A/N: This was a fic prompt from mykindofparty. A prompt she gave me way back in November. It's finally done, though! I hope you all enjoy. Part of the Main Drag 'verse.

The Pierce Household (9:20pm)

"Are you sure you need all those clothes?" Santana asks from the bed as she watches her girlfriend pull a third sweater over her torso. She's already wearing two t-shirts beneath the other two sweaters, and a tank-top beneath those. The blonde nods before she pulls a fuzzy red and black hat out of her closet and tugs it over her head. "Britt, it's like the hottest part of summer. You're going to have a heatstroke if you go out in all that."

Brittany grins and crosses the room to her bed. She drops to her knees and settles in between Santana's legs so she can look up at her girlfriend.

"They're just precautions, San," she says for the twenty-third time. "You know how I get when I drink and I don't want all of Lima to see me half-naked." She closes her eyes and nuzzles her nose against the inside of Santana's thigh. "That is for your eyes only." When she feels the other girl sigh, she knows she's going to win.

"That's funny coming from the girl who claimed to upload a sex tape of us to the internet."

Brittany's lower lip juts out in a pout. She had already apologized for lying about that a hundred different ways. It wasn't like she had actually posted the video they had made together.

"I'm kidding, Britt-Britt. Do what you gotta do," Santana says when she sees the pout. "But take it easy on the dancing tonight. I don't want you passing out." Brittany nods and the smaller girl leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. "And if you even feel a little faint, promise me you'll take one of these damn things off," she says, plucking at the fabric of the purple sweater.

Brittany responds with a smile and a kiss.

The Mack's Crack Shack Apartment (9:35pm)

Mack stares at the contents of her closet, scanning the wife-beaters and jeans for something acceptable for the night. That's the problem, though. It seems all she owns is wife-beaters, jeans, and leather jackets. And not even any in different colors. They are all blacks and greys. She always wears colors. Bright colors that always made Mack want to claw her eyes out whenever she saw her in the halls. Then again, maybe if she dressed like her, it would improve her chances with Quinn. Sure, they had kissed in Quinn's basement, but that didn't mean jack shit relationship-wise. She scowls and slams the closet door.

"Quit slammin' shit in there, dipshit," her brother calls from the living room, "I'm tryin' to watch some quality TV and relax in here!"

"Relax from what, Jimmy? You don't even have a job," she hollers back. "And Skinemax is hardly quality TV!"

"Shuddup!"

"You shuddup!

"Stop arguing with your brother," her Ma yells from the kitchen.

"He started it, Ma!"

"And if you broke that door, you better fix it."

Mack groans and hits her head against the closet door several times. She needs to find something to wear so she can get away from her house. She takes a breath and pulls away from the door. Blacks and greys it is.

The Fabray Residence (10:07pm)

Judy Fabray watches her daughter pace back and forth in the living room. When she starts to get dizzy, she lowers her gaze to the romance novel in her hands so she can get caught up in the adventures of Raul and Francesca. She tries to ignore her pacing daughter by delving into the foreplay scene between the two lovers, but her gaze occasionally drifts over the top of her book to Quinn. The scowl on her face is amusing to say the least. It becomes more prominent every time she checks the clock hanging on the wall.

Judy suspects it has something to do with the outing Quinn is supposed to be having with her friends. In fact, she is fairly certain her agitation stems from the fact that the friend who is supposed to be picking her up is now twenty minutes late and counting; a friend that Quinn has trouble describing her feelings for. Judy smiles to herself and drops her gaze back to the letters on the page. For someone who is just a friend, Quinn sure is pacing and grumbling like she did whenever Finn or Sam would show up late for a date.

Raul and Francesca are in the middle of a steamy love scene when the doorbell chimes through the house. Judy rolls her eyes at the timing and puts the intimate scene in her book on hold so she can follow her daughter down the hall to the front door. The younger blonde opens the door and Mack is on the front porch, scuffing the tip of her shoe on the cement as she holds out a bouquet of flowers for Quinn. Judy glances at her daughter and can see that she is trying not to smile at the purplish-blue hue of the forget-me-nots in Mack's hand.

"Sorry I'm late, but Jimmy couldn't remember where he put the damn keys and we had to search the whole apartment and they were in his underwear drawer and then I had to wash my hands a million times to get Jimmy germs off 'em. Then I forgot the fuckin' flowers and had to—"

Quinn muffles the rest of Mack's words with a kiss. The girl visibly relaxes and her grip on the bouquet loosens as she leans into Quinn. When the blonde pulls away, Mack has a dopey smile on her face and can't take her eyes off the younger Fabray. They both seem to remember that Judy is standing next to them at the same time. Mack covers her nervousness by clearing her throat while Quinn's face turns a shade of red that her mother hasn't seen since the last time the loud girl with the large nose was over.

