“Santana, that is wildly inappropriate.” Rachel fusses with the collar of her dress and purses her lips disapprovingly.
“C’mon Berry. This is literally our last chance to sing together.”
“Not literally. The apartment you rented is down the block from my dorm. We can go to karaoke bars any time we want.” Rachel folds her hands in her lap and looks smugly satisfied.
“Raaachel,” Santana drawls and flops down on the sagging couch in Puck’s basement. Sam is quietly playing Black Ops in the corner, a half-eaten Poptart sticking out of his mouth, and a look of intense concentration on his face. He’s not paying attention to them, and they’re the only others in the basement.
“Hm,” Rachel crosses and uncrosses her legs. Santana’s eyes follow the movement and Rachel watches as the tips of Santana’s fingers drift in a circle over her knee. She fidgets and Santana leans closer. “I’ll be the first to admit, it’s a …tempting proposition.”
“Berry.” Santana levels her gaze with Rachel’s, her near-black eyes completely unreadable.
“Well…” Rachel messes with the skirt of her dress and sighs heavily. The small basement room is full of sound, Brittany and Quinn singing Can’t Fight the Moonlight on Rachel’s karaoke machine upstairs, faint ‘chug-chug-chug’-ing from outside where the keg is, and heavy gunfire from Sam’s game. Santana’s eyes are almost puppy dog big and Rachel fidgets uncomfortably.
“Rach. Those boys won’t know what hit ‘em.” Santana’s fingers skip along the hemline of Rachel’s skirt.
“San,” Rachel says warningly when Santana leans in closely, her dark eyes dropping to Rachel’s mouth. Rachel can almost feel the heat of Santana’s skin. She smells like limes, tequila, and suntan oil - the smell of Rachel’s last completely careless summer, of a road trip to Columbus Zoo where they were smushed together on the hump in Sam’s station wagon, of her first keg stand, of learning to graffiti golden stars all over Lima Heights Adjacent, of a sleepover at Quinn’s where they had to share her bed and Rachel was stuck in between them.
“I’ll make it worth your while, Berry.” Santana’s voice is low and serious, her eyes say ‘please’. It’s enough to break Rachel’s resolve and she wraps her hands around Santana’s wrists.
“I can’t believe we did that,” Rachel is still slightly breathless, leaning against the kitchen counter top with flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Santana is rifling through the fridge for left over Jell-o shots, swaying her hips in time with Tina’s stunning rendition of Oh Land’s Wolf & I. Rachel watches, her hands fluttering from her hips to the counter top, searching for a stance that screams ‘casual’.
“What? I’ve been working on my own rendition of Crimson and Clover for five months. You make an exceedingly good pole.” Santana straightens, balancing four plastic shot glasses full of neon Jell-o in one hand and gripping a jar of olives in the other. “And back up,” she shrugs at Rachel’s glare and bumps the other girl with her hip so she can use the empty counter space behind her.
“But… but… it was so explicit.”
“The song?” Santana tilts her head back and presses the plastic rim against her bottom lip, letting the contents of the cup slide into her mouth.
“No,” Rachel says, exasperated, snatches a pink shot from the counter top and dislodges the Jell-o with a slow swipe of her tongue. Santana stares, open mouthed, and squeezes the plastic cup with a soft grunt. “The dancing,” she ignores Santana and reaches for the purple shot, right next to Santana’s hand.
“Ah,” Santana snatches the cup away from Rachel and smirks at Rachel’s soft whine. “That was the point.” Rachel leans into Santana and reaches for the cup, which Santana is now holding high above her head, well out of Rachel’s reach.
“Santana,” Rachel whines and grabs at the cup. She doesn’t notice Santana slipping an arm around her waist and only stops stretching for the shot when she feels Santana’s hand come to a rest on her ass. “Oh.”
“I wanna do everything.” Santana sings slowly and drops the Jell-o shot into the sink. She feels Rachel shiver against her when she slides her now-free hand down to Rachel’s ass. Santana tugs Rachel closer, her gaze dropping to Rachel’s mouth again.
“Everything?” Rachel’s voice catches.
“Over,” Santana presses Rachel back until Rachel’s back is against the counter again, “and over.” She lifts Rachel up just slightly and uses the leverage to slip in between Rachel’s legs.
“Over and over.” Rachel goes weak kneed as soon as Santana kisses her.
The karaoke track switches over in the living room, and Finn’s loud, drunken Every Rose Has its Thorn drowns out Rachel’s moan when Santana suggests they find the Puckerman’s guest room.