|Racing, Pacing And Plotting The Course
Author: BeyondCanon PM
Faberritana. In Ohio's Lima city limits live the best racers in the Midwest: four girls racing for fun, life, and money, all the while going to the same school.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Quinn F. & Rachel B. - Chapters: 4 - Words: 18,661 - Reviews: 14 - Favs: 61 - Follows: 91 - Updated: 04-18-12 - Published: 04-16-12 - id: 8030429
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
NA: A big, juicy thank you for everyone's support on Tumblr and here. You are always welcomed there to talk, ask questions and anything else you can think of.
Part I was fully written when I started posting here on ff. As I am yet to write Part II, my next update will be much slower; I would advise you to put this story on your alerts.
Santana looks at her and tells her to take those bitches down. Brittany tells Santana not to swear, but even she has an evil twinkle in her smile. Rachel doesn't dignify the comment with an answer, just pulls Quinn by the shirt and kisses her open-mouthed and hot against her very own golden Mustang.
Some of the men cheer, but Rachel brushes them off with a "you wish." They're not used to watching girls race, let alone gorgeous lesbians like them. Santana chose Rachel's outfit for the night, and she has to admit she never looked this good with her black boots, tight jeans, and white wife beater.
Rachel gets in the car and so does her opponent. He's an alpha male, assertive and competitive, a girl on his arm and too much testosterone in his blood. No wonder young men had a higher death rate than the rest of the world's population.
Santana is on the lane right next to hers, ready for her own race against a different opponent. She is wearing her leather jacket with nothing underneath, a little too much cleavage in display. She looks so Santana and so comfortable in her own skin that it's hard not to smile. She looks like a little devil with that red lipstick, and Rachel does feel sorry for her competition.
Someone's girlfriend gives them the signal and off they go, tires screeching because there is no possibility of losing when they're building the reputation they're building. Rachel makes an abrupt turn and driving a Mustang is so easy that it should be forbidden, because the engines are practically singing, begging for more. Her foot pushes down on the accelerator.
It is impressive what a few Mustangs, a well-played marketing strategy, and being known by the right people can do.
They were officially in the regional, illegal racing scene.
She wants to remain a virgin until she's 25 and wins her first Tony, but Quinn makes it very hard sometimes. All she needs to do is merely look at Rachel to get her blushing, out of breath. When her lips touch Rachel's jaw and start their slow, torturous way down her neck, Rachel has to grab whatever Quinn's wearing until her knuckles turn white just so she can stop her hands from wandering too much.
Rachel's dads trust her so much that they don't have an open door policy, which would very well serve as a restraining factor. Rachel does appreciate the gesture and the trust deposited in them, but it's very hard to hold back when the door is closed, there's no one home, Quinn's hair is messy and lips, swollen. Quinn looks at her like she wants to devour Rachel and Rachel may or may not be straddling Quinn's lap.
The worst part is that Quinn is the most respectable, respectful girlfriend Rachel could ever imagine. She never pressures Rachel to do anything she doesn't want to, she always respects Rachel's limits and she never makes her feel anything less than cherished.
It generally starts very innocently and without a drop of second intentions. Rachel comes back from the kitchen with some cookies and juice specially made by her Daddy that morning. Quinn leans in for a thank you kiss, but they take a second too long and Rachel nudges her lower lip. Quinn places a hand on the back of Rachel neck and claims access that is promptly granted, tongue against Rachel's, slow and certain.
When she realizes what's going on, several buttons of her blouse are snatched open; her hands are cupping Quinn's ass and her girlfriend is saying maybe they should stop for a moment; they're on the couch, Quinn on top of her, and Rachel's legs are spread wider than appropriate for a lady.
She always has to hold back a whine when Quinn distances herself and she instantly misses the contact.
She's looking for her lost cellphone when she hears Quinn singing in the shower. It's soft and gentle, almost shy. Quinn is an alto, and however untrained, Rachel can almost feel it in her bones: the potential for winning Nationals with the Glee club. She smiles as she leaves the room.
They're in the middle of a hot make out session when she mentions Glee club. Quinn doesn't think well when Rachel's pressing her against the wall.
She would be great there. Her voice is what they need. It would look great on her résumé. Rachel bites her lower lip and pulls. They could sing together. Quinn tries to counter her arguments, but Rachel rolls her hips and Quinn throws her head back. Talents need to be displayed. She shouldn't hide hers.
