linens ablaze, and then she didn't care if the building burned down, nothing but ecstasy flowing through her.

"Oh God," Santana moaned, once she was able, prying one eye open to look up at Shelby's smiling face.

"Yes?"

"Funny," Santana huffed, giving Shelby's shoulder a weak shove.

Shelby exaggerated the impact and tipped over to lie next to Santana, pulling the covers up to cover them both. "I thought so."

Santana felt Shelby seek out her hand and intertwine their fingers and Santana pulled their hands up to kiss the back of Shelby's. Silence began to settle over them. Santana felt herself drifting, and wondered if they needed to talk about it, or if she should excuse herself and start heading home.

But then she felt Shelby rustling around next to her, and a tug on her right arm until she had to turn onto her side. She felt Shelby scoot backwards until her warm body was against her. She pulled Santana's arm over her like a second blanket and fell still.

Santana stared at the back of Shelby's head, unsure what this meant, if anything.

"Don't overthink this," Shelby said sleepily, seemingly reading Santana's mind.

Santana pressed a kiss to Shelby's hair. "I won't."

She felt Shelby turn and kiss her arm. "Sleep. We can talk tomorrow."

Santana nodded and settled in behind Shelby, perfectly content for tonight, and anxious for tomorrow.