Okay here we go! On a side note, apparently I'm going to burn in hell while a rhino horn rapes me. Well, me and anyone else who enjoys this this story and/or Sebtana in general. I've been a part of some crazy fandoms in my time but I've never had a shipper from an alternate camp threaten people with beastiality and hell because of their preferences. If you don't like a ship, get off it.

Also I have no excuse for this fic. It took on a life of it's own.

She's nipping at that place behind his ear when his parents 'surprise' him with a visit.

For reasons he'll never remember the door is unlocked and his parents take this as an invitation despite the fact they have not informed him of this visit. So they enter just as he's about to take off her shirt. It's hard to say whose more shocked, though his mother's shriek may take the cake. It's not the first time his parent's have walked in on this situation but it is the first time they've walked in on him doing it with a girl. She staggers off him and he stumbles to his feet and somehow they all make it through the next five minutes without the world imploding on itself.

But then she walks away and his parents loose what little cool they have.

"We thought you were gay!" his father sputters.

"Honey," his mother says, "we want you to be happy," she begins.

"I'm fine," he cuts in, "look, we're-" he trails off because he's got no idea what he's supposed to say, "it's fine," he finishes.

"You are gay," his father repeats as though he's saying the sky isn't blue or the sun isn't hot, "isn't he gay?" he says looking at his wife.

"It's more complicated than that!" he shouts.

They gap at him and he's got no idea what he's supposed to do in this situation. He went through so much fucking shit to tell his parents he was gay, to admit to himself that he was gay and he's been shacking up with a chick for the past five months. As much as he hates to admit it, he realizes in that moment he's actually become monogamous and the realization makes him sit down. His father sighs and his mother makes a sound that might be a muffled curse and they both collect themselves with herculean effort.

"Are you at least being safe?" his mother asks.

"What-"

"Because you know girls can get pregnant-"

"Mom!"

He bolts up off the bed before the awkward situation can kill them all.

"I know where babies come from!" he all but shouts back at her, "look," he pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at them, "we're being safe," he says finally.

"Well as long as you're happy dear," she says finally.

Santana does not let the same thing happen when he meets her parents.

She invites him over for dinner.

She also does it under false pretenses and when she uses the words 'hot' and 'spicy' he does not think mexican food. It's friday night and he comes over dressed in his version of casual but the outfit seems woefully wrong for meeting her parents. Not that he's really an expert on meeting the parent's of his sex partners, and definitely not on meeting the parents of girls.

But he's been a patient of Dr. Lopezs' and since her parent's haven't walked in on them they rally together and put on a strong face. Her father talks about Lacrosse and her mother asks about his academics and all the while she sits there with a little smirk on her face like 'aren't I so much better at this?'. So he shifts tactics and charms the pants off her parents until they aren't even thinking of the fact he's a guy but rather the fact that she's brought home a nice and decent human being.

She folds her arms and accepts the challenge with a raise of her eyebrow.

A week later he's sitting at a restaurant as she retaliates with his parents. She doesn't flirt, per-se, but she definitely does the thing where she leans forward and listens intently and then does a little chuckle that makes his father puff up like a fucking peacock. She and his mom are wearing similar scarves, his mom for fashion, her because she's playing the innocent girl and soon they're talking like friends. He half wants to tell them that this is an act, but dismisses the idea when she smiles at him with her pale glossed lips.

He's got better ways of getting revenge.

Afterwards they lay in his dorm room, both their costumes scattered across the floor. She pushes herself up and braces herself against his chest, her ebony waves hanging down her shoulder like a curtain.

"Satisfied?" she taunts in what is quickly becoming their own private endearment.

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her back down in lieu of replying.

"No," she says.

"Why not?" he demands.

"Because I'm not showing up with you!" she snaps back.

He makes a noise of frustration and drops back to the bed as she slides her panties on. Apparently rubbing him off under the table is one thing but showing up with him to one of the stupid parties New Direction's throws is off he feels like a fucking idiot for even bringing it up because he's starting to come off as a sap and that is not an image he wants to promote. Even if he's become sort of monogamous with her.

"Why are you pushing this?" she asks finally as she does up the buttons of her shirt.