Her nails scratch Quinn's lower back and Quinn arches her back into Rachel. She could just give it a try, couldn't she? Quinn nods and Rachel smile
Brittany wins Class President and they perform their celebratory flash mob with Beyoncé's Run The World. It took them weeks, the entire Cheerios squad and all girls in Glee club, but it looked impressive. Rachel has no doubt about who chose that skirt, because Santana's predilection for black leather is noticeable and Rachel doesn't underrate how much thought was put into that performance.
Santana opens up her house and her father's liquor cabinet to a party that knows no limits. There are posters with Brittany's face everywhere, glitter all over the place, and too many red solo cups. Apparently vodka is the new water and everyone is thirsty, because the drinks keep flowing and the music keeps playing and no one stops.
Quinn has a protective arm around her, just in case.
She allows herself a few beers, enough to make her light headed and giggly, and even Quinn drinks a cup or two. They are so very proud of Brittany, so happy for how great it will be for her and how much she will learn. With her parents' recent money struggles and her ups and downs with Santana, she surely needs a break. Rachel knows she can do great things with that heart of hers.
She can't help but notice how hammered Artie looks and how bitterly he looks at Brittany and Santana, dancing together to the catchiest dance song.
Brittany has had a couple drinks, but she knows that this feeling of inebriation is the result of her spectacular win for Senior Class President. Her rendition of Run The World was flawless, after weeks of practice and vocal coaching with Rachel. The student body had clapped and cheered for her.
Santana's unrestrained smile in her direction made it even more worth it.
Santana had been her first and most dedicated supporter, her right arm. Gratitude filled Brittany's lungs just by looking at her and knowing their plan had worked out. When Santana opened the doors to her family's house and music started to blast through her ears, all she could see was Santana.
When they dance together, Brittany's hands on Santana's hips and endless laughter on her throat, it feels like their victory.
She leaves Santana for a moment to ask Artie if he needs a drink or something. She's sweaty, she's tired, but she can't stop smiling as people congratulate her over and over again. Artie, on the other hand, doesn't look so happy. He says he wants to talk, now. His eyes are hazy and he's drinking too much, too fast.
He starts gesturing as he says he can't stand Santana. Brittany behaves differently around her, they're too close, it's too much for him. He feels left out, like he has to compete for a relationship he was supposed to have already. He tells her that she knows how insecure he is, and having someone else provide her things he should be providing as her boyfriend is just too much.
Brittany catches her breath. She can't believe he's saying that in the middle of her celebration, in a public setting like that, being disrespectful and insecure. She tries to soothe him, tell him that Santana is her closest friend, that Santana doesn't do it on purpose.
He says of course she does it on purpose and asks why Brittany is so stupid.
Time stops for a moment. Artie had been one of the few who had never called her stupid, one of the few who hadn't underestimated her and what she could be. She holds back the tears and turns her back to him, leaving him behind.
It is going to be fun. And dangerous. Brittany opens the door to her very own Mustang, hand almost caressing the smooth bodywork. She calls it Treasure, because that's what it is. It's the best gift she has ever been given; she washes it every Saturday and always makes sure it's nothing less than pristine.
Racing is not a childish game anymore. They're rising fast and fabulous. They're the youngest of the racers; the proud four out of only a handful of girls to ever enter a race. Brittany doesn't mind. She knows she's good at it.
They told their parents they had to travel because of a Cheerios thing.
Brittany takes a deep breath and looks at Santana. She finds nothing but reassurance. She can do this. She can do anything if Santana is by her side. Nothing bad happens when Santana is around.
They're in Indiana. This is new territory. They are not used to racing like this; Rachel's all about practice and Quinn is all about controlling the variables. None of them has ever raced in this particular track.
Her competition has a mustache, she notices right before they both take off. It only takes a few seconds for her to reach a dangerous speed; she's barely keeping up. Her mouth forms a thin line as they reach their first abrupt turn and she has to put her foot on the brake so their cars won't collide.
Her muscles are tense when she gains speed and takes a dangerous advantage by using the contraflow lane before returning to her own side of the road. Those seconds feel long and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she goes back to the right track. She carefully maneuvers the car in front of him so that he has no other option but to lag behind, but she knows there are a few more turns before it ends.
Three turns later, she almost loses control when the car fishtails. She curses under her breath; the guy catches up to her, but she knows not to worry. She can see their goal, the finish line. She does best when she can see what she's doing. The curve of the road is her cue.
