|Playing With Fire
Author: chalantness PM
The night may have been cold, but they were far from it. "Do I make you nervous Finn?" "I—" "I think I do."Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Finn H. & Santana L. - Words: 1,405 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 1 - Published: 10-03-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6371184
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Fandom. FinnSantana with a little PuckRachel and MikeTina thrown in for good measure
Disclaimer: Glee © Fox/Ryan Murphy
Playing with Fire
He honestly didn't know what he was doing at this party.
Sure, it was his best friend's birthday. Of course he would go—but, the house was dark and crowded and hot, he barely knew half of the people there, and most of the partiers were drunk, knocked out, or in the midst of getting drunk. Puck wasn't even anywhere in sight. Finn was pretty sure he saw Puck and Rachel retreat into the safe haven of Puck's garage at least an hour ago.
"Hey, man," a familiar voice (which he is surprised he hears over the deafening music) says, grabbing his shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah I'm fine," he tells Mike.
"Did you want to hang out with us in the room?"
Finn tries not to cringe. "Er, thanks but no thanks, man," he declines. "You and Tina go have fun."
Mike smirks. "Oh, we will."
"I'm just kidding, man," Mike laughs, clapping Finn's shoulder, "Calm down. You know me and Tina aren't like that."
"You've never walked in on the two of you making out," he corrects.
"Oh shut up."
The two of them laugh and Finn slides his hand into his pocket, letting his eyes wander around the room. "Hey, man, are you sure you're okay?" Mike asks. "You seem out of it."
Finn makes a face. "Uh, I don't know. I guess I'm just…tired. I think I'm going to bounce soon."
"Hope you feel better. I'll tell Puck you left—if I ever see him by the end of tonight." Mike turns around, about to leave, before he spins back and adds, "Oh, and don't go out the front. I think some of them are passed out in the walkway. Your best bet's through the backyard."
"Thanks, man." And with that, Mike was gone.
Finn sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, temporarily dazed until a ditzy cheerleader accidentally bumps into his back.
"Oops," she giggles at him before stumbling off in another direction.
He takes that as his signal to go, and begins squeezing his way through the tightly packed people towards the back. Luckily, he's been to Puck's house thousands of times—practically living there when his mom had late-night shifts before—so the low lighting and the beginnings of a headache he feels coming on doesn't affect his journey to the backyard.
As soon as he steps outside, the nighttime air is cool and refreshing against his skin. He closes the door, and the party is all but forgotten. He was finally alone.
(Or, at least he was supposed to be.)
He nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping his head around.
The same voice—definitely female, he decides, and one he knows all-too well—laughs lightly. It sends chills down his spine. "Why so jumpy Finnocence?"
"Santana," he breathes.
"In the flesh," she tells him. She shifts in the lounge chair, crossing one slender leg over the other. "Not enjoying the party much?"
He gulps a little. "N-Nah, not really."
A smile is playing on her face, her perfect white teeth practically glowing. "Do I make you nervous Finn?"
"I think I do." She sits herself more upright. "You look cute when you're nervous."
He stares at her with his mouth open slightly. (He wonders if she just loved to mess with everyone or if she took a liking to screwing with his head in particular.)
"Close your mouth, Finnocence, I think you're drooling."
He gulps again.
She swings her legs off of the side of the chair, and Finn quickly averts his eyes as her dress rides up a little, exposing more of her thighs. "So," she says, standing up. "I say you rather enjoyed yourself at the rally the other day." At his confused stare, she adds, "You know, when you brushed up against me—"
"—and when you ran your hands down my back while I was—"
"It was part of the routine," he rushes to remind as he feels more blood rushing to his face.
"But you, uh, looked—er, sounded good. You sounded good," he stammers.
She tilts her head and takes a few steps closer, trailing her fingers on his chest and cocking an eyebrow at him. He shudders lightly at her touch, his breath catching, and she laughs softly, a certain sparkle in her eyes. She stares back, licking her lips before stretching up on her toes, her breath warm as she whispers into his ear. "Why don't you dance with me, Finnocence?"
She smirks. "Oh, I know. Let me take care of it."
He nods automatically and lets her guide his hand to her waist, taking his other hand in hers.
"There," she says. "Easy."
But he doesn't really hear her because he's too busy staring.
The lights from the party dance across her form, illuminating her skin and reflecting off of her red dress. Her hair is out of its usual ponytail, her curls spilling out over her shoulders. She has just the right amount of make-up, from her glossy lips to her smoky eye-shadow. But he knows that she doesn't need the make-up.
In fact, she didn't need the fancy hair or the dress or the matching heels.
Santana was hot.
But she wasn't just that—she was beautiful.
She was beautiful and standing there, in his arms, her lips parted slightly and just waiting for him.
So he kisses her.
Just leans down and presses his lips to hers.
At first, she sucks in a sharp gasp, taken off guard. He wonders, after a fraction of a second of her not moving, if he should pull away. And he would've if she hadn't suddenly grasped his hair between her fingers, pulling him closer to hers and kissing him back hungrily, greedily. Her lips taste warm and spicy—Kind of like cinnamon, he muses—and he is suddenly kissing her more feverishly.
She parts her lips from his to whisper into his ear again. "You've gotten so much better."
"Definitely." And suddenly he's kissing her again.
He turns them around and presses her against the side of the house, causing her to shudder at the sudden cold and pull him closer.
So much better.
She's made out with a lot of guys before (and, well, Brittany, but that was a strange night she'd rather not repeat). But kissing with Finn was different. When he kissed her, it wasn't forceful or hard. His lips didn't taste like alcohol or something bitter. His kisses were tender yet passionate. It felt like a million fireworks sending her mind into a thick haze.
Someone clears their throat, and they both pull away, gasping for breath.
"Looks like we're even," they hear Mike say, but as soon as they turn, he was nowhere in sight.
Finn sighs and shakes his head.
"Kind of playing with fire, aren't you?" she asks.
She grasps his shirt between her fingers and pulls him closer, wrapping her leg around his waist. She looks up at him, biting her lower lip in an innocent way that tells him he should've been afraid. And, he probably should have been. But he wasn't. And that, itself, was a very scary thought.
"If you play with fire, Finnocence, you're going to get burnt," she whispers.
And, for once, he smirks back at her.
"I think I can take the heat."
A/n. This is dedicated to Vampire-Diaries-Addict-Forever, who wrote "Toxic Secret."
(If Finn and Santana are your guilty pleasure, too, you read it!)
Sorry if it's bad or out of character since I'm used to writing Mike and Tina. But ever since I saw those two seconds of Finn and Santana dancing together during 'Toxic' in the "Britney/Brittany" episode, I had to get this out of my system.
And…yeah…very cheesy dialogue at the end but, hey—what can you do?
So you read it. Love it? Hate it? Please review it!