"Because I haven't fucked anyone else in five months," he shoots back and pushes himself up, "because we've met each other's parents and friends and fucked in the choir room," he stops in front of her and glares down at her, "this isn't friends with benefits anymore."

She glares up at him and tries to figure out how to put into words that she's scared. No, she's fucking terrified. Because it took so much to get her to a point where she doesn't hate every person, place and thing. Because she was so angry when she was pretending not to be in love with her best friend and she can feel herself sliding down that slope. Because if she pretends that she isn't his girlfriend she thinks maybe things can go back to when they were almost perfect. But if she shows up with him, if they come out and put a label on what this is then everything is going to change.

"You know what, forget I said anything," he says turning around and going back to the bed, "it was a a mistake anyway."

"You got that right," she says and grabs her coat.

"Do me a favor and call me when you grow some balls," he throws at her as she saunters over to the door.

"Why?" she smirks back at him, malice in the gesture, "I've already got yours."

She slams the door before he can reply.

He lays in bed and fumes for as long as his bruised ego will allow. He considers going to Scandals but decides it won't be worth the shit he'll get for breaking curfew. That just infuriates him more because she's not supposed to have this effect on him. No-one is supposed to have this effect on him. He's being a fucking sap and he knows it and he actually thinks he might hate her if he wasn't half way to being in love with her. So he shoves himself up and heads to the downstairs gym.

He runs until he can't think straight.

A week goes by without a word from him and Santana doesn't think she's ever had such an intense staring contest with her phone. She's not calling him though, because she isn't breaking down. She's winning this contest because he's the one being a whiny little girl and damn it they've both been fighting to wear the pants in the relationship so she sure as hell isn't going to loose hers. So she glares at her phone and tells herself she is not waiting for him to call her, she's daring him to do it.

He doesn't.

That gets her even more pissed, to the point where Ms. Pillsbury-Schulster calls her into her freakishly clean office and attempts to give her pamphlets. She chucks them in the trash and is tempted to throw her phone in there as well, just so that when he calls she won't have the temptation to pick up. In the end she doesn't because it would be too much of a hassle, not because she wants him to have her number for when he gets off his pathetic, girlish ass and decides to call her.

Somehow, and she will never figure out how exactly but will always secretly suspect Blaine and his Dalton ties, the glee club figures it out. They take it upon themselves to offer more advice and the only reason Santana doesn't slap them all is because it isn't done in song form. Most of the advice is romantic in nature but she doesn't need to be taking advice from someone who got knocked up and another who lost them Nationals because she couldn't keep her lips off a boy who can barely string two words together.

Surprisingly the only decent advice comes from Tina.

"You should apologize," she says one day as they're sitting waiting for the rest of the club to arrive.

"Why?" Santana snaps.

"Because you're wearing the pants," she says and smiles at Mike Chang as he comes in, "and I think you're the first girl he's done this with."

"Should I buy him jewelry too?" she demands sarcastically.

"Jewelry never hurts," Tina replies.

Santana sits back with a note of disgust. For all she loves being in charge, she hates dealing with inexperienced people. Sebastian has never been one to lack in confidence, even when she took his first time with a girl in a closet. Folding her arms over her chest, she ignored Mr. Schue's happy proclamation of whatever song they were singing. She hums through the notes and has never been happier when the glee club is dismissed for the day.

Until Brittany stops her.

"You love him," the blonde girl says in her direct and innocent way.

"No I don't," Santana says instantly, despite the fact that her cheeks instantly go bright red.

"Yes you do," Brittany volleys back.

"He wants me to go on a date," Santana says after a moment because Brittany is still her best friend even after everything that's happened.

"That's what people who are dating do," she points out.

"We aren't dating!" Santana objects.

"Yes you are," Brittany replies.

Santana sighs because Brittany is too good and innocent to lie. And as much as she wants to be mad at her for saying these things, she can't. Instead she looks over at the first person she ever fell in love with and feels like maybe, just maybe, she isn't in the right anymore. She folds her arms over her chest and Brittany mimics the posture, looking at her with those blue blue eyes of hers.

"Want me to go with you?"