He falls a bit behind because he doesn't know how to use the track. She's great at it. She knows the exact angle she must enter the curve in order not to lose speed.
The four girls laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Nothing can stop them.
Santana lightly bops her nose with her index finger and tells her she deserves better. A complete sadness fills Brittany for a moment, hidden with Santana under the stairs of her home. Santana puts an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. They have to go to Cheerios practice, but Santana says she wants to do something first and takes Brittany by the hand until they reach her bedroom.
Brittany sits on the edge of the bed, still pouting. When Santana closes the door, the sounds of her mother washing the dishes and her father fixing the car become distant, as if in another reality. Brittany wishes Artie wouldn't have said it, touching her Achilles' heel. Or ankle. Or toe. She isn't too sure which one.
She knows people think she's lightheaded at best, plain stupid at worst. She thought Artie wasn't one of them.
She's too immersed in her thoughts to notice the fretting of Santana's hands, how she paces around in her room and the long, tender look she gives Brittany. Her voice fills the room with Songbird by Fleetwood Mac. Brittany catches her breath, trying not to make a sound, afraid to break the spell. Santana's voice is beautiful like her: dark, sultry, rich.
Brittany's eyes are watery as well, because she does love Santana like never before. They envelop each other in a tight hug when the song ends; Brittany wants to feel Santana's beating heart against hers forever, warm and promising.
She would remember this moment for the rest of her life.
Glee club is actually kind of awesome. Why weren't they always in Glee club? Brittany wouldn't know. People there are a bit different, but it's a safe place for everyone, including The Four. Everyone treats each other as family, and everyone is protective of each other.
After the Cheerios and always having to watch your back, it is a nice feeling.
There's singing and dancing all the time, much better than Coach's I-will-shoot-you-through-a-cannon way of valuing Brittany's abilities. Mr. Schue has the weirdest hair, but his heart is in the right place and he's always bringing up new ideas and songs.
And, of course, there's Santana's voice: Santana's perfect voice singing Lady Gaga; Santana's sweet voice in a duet of River Deep, Mountain High; Santana's husky voice singing Amy Winehouse. And Santana's sexy stage presence, making sweet love to the microphone stand, smiling and smirking, making small gestures in the air.
Brittany licks her lips and just watches.
The tension with Santana becomes palpable during the following couple of weeks. They were filled with silences, touches, looks; her existence felt intensified. If Brittany herself wasn't in a relationship and Santana gave every sign she wanted one, what was stopping them? Brittany wouldn't know.
What she does know is that Santana's perfume is citric and feels particularly strong on that spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She also knows the shape of Santana's body at a distance when the Cheerios shower after a practice, dark skin contrasting with white tiles.
She knows Santana looks at her lips for a bit longer than prudent when they're doing homework in Rachel's Hollywood room. She's aware of her own denied necessity to place her hand on Santana's thighs, to caress her arm, to run her fingers through soft locks of hair to style the ponytail so characteristic of their place in the squad.
It doesn't take too long. Brittany is the type who always does what she wants.
Santana is wearing a tiny red dress when it happens. Dresses like that shouldn't be allowed to hug her body so tightly. She had had dinner with her parents and come straight to Brittany's. It was a Friday, and Fridays were full of parties to attend. Brittany was wearing a robe and staring at her clothes in the search of something to wear.
She really shouldn't be wearing that little clothing.
Brittany notices Santana's wandering eyes, and she knows Santana notices hers as well. She can't help herself. They try to make small talk and Brittany does eventually choose her outfit for the evening. Santana holds the dress in front of Brittany's body, hands touching Brittany's shoulders; she's standing so close; it's too much.
Brittany covers Santana's hand with her own and caresses it with her thumb. Santana licks her lips. Brittany hasn't tasted Santana in endless months, and she wonders if it's still the same. There's nothing holding them back now. It's not wrong, forbidden, or any other excuse they might have made up in the past.
Brittany tells Santana she misses her. Santana joins their lips together. Brittany would like to say it takes her by surprise, but it doesn't; she's been expecting it for months. The dress falls to the floor, forgotten, as Santana wraps her arms around her neck. Brittany kisses her again, tasting her lip gloss, and pulls her close. She deepens the kiss, marveling in Santana, exploring her mouth and sucking her tongue.
Santana mumbles Brittany's name over and over again between kisses, cupping her face. The robe falls to the floor.