"Hi, Judy," Mack greets her in a hoarse voice. "Sorry about the language. Did you get highlights done to your hair? Looks good on you."

Judy shakes her head at the compliment and the wink that accompanies it, secretly pleased that someone noticed. After Quinn takes the flowers from Mack and hands them to her, Judy wishes the girls a goodnight and closes the door behind them. She places the flowers in a clear vase in the kitchen before she heads back to the living room for her own date with the handsome Raul.

Parking Lot of Jerry's Hideaway (10:40pm)

Cars and trucks of every color fill the parking lot of one of Lima's busiest bars. Brittany parks her mom's beat up Impala on the outskirts of the lot so Quinn and Mack can easily see them when they show up. Quinn had texted Santana twenty minutes earlier to let them know Mack was running late so they wouldn't worry. Santana uses the extra time to make sure they have everything in the glove compartment. Maps, napkins, and four fake I.D. cards pop out of the compartment when she pulls it open. She shoves the junk back inside before she flicks through the cards and hands Brittany hers, who slips it into her bra. Santana swaps hers with the one in her wallet just as another pair of headlights turns into the crowded lot and pulls in beside them. She sees The Mack and Quinn through the window and takes it as her cue to get out of the car.

Santana waits for the two of them to get out of the car before she asks, "Did you two stop for a quickie or what?"

Quinn responds with the middle finger as she walks around the front of the car to join Mack at the driver's side. Mack's previously unreadable expression is softened by a smile when the blonde loops their arms together and leans into the shorter girl's side. Santana rolls her eyes at the interaction. She's still not sure how she feels about Quinn and Mack as a couple. It's been strange, to say the least, watching her friend show interest in someone else after pining over Rachel for so long. Strange, but a little refreshing to see Quinn with a genuine smile on her face, she decides as she hands the other two their fake identities.

Jerry's Hideaway (10:47pm)

In theory, Jerry's Hideaway is supposed to be a bar. When the girls walk through the door, however, the pulsating music and massive throngs of people remind them of every nightclub they have seen in the movies and on television. They flash their cards at the door attendant and he ushers them through. Santana makes a mental note to thank Puck for the hook-up as she leads her group of girls through the sea of sweaty, writhing bodies on the dance floor.

Music from the live band vibrates in Santana's chest. The smell of alcohol from the sweaty patrons is thick and follows her and the girls as they escape into the adjoining room connected to the crowded dance floor. It takes some shoving on their part, but they finally make it to the quieter section of the building. The the music from the other room pounds against the door after it closes behind them, unintentionally adding background bass to the quieter music in the less crowded room.

A group of pool tables occupies the middle of the room. Pushed against the wall is an old jukebox cranking out some old Journey song that momentarily makes three of the girls think of their first year in glee club. Mack watches as an odd look passes over the faces of Quinn, Brittany, and Santana before all three of them shake it off and notice her staring.

"Sorry. Glee club moment," Quinn says with a small smile as she pats Mack on the hand.

"I didn't know brainwashing was a requirement for New Directions." Mack chuckles and rests her forehead against Quinn's. "It's cool. It was kinda funny to see you guys blank out like that," she says before she pulls away, unsure of how much public affection Quinn is comfortable with. Quinn doesn't pull her back. Mack clears her throat and shoves her hands into her pockets before she asks, "So are we gonna drink or what? I didn't come to listen to old lady music all night."

"Calm your tits," Santana says as she leads Brittany over to the bar. The blonde takes a seat on one of the stools and spins herself back and forth.

The bartender stares at the woman in the strange hat and bulging purple sweater from his spot by the shelves of liquor until he catches the shorter woman glaring at him. He wipes his palms on his pants and approaches the two women. The shorter one holds up four fingers as she orders a round of Jack Daniels for her and her friends. He fumbles with the shot glasses, his gaze focused on the cleavage the shorter woman's top exposes. He breathes a sigh of relief when he manages to pour the drinks without spilling liquor all over the counter-top.

Santana takes two glasses from the weird-ass bartender and passes them to Quinn and Mack before grabbing her own. Brittany's glass is already empty. Santana rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her face as she orders her girlfriend another shot. Once all four of them have a full glass, Santana waves Quinn and Mack in closer and raises her drink.

"Here's to putting this year's bullshit behind us and making sure the future is more kickass than ever."

"So eloquent, Santana."

"Shut up and drink up, Q," Santana says before she clinks her glass against the others. Alcohol splashes over the rims of the cups and wets their hands. They throw back the drinks before too much spills over the edges. Once the glasses have been drained, Brittany slams hers on the bar and throws her arms up in the air as she lets out a yell.

"Woo! Let's make Kesha proud tonight," she shouts as she hops off the stool. She grabs Santana by the wrist and pulls her towards the door that leads to the dance floor, leaving Mack and Quinn at the bar.