They go to the lacrosse game together because having Brittany there reminds Santana that there is something good in the world. It makes her feel brave. Brittany can find joy in watching paint dry and immediately gets swept up in the hype of the game. Halfway through Santana is surprised the cheerleaders haven't dragged her down to join with them. She's so passionate and happy that all eyes are drawn to her.

Including his.

Sebastian recognizes her instantly because Brittany is still Santana's cell phone background. Then his eyes go to the left and he sees she's sitting there. She's still in her cheer uniform and he realizes that they drove to the game right after school. He's too shocked to even really feel victory because it's the first time he's seen her in a week and oddly that feels like a long time.

They win but it's a miracle because half the time he's checking to make sure she's still in the stands.

At the end she is and he heads over before he can loose his nerve. She and Brittany are whispering but he sees through the act as he reaches the bleacher where she's sitting. She makes him wait before she turns and looks at him, fixing him with a look he hasn't been on the receiving end of since their last duel.

"Enjoy the game?" he asks.

"No," she says.

"Liar."

She steps forward furiously at the same moment Brittany nimbly lifts a foot and trips her. He catches her before she has a chance to recover.

And just like that they're kissing.

Neither is going to apologize or admit they were wrong but their words have always been more for fighting. Instead he kisses her with everything he isn't going to say and she responds in turn. It goes from dominance to softness very quickly and in front of everyone his arms are winding around her waist, hers are sliding across the pads on his shoulders and somehow they're dangerously close to becoming a cliche.

For once, however, they aren't the center of attention.

Lacrosse players and cheerleaders kiss all the time.

"Are you ever coming out?" Sebastian calls

"Shut up. Aren't you supposed to like shit like this?"

"Waiting around? No."

From inside the dressing room Santana rolls her eyes and discards the dress. Her last prom dress was amazing, but none of the pile was working for her. They looked good but with Quinn or Rachel winning prom queen, good wasn't what she wanted. Drop dead, fabulous, something better than good. Grabbing the next dress she shimmied in and reaches around to zip it up. Frowning she looks at the mirror and piles her hair on her head.

"Santana," Sebastian sighs.

"Quit whining," she orders and steps out of the dressing room, "what about this?"

Sebastian turns to look, opening his mouth to tell her that this was out of his duties as her quasi-boyfriend. But the words dry up in his throat and his mouth kind of forgets how to close.

The dress is a dead ringer for her skin tone, making her look almost deliciously nude from a distance. The mermaid cut, hugs her curves like a second skin before sweeping out past her thighs. The top borders in modest in how high it comes on her breasts but when she twists around almost the entire length of her back is exposed. Unlike most of the dresses in the shop there isn't any glitter on it, just the layers where the skirt fans out.

"That's the reaction I was looking for," she says and her smile goes self satisfied.

He grabs her wrist and pulls her back into the dressing room.

The store is a nice one and so the dressing room is a room with a full door and a cushioned bench. It isn't the type of store with cameras in the dressing rooms either which is good because what he's about to do isn't something he wants on tape. He barely flips the lock before his mouth is on hers. She presses her body against his as his hands trace the skin of her back before settling on the zipper. He pulls it down as he nips the skin of her shoulder and she has to bite her knuckle to keep from making noise.

He slides the straps from her shoulders. For all that they could be caught at any minute, he takes his time and kisses the skin. Her head falls forward as she fights to remain quiet but the puffs of air on his throat are hot as hell. The dress is tight when it's on but once it's undone it slides down her body and pools around her ankles in a pile of nude chiffon. He follows the trail with his mouth. Her hands dig into his shoulders as he works her before one flies up to cover her mouth. It doesn't quite do the job as she shudders against him and they both freeze, waiting for someone to tell them to get out.

She decides not to risk it.

"Get out," she orders.

"Excuse me?" he demands.

"I said get out," she repeats and grasps the pocket with his keys, "go get the car."

He thinks to argue but she turns and grabs her purse. She opens it and shows him what she's brought.

He doesn't think he's ever gotten to a parking lot faster.

Later she tosses her head against her arms and whimpers and comes undone in a way that makes the whole day worth it. He's glad she's a cheerleader but even her crazy flexibility isn't enough to get out of the silver handcuff's she's somehow been keeping in her purse the whole day. The prom dress hangs on the outside of his closet as they fuck and he wonders if it's really such a good idea for her to wear it. Proms after all, are chaperoned.