Quinn shifts gears. It's hot outside, the type of heat that clings to her skin. She looks forward, jaw clenched in concentration. Her opponent is just ahead of her, having led the whole race, but she doesn't let it get to her skin. She watched him race. She understands his weaknesses as a driver and as a person.
He puts too much pressure on the front, and he's going to lose.
She doesn't accelerate because there is a turn coming, broad and long. She likes Indianapolis. No one knows her family, her status, her past. There is no baggage in that town. She has to prove herself worthy of any status. She has to prove it more than once, because they are the youngest around and because they are girls.
It's going to happen soon. He loses control of his car for a second; she's right behind him when it happens. When his car takes its rear to the left, she goes to the right and takes the lead. Her turn is precise and she accelerates when it becomes a straight line.
He is never going to get back those precious seconds he missed. Quinn smirks as she gains speed, finish line in sight. She wins and Brittany practically tackles her to the floor with a hug.
She learns how convincing Rachel can be soon enough.
Quinn doesn't want to paint a golden line on her beautiful black Mustang; she wants it to remain the black panther it is. It might be a quick trip to Burt's shop and it might be simple and whatnot, but she doesn't want to do it. She doesn't really care about yin and yang and symmetry and all kinds of explanations Rachel has to offer.
She is already in Glee club. That should count for something.
Apparently it doesn't, because Rachel insists. There is not much will to argue when Quinn's lying down on a hotel bed in Indianapolis and Rachel should be giving her a nice massage to release her tension and maybe have some hot and steamy make out session later that just might reward her second base. Instead, she's on a hotel bed by herself as Rachel performs her nightly rituals and doesn't stop talking.
Rachel says Brittany thinks it's a great idea, too, and she's talking to Santana at that very moment, so the couples can have their own unique yin yang harmony balanced cars. Quinn knows right then that she is cornered. Santana will say yes in a heartbeat, because if there's anything she loves more than being the HBIC, its making Brittany smile.
Not that she knows if they're official or not. Girls are complicated.
Rachel asks if she's listening. She pulls Rachel to straddle her lap as she answers of course. Rachel is wearing a yellow robe, loose enough to expose the valley of her breasts; she shouldn't be wearing that if the two of them are supposed to be committed to chastity. Rachel's robe is way too short; her thighs brush against Quinn's, fingers tangling in blonde hair.
Quinn closes her eyes, tilting her neck for access. Rachel takes the cue and starts ravishing Quinn's neck, wet kisses first, followed by slow bites. They quickly reach a consensus in which Quinn agrees to whatever Rachel wants to do with their Mustangs as long as Rachel kisses the living daylights out of her.
Nice and fair.
The four of them go to Burt's shop as soon as they're back in Lima. Brittany giggles in excitement, Rachel positively beams with her thousand watt smile, Santana trims her nails in indifference, and Quinn just sits there and lets Rachel do her thing. Rachel has sketches, ideas, and colors chosen.
Of course Rachel would be prepared.
Burt agrees here and there as Rachel explains. When he disappears into the shop, Rachel turns to Quinn. Quinn holds back a smile, but Rachel kisses her tenderly and she ends up pulling the shorter girl towards her as she nips on her lower lip. Arms wrapped around Quinn's neck, Rachel smiles softly.
Quinn finally cracks a smile.
Glee club is not so bad. All Quinn has to do, most of the time, is swing in the background and watch Rachel fill the room with her voice. Rachel cannot be contained when she's on stage, and Quinn has chills when Rachel stares right at her during a song. It's witnessing a whole other side of Rachel, a side that was born for stardom.
Quinn tells her that one weekend, when it's just the two of them in Rachel's kitchen. Rachel is wearing a light pink dress and a headband, and she looks nothing short of adorable. The room smells like the popcorn they just made.
Rachel thanks her and pulls her in for a hug. Quinn envelops her arms around the girl, kissing her forehead. It feels warm and comfortable. Rachel's fruity scent takes over when Quinn hides her face in Rachel's neck, inhaling. Quinn feels so much for her it cannot be contained.
Quinn loves her, and she says it out loud.
Rachel tenses and distances herself to look into Quinn's eyes. Quinn repeats what she has just said, hoping desperately it wasn't too much, too soon.
Rachel looks at her and cups her face. She tells Quinn she has loved her for a long time, thumb running down Quinn's cheek. Quinn can't stop looking into her eyes, because Rachel is wonderful and it's still surprising that she wants to be with Quinn, of all people.