"You want another drink?" Mack asks once Santana and Brittany are out the door. When Quinn nods, Mack turns to the bartender and orders two rum and Cokes. A few minutes later, he hands her the cups filled with the concoction and she passes one to Quinn. She takes a long drink of her own and struggles to keep a straight face. She enjoys the effects of alcohol, but the taste always leaves something to be desired. Quinn doesn't seem fazed as she gulps down the dark drink. "Thirsty much?"

"The faster I drink it, the less I taste it," Quinn says with a shrug. She takes another long drink before she steps closer to Mack and snakes her arm around the other girl's waist and rests her hand on Mack's hip. "You should drink up so we can go find Britt and Santana."

"Tired of being around me already, Fabray?" Mack asks in a low voice, although part of her can't help but wonder if Quinn really is bored.

"No, but I think those two had the right idea," the blonde replies. She twists so she's in front of Mack and drags the index finger of her free hand along Mack's neck. "You, me, and very little space between us sounds good right about now."

Mack's throat goes dry and she nods. She gulps down the rest of the Captain and Coke and slams it on the counter. She waves her hand towards the door, gesturing that Quinn should lead the way to the dance floor.

The mass of people seems to have grown since they walked through earlier. Neither one of them can see Brittany or Santana through the throngs of sweating bodies. Mack is more concerned about closing the distance between herself and her date. She slips between Quinn and another woman, sliding her hands to the blonde's hips and pressing herself against Quinn's back. Her hands slip to Quinn's flat stomach and pull her in closer so she can feel the blonde's every move. Not her smartest decision, given that it builds up an uncomfortable pressure in her gut each time Quinn moves against her.

Quinn turns to face her and loops her arms around Mack's neck as she leans into her smaller body. Hot breath tickles the skin of Mack's neck. Even in the dim, flashing lights of the bar, Quinn can see the way her date's eyes glaze over whenever she moves just right to the pulsating music.

A familiar purple sweater smacks Mack in the face, interrupting the dance between the two girls. Quinn and Mack look to their left and find a giggling Brittany and a smirking Santana, who suggests another round of shots. Mack quickly nods her approval. After the dance with Quinn, she needs another drink; especially if they're going to be dancing more.

Jerry's Hideaway (12:30am)

Brittany is down to just her t-shirts. Her second to last line of defense. She's not sure where her sweaters went, but after her fourth shot of tequila, she can't bring herself to care. Besides, Santana was right. It's too hot for sweaters. It's too hot for pants, too, but she still has a hazy memory of promising Santana to keep those on. Her face brightens at the thought of her girlfriend and she scans the bar section for the shorter girl. Blue eyes light up at the sight of teeny, tiny Santana leaning against the jukebox across the room. She starts walking towards her, but the pool stick in her hand bumps against the pool table. How long has she been holding that? She lets it clatter to the ground and crosses the room to her Santana.

The dark-haired girl is struggling to put a quarter in the jukebox when she feels a pair of arms wrap her in a hug. Even in her drunken state, she knows whose strong arms she's in. She may not be able to figure out if the coin in her hand is actually a quarter or a nickel, but she'll always know the arms wrapped around her waist and the cheek pressed against hers.

"Whatcha doin', San?"

"Trying to play a song, but this damn machine won't take my money," she says with a scowl. She smacks it on the side and yells, "Is this because I'm gay, motherfucker? This is discrimination!" She turns to face Brittany and her lower lip is wobbling. "Make it take my money, Britt-Britt. It doesn't like me. Why doesn't it like me?"

"You're trying to feed it a dime, honey," Brittany says in a soft voice before she kisses the corner of her girlfriend's mouth, trying to stop the tears that she knows are about to come. Too many margaritas and the waterworks would start at the slightest provocation. "I think you're all out of quarters."

"Damn it, Britt. They had Songbird. I was going to play it for you," Santana says, her voice cracking as her throat tightens around the words. "I'm such a shitty girlfriend. I can't even play a fucking song for you."

"Honey, no, no, no," Brittany says, but it's too late. She can already feel the tears sliding down Santana's cheek. She pulls away so she can maneuver herself in front of the other girl, who keeps babbling about not being good enough for the dancer. "Santana, you're more than good enough for me. Stop saying you're not," she tells her. "I like it better when yousing that song anyway."

"And I love you, I love you, I love you…" Santana attempts to sing in a hoarse voice in between sobs.

"Like never before," Brittany finishes for her with a smile before pressing a kiss to Santana's forehead and pulling her to her chest. "See, that was way better than the jukebox."

"If you say so," Santana whispers as she nuzzles Brittany's neck.

"I do."