Then she whispers she may not be wearing underwear with it and he decides getting kicked out of a prom may not be the worst thing in the world.

"I think we should live together."

She announces this one night while they're watching a movie and sharing a bottle of scotch. He's got half a mouthful of the stuff and nearly chokes when she announces it. To be fair she's dressed in a t-shirt of his, he's just in a pair of sweat pants a pink toothbrush has taken residence in his shower caddy. But the announcement throws him off guard because even if she'll be seen in public with him they still aren't entirely dating.

"What?"

"We're both going to college in Boston," she says and ticks the reasons off on her fingers, "neither of us is going to do well around communal bathrooms and I don't do room mates."

"You've never had one," he points out.

"Neither have you," she replies.

"Our parents will never go for it," he says.

"They will if we get two bedrooms," she says.

"You want to move in together," he repeats just to make sure he's not hearing things.

"Not if you're going to be such a girl about it," she says taking a drink from the bottle.

He leans back and considers what she's saying. The communal bathrooms are bad enough without people being drunk all the time and even if he's confident she's not screwing anyone else, he's not in love with the idea of her living with a bunch of girls. No more than he imagines she's happy at the notion of him having a boy as a roommate. So he leans over, grabs the bottle and takes a mouthful of the bitter liquid for courage.

"How are we going to convince our parents?" he asks.

They fuck slow and hot, taking their time to work each other's bodies. She tastes like scotch and soon she tastes like him as well. The alcohol burns through them as they fuck with mouths and hands and when he finally enters her she is tortuously swollen and wet. She throws her head back against his shoulder as he nips at her earlobe. They move together, meeting each other's thrusts as he snakes a hand down the front of her body and between her legs.

She cums with a whimper, her head lolling to the side as her dark waves tickle his chest.

They lay on the bed afterwards tangled in each other, the scotch bottle laying empty on the floor somewhere. He twists a curl around his finger and looks down at her.

"I think we're going to need two bathrooms as well."

"You're probably right," she says.

"Of course I am," he says.

"Don't be an asshole," she says, punching his shoulder.

He catches her wrist and she slides a leg over him, pinning him before he can try to do the same. He can feel the heat of her dangerously close to his cock and he gets hard fast at the teasing. She pushes herself up and smiles down at him. Not her usually predatory smirk but something closer to the softer smile he sometimes catches in the quiet moments that seem to follow when they have sex.

"What?" he asks.

She shakes her head, leans forward and brushes their lips together. The hand on her hip tightens and then slides up, pulling her closer. She leans into him as his hand snakes around her shoulder and tangles in the curls that fall past her shoulders now. Then she pushes herself up, leans over, grabs a condom and slides down onto him. He temporarily forgets the gentle smile when she does that thing with her hips that makes his eyes roll back and the world disappear into white hot pleasure.

It's only later when he's fallen asleep and she's lingering in the hazy place between sleep and wakefulness that she wonders if either of them will get the nerve to actually speak about what they're feeling.

"I love you!"

The declaration is made furiously and with two voices at the exact same time.

They're arguing about something which neither really remembers, only that it began with a flirty boy at prom and somehow ends with the both of them standing across a table shouting at each other. They're talking over each other, each of them trying to be louder than the other but they both pause at the same the before shouting the declaration at each other. The silence that follows is deafening in spite of the pounding music and leaves them both standing there, chests heaving as though they've been running and not shouting.

"You what?" she demands.

"You heard me," he snaps because he sure as hell isn't taking it back now.

She looks at him furiously for a moment before turning heel and storming off.

He strides after her.

She's in heels so he's surprised at how much distance she manages to put between them by the time he catches her in the heavily decorated outside part of the prom. Thankfully it's deserted. He grabs her upper arm and spins her around. He keeps his hands there so she can't run again.

"What's your problem?" he demands, "one minute you don't want to go on a date with me and the next we're talking about living together during college."

"You just told me you loved me at my senior prom!" Santana says, "do you have any idea how much of a fucking cliche that is?" he stares down at her and she knows how afraid she must look, "do you have any idea the kind of person I was before I fell in love with Brittany?"