Rachel smiles. They kiss in the kitchen until Quinn hits the bowl and there's popcorn all over the floor.
Santana will never tell Brittany, but she confronts Artie. She confronts his condescendence, his self-righteous ways, and his lack of trust. He could talk to her if he had a problem, couldn't he? He could try not to treat his fucking girlfriend like a child. He could try to have a conversation somewhere other than his girlfriend's celebration party.
He looks terrified. She thrills on it.
He tries to answer, at first. He accuses her of cheating, of misleading his girlfriend, of being a bitch. She laughs coldly and asks if Ronald McWheels treats all women like that. She is not giving him a free pass because he can't walk or find nicer clothes than his grandfather's hand-me-downs.
For the record, she had never even tried. She doesn't know why, but she never even tried to do anything. She has respect. Can he even spell respect with those ridiculous gloves? And, unlike some people, she respects Brittany's wishes and never, ever looks down on her girl.
The ultimate proof she's a civilized person is that she doesn't hit him in the face.
Santana dreams about her rendition of Songbird. She dreams of the way Brittany's hair fell on her shoulders, how her eyes filled with tears, how tightly she hugged her afterwards. She dreams of the few moments right before, Brad's silent understanding at the piano as she practiced for endless weeks, never quite bringing herself to sing it.
She doesn't like being vulnerable, but it stopped being a choice.
She touches Brittany tenderly, affectionately, rediscovering new territory. Brittany welcomes every interaction and they fall back into their old patterns. She plays with Brittany's hair as they watch Disney movies together and have ice cream when she's sad. She takes Brittany to meetings with Professor Figgins to go through the students' demands. She takes Brittany to parties hoping to take her mind off Artie.
She has sex with Brittany. It's like coming home.
Everything fits again. But there's nothing being said; it terrifies her. She fears they are not making progress, but going back to old, corrupted patterns. She can't have that. She can't take the risk of ruining her second chance, the opportunity she never thought she would have.
It takes her some time, but she gets there in a warm night at Breadstix. It's supposed to be casual; they are both in their uniforms and there has been no pressure to call it a date.
Santana wants it to be a date.
She asks. She's so nervous her hands are shaking under the table, because she honestly can't predict the answer. Brittany chose someone else before; why would she pick Santana now? Their relationship was a relationship long before they talked about it.
She's not good at talking about feelings, at all. Brittany is. Santana can't help but smile in relief when Brittany tells her she ordered shrimp because she thought Santana was paying.
Of course Santana is paying. She holds Brittany's hand.
She ends up enjoying Glee more than she should. Brittany is there and they hold hands like a real couple, like the couple they are trying to be. She can dance with Brittany, sing with Brittany, unafraid of what other people might say.
And she knows how Brittany looks at her when she sings. She sees Brittany biting her lip when she runs her hands over the microphone stand, when she dances in a particular number, when she smiles at the crowd.
The way Brittany presses her against a bathroom stall and assaults her neck says enough. Santana can't hold back a smug smile, nails sinking into Brittany's skin, pulling her closer, urging for more.
People somehow learn that the four of them had gone to Indianapolis for the regional circuit and they become legends. Santana is at the top of her game. She holds Brittany's hands fearlessly, puts an arm around her waist as they mingle and shut down every male invitation for a threesome. Brittany kisses her good luck with an actual kiss, mouth on hers, hugging tightly and smiling.
There is no possible defeat after that.
She gets in the car and her opponent never stands a chance. She owns a Mustang and she's a devil in the making; the lead is immediately hers. After having faced a bigger scene, their small underground scheme feels almost too easy. She turns on her stereo to listen to some classic rock. She's always at her best when her favorite music is playing.
She cuts him off so he has to get on the sidewalk to avoid hitting her and damaging both of their cars, and she keeps him there until he almost hits a street lamp. She plays a mean game. She's always in front of him, close enough for it be dangerous.
She smiles as they grow more distant, moving her head to the music. She doesn't like his insinuations about women and she doesn't like his insinuations about Brittany. This might teach him a lesson about boasting without the proper skill and underestimating girls. Santana Lopez is not one to be looked down upon.
Hell hath no fury like a Lopez scorned.
She breaks her own record and exactly fifteen guys and two girls offer to buy her a drink to celebrate. She smiles as she turns them down. She has a girlfriend now, and no interest in celebrating with anyone other than her best friends.
Everyone else can just fuck off.
End of Part I