Jerry's Hideaway (1:15am)

The Mack leans heavily against her pool stick as she watches Quinn lean over the table to take her shot. Something wet and cold spills on her jeans, however, snapping her out of her trance. She looks down to find herself covered in her own beer. Shit. She shakes her head and takes a sip of the beer before she spills it again. She's too drunk to taste it, but it bubbles on her tongue and down her throat. Quinn finally takes her shot and stands up, much to Mack's disappointment.

"Your turn, boys," Quinn says to their opponents while the balls on the table are still rolling. The last striped ball rolls into the right pocket. "Whoops. Spoke too soon," she teases before she bends over again. While Quinn lines up another shot, Mack takes another sip of her beer and tries to keep her fuzzy thoughts PG. They are definitely slipping into PG-13 territory when Quinn brings the stick back and sinks the final shot.

"D, I think we just got hustled," one of the men they had been playing against says, but there's a smirk on his face as he digs through his pocket for a wad of cash. He walks around the table and places the crumpled bills in Mack's hand. Before she can tell him better luck next time, he leans forward and plants a kiss on her lips that tastes like whiskey and coconut.

Mack jerks back and pushes him away before he can stick his tongue any further into her mouth. She glares at the man as she says, "Fuck off, Dicklip, or I'll shove this stick so far up your ass you'll be shitting splinters for months."

"Come on, short-stack. Just one kiss," he insists and steps forward. He stops when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder and turns around. His face runs straight into a pale fist.

"Hands off, jackass, or that stick will be the least of your worries."

"This is between me and your friend so stay out of it," he says as he wipes his bloody lip on the back of his hand.

"It's about to be between you and my other fist if you don't back off."

"Quinn—"

"Not now," she says as she steps around the jackass of the night so she can be closer to the smaller girl. His friend keeps telling him to leave them alone and, for a moment, it looks like he isn't going to listen, but the glare Quinn levels at him makes him grumble under his breath.

"Bitch isn't worth it anyway."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "What the fuck did you just say about her?"

She shoves him into the pool table before he can answer. Mack calls her name, her tone pleading for her to leave it alone. He's two heads taller than Quinn, but the alcohol buzzing through her system tells her it just means he'll go down that much harder when she kicks his ass. When he regains his footing and shoves her back, she stumbles into Mack, who catches her before she can fall to the floor. Quinn feels the shorter girl sigh before she steps between Quinn and the asshole.

Mack doesn't give him a chance to make a lewd comment. She swings the pool stick and cracks it across the large man's stomach. He bends at the middle and wheezes for air. She crouches down so she is eye-level with his doubled-over form.

"You ever touch her again and they won't be able to find the pieces," she says in a low growl before she gently slaps the guy on the cheek twice and stands back up. She shrugs when she sees several sets of curious eyes on her and the jackass. The eyes find somewhere else to look and Mack walks back to Quinn. She takes the blonde's right hand in hers and runs her thumb over the red knuckles. "I always knew you were a badass."

"Only when I drink," Quinn says, wincing at the touch. Mack gives her an apologetic smile before she lightly kisses the injured hand. The gesture chases off the residual anger left from the encounter with the asshole. It fills her stomach and chest with a warmth that is much more pleasant than the heat of the alcohol coursing through her body. It makes her want to tell her that idiot didn't know what he was talking about, but the bartender approaches the two of them with Santana and a giggling Brittany in tow. Their hair is disheveled and Brittany is down to her tank-top.

"My supply closet is not for sex, my sticks are not for breaking, and my customers are not your personal punching bags," he tells them, his face red from trying not to yell. "I've called you and your friends a cab. I'd appreciate it if you took your business elsewhere from now on," he says before he turns to leave.

"Hey, that jackass started it."

"Which is why he's already been dealt with," the bartender calls over his shoulder before he grumbles to himself about how he should have been a teacher.

Backseat of Some Taxi (1:30am)

It's easier than they thought to fit four drunken girls into the backseat of a tiny taxi. With Brittany practically on top of Santana, it gives Quinn and Mack plenty of room, yet Quinn insists on leaning against Mack's shoulder. Mack is holding Quinn's injured hand again, lost in thought as she ghosts her thumb over the broken skin of the blonde's knuckles. Quinn presses the palm of her free hand against Mack's cheek and gets her to make eye contact.

"That man was an idiot, Mack," she whispers before she leans up and gives Mack a soft kiss. They're too tired to put any real heat behind it, but the softness is enough for the moment. After Quinn pulls back, she reaches up to tuck a stray strand of Mack's hair behind her ear. She lets her hand rest against the other's girl's cheek again as she says, "You are always worth it."

And Mack believes her.

A/N: There was originally supposed to be more than one bar, but I liked the atmosphere of the first one I used a little too much. The concept of Harry's Hideaway is based on a real bar in Ohio that has two areas to get your drink on in. Just in case you were curious.