"You mean when you liked guys?" he questions.

"Yes!"

He glares down at her. His fingers tighten slightly on the bare skin of her arm.

"If you think I'm anything like those guys you're blind," he tells her.

They glare at each other silently and even if she knows she might be wrong she can't help the fear that sinks low in her chest. It's the fear that creeps up in those soft, silent moments when everything feels so right and all she can think of is how it will inevitably go wrong. And then she feels like an idiot and even if the anger she sees on his face is a far cry from the pity she's been bracing herself for.

He lets her go and turns off but does not run away. He does reach up as though to loosen the bow tie. It's not a clip on like most of the guys in the prom are wearing because Sebastian wouldn't be caught dead in one of those things. The tux is his too, though how she knows that she can't say. She crosses her arms over her chest and tells herself that the chill she feels is because of the breeze.

"Do you think you're the only one struggling with this?" he says finally turning around to face her, "do you have any idea the shit I put my parents through when I realized I was gay?"

"No, because we don't talk about those things."

"That's because we don't talk," he points out.

"You realize how that makes you sound right?" she says raising her eyebrow.

"Any idea how this makes you look?" he shoots back.

She rolls her eyes and he makes that sound in the back of his throat when he's particularly disgusted. She sighs and uncrosses her arms, looking out at the deserted corner. She tells herself it's to check for people who don't need to be hearing this conversation, but even she can't believe the lie.

"So what do you want to?" she asks, "have a weekly pedicure date where we get together and talk about our feelings?"

"I wouldn't want to get in the way of your standing one with Brittany," he says and his voice is surprisingly not bitter.

Santana opens her mouth to call him a stalker but closes it when she remembers yelling at him when he called during her wednesday appointment with Brittany. She's so surprised that her window for a rebuttal passes. She touches the tight pull of her hair and wishes that it was undone so she could twist a curl around her finger.

"Look I'm not saying that we don't have a reasons to be-" he motions around to their situation because he sure as fuck isn't saying 'scared', "damn it," he mutters and looks down.

"Kind of makes you wish for one night stands huh?" she says lightly.

"I wish," he replies because while one night stands were easier he's gotten used to the spitfire standing in front of him.

"Me too," she echoes.

They lapse into a silence and for once neither leans forward to fill it with kissing. There's music coming from inside but it seems distant, like something unreachable. Instead he reaches out and offers her a hand. She rolls her eyes but slides her hand into his as they begin to move to the music. Quietly they dance, the occasional sounds of their shoes against the stones. It takes them three songs to look at each other again.

"My abuela used to say that falling in love with my abuelo was the best thing she ever did," Santana says finally, "that's not what I want."

"Falling in love with me is pretty easy," Sebastian points out and spins her deftly as though to emphasize his point, "it's not the best thing about you either."

She looks up at him and he looks down at her and neither says anything for a very long moment. Because for some reason this feels as though it is a start of something new. The fear is still there, but it isn't overwhelming. Because as they look at each other both come to the realization that as much as admitting you're in love is hard, walking away from each other at this point would be much worse. The realization hits him like a truck because even if he know's she's been in love he hasn't, not really, not like this.

When she looks up at him he kisses her long hot, until Santana feels it in the very tips of her toes. Because for now declarations are furious and full of challenges, but they're declarations all the same. He doubts they're the type for soft words and softer gestures. So he kisses and and she kisses him back and her hands are sliding across his hips under his blazer when they're caught.

"Get a room!" someone calls.

"Go fuck yourself!" Santana snaps and kisses him again.

Later they're both surprised they managed to keep their clothes on for the entirety of Prom.

It's a little disappointing.

A month later they fly to Boston with their parents and move into a small apartment halfway between their schools.

The second bedroom, which is 'hers' doesn't get used very often.

Oddly at their core they don't trust people enough for the flings that seem to rule the lives of their friends. They seem to fall into different circles of friends, who aren't enemies for once, and they break up several times during a particularly tumultuous sophomore year. Of course breaking up for them means she sleeps in what's supposed to be her bedroom and they steal the hair products the other can't live without. He goes into economics while she finds her way in sports medicine. His father is less than pleased but gets over it when he sees his son has found a profession that plays into everything he loves.

By the time senior year comes around they've been together long enough to celebrate an anniversary. He considers roses or jewelry but winds up getting chocolate body paint and new sheets instead. She wears a familiar black skirt and and blazer and challenges him like they did back in high school. How she gets one of the ugly ass yellow chairs into their apartment he'll never know. Months later his mother sits in it and he can't look at her for days.

He doesn't mean to start looking for rings. Just like he doesn't mean to walk by every jewelry store. She doesn't wear a lot in the way of rings and he thinks something huge and tacky will get chucked at his head. He thinks to consult one of her friends but decides against the idea. He doesn't mind them, hell he even likes some of them, but he wants to do this on his own. He finds the perfect ring completely by accident and convinces the jewelry to hold it while he runs home and grabs his wallet.

She invites him out to dinner with a plan formed in her mind. She wears a nude colored dress that hugs her body, something that's become a kink of his since senior prom. He shows up in a suit and steals his favorite pocket square back for the occasion. They flirt through dinner but it's half assed because she's nervous. The ring box takes up most of her clutch and even if she's comfortable being his girlfriend there's no way in hell she's going to be marked by him like some present.

She's not going down on one knee in her heels though.

Instead she sets her napkin down and looks at him. He takes a drink of wine and returns the look, sensing she's about to do something. He glances down to make sure her feet are firmly on the floor. They are. He looks back up at her with a questioning look in his eye.

"Okay I'm just going to say it," she says because this whole flowering love crap has never been her strong suit. She opens her clutch and pulls out a jewelry box, "want to get married?" she asks a though it's perfectly ordinary.

He chokes and stares at the white gold band nestled in the box.

"You're proposing?" he sputters and his hand freezes in his pocket.

"No I'm asking you for the other kind of marriage," she snaps.

"Okay," he says and pulls his hand out, "lets get married."

She beams and slides the ring onto his finger as the restaurant bursts into applause at the strange proposal. They kiss for the crowd and someone sends over a bottle of champagne. She looks thrilled at herself and he can't help but grin back at her. When they leave the staff smiles at them. They get three blocks from the restaurant before he pauses and looks at her.

"You know that proposal wasn't bad," he says, "but I took points off for not going down on a knee."

"Have you seen my shoes?" she questions.

"I've got bruises from your shoes," he says and stops, "well I suppose one of us is going to have to do this right," he adjusts his pants, kneels on the sidewalk and pulls out the jewelry box. Her eyes go wide as he opens it to reveal the cushion cut diamond ring.

"You were planning to propose?"

"You beat me to it," he says.

It doesn't really surprise her anymore that he didn't whip out the ring in the restaurant like he was challenging her to a duel. She'd been struggling over rings and finally enlisted Kurt, Blaine and Karkofsky in finding the perfect one. His is perfect too, the cushion cut diamond surrounded by a band of rubies that are as red as her old cheer uniform and his school uniform. She's already proposed to him but the fact that he's gone out and bought a ring makes her feel like this is beyond the right decision.

"Yes," she says in reply and sticks her hand out even though they're already technically engaged.

He slides the ring on her finger and it fits as perfectly as his does. Like before they kiss but their audience isn't exactly the same. Finally they pull apart and continue their walk down the street though neither is quite able to wipe the dopey grin from their face.

"Hey you're not going to wear a dress are you?" she asks but there's more humor in her eyes then when they used to snark at each other as teenagers.

"Only if you're planning to attempt pulling off white," he replies.

"Please," she rolls her eyes, "I look awful in white."

He laughs because it's true and they both know it but her mother's been dropping hints about a wedding for months now. He hails a taxi and they slide into the warm leather interior, still laughing though they know her looking awful in white is hardly a cause for such a reaction. She gives the driver their address as he leans back against the leather. She reaches over and grabs his left hand with her own.

Their rings go together perfectly.

"Satisfied?" he asks in what was their first way of saying their feelings.

She looks over at him and smiles.

"Yes."

"Me too."

They are happy.

okay like I said, no excuses. That's how I think they'd have a relationship. I'm also open to follow ups (weddings, babies etc.) but i don't have any planned at the moment.

Hope you enjoyed and I'll see all my fellow Sebtana shippers in Rhino-hell.