Author: Mark of a Raven PM
She was going to kill him, and that's all there was to it. Rated T for foul languageRated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Sebastian S. & Santana L. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,519 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 04-30-12 - Published: 04-19-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8040016
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
She was going to kill him, and that's really all there was to it.
Who the HELL did he think he was? He was SEBASTIAN SMYTHE, dickhead extraordinaire. He did not get to be understanding, he did not get to be talented, and he CERTAINLY did not get to be nice. He was going to drive her insane. And she was Santana-fucking-Lopez, Queen of Random-Personality-Changes. There was not allowed to be more than one.
In all honesty, she probably could have handled the personality change. It was about fucking time anyway, and she was sick of all the petty bullshit. I mean really? She was a senior. Wasn't there supposed to be an age cap at middle school for that bullshit?
But then he had to go and ruin it by singing Smooth Criminal with her and be completely fucking hot. He was a guy for Christ's sakes! She hadn't been really attracted to a male since middle school. She had tried, God knows she had tried, but now, she was an out-and-out lesbian, and had the most beautiful, amazing girlfriend that she could ask for.
But no. Sebastian had to go ruin it with his two hit K.O.: his indescribable attractiveness, and his mind blowing personality change.
And now here she was singing at Regionals, giving it her soul, her heart, pouring all her frustration from the past few months into this song, basically giving everyone who had given her shit the middle finger, and here he was clapping, smiling, and having the balls to looking fucking proud of her.
Who did he think he WAS? She was going to kill him.
It's over. She's in the dressing room and Brittany went ahead to help Rachel with her hair (because hey, Santana wasn't as much of a bitch, but she wasn't suddenly up Berry's ass) changing from one dress to the other, when suddenly, she knows. She doesn't even have to look in the fucking mirror to know that he's in the room with her, and a small part of her mind finds that sick, because since when the hell was she so incredibly aware of him? "What do you want, Smythe?"
Silence. Silence has ALWAYS irritated her. Santana is more the type to just say whatever the hell is in her mind, and she really wishes he would just say it and get it over with because she doesn't have time for-oh.
She can feel him now, pressed against her back, gripping her hips with an almost bruising strength. She knows that it should hurt her, but for some reason, all she can focus on is the heat of his body and the feel of his breath on her neck. And why is he so damn tall? She felt tiny by comparison. "W-what are you doing?"
Belatedly, she realizes she should push him off of her, but she can't find it in her to do so.
"Congratulating you," he murmurs in a voice like chocolate, his mouth dipping closer to her throat until she swears she can feel him whispering against her skin. "You were amazing out there."
"We all were," she says flatly, "but this shouldn't surprise you." She sinks into a part she knows how to play flawlessly, the sarcastic bitch, to hide how unsure she is in this moment.
"Do you want to know something strange?" he asks, and now she knows she's not imagining it, she can feel his lips traveling across her shoulder as he speaks, drawing close to her ear.
"Like why you're in the girls dressing room?" she asks in a voice that she prays to God isn't as shaky as she feels.
He chuckles against her hair, and now he's kissing the pulse point just beneath the earlobe. "No. No, that makes sense, considering what I just discovered. Do you know, for the first time in five years, I was turned on by a girl?"
Her retort is quick, almost practiced. "Since when were you into Kurt?"
And movement, movement so fast her eyes can't keep up with it, and she is pressed against the dresser, his hips pressing into hers, his hands on either side of her, trapping her. His jade eyes bore into hers, trapping her just as effectively as his body. "Excuse me. I meant to say woman," and the emphasis on that word and the darkening of his eyes makes Santana cold and hot all over and suddenly she knows what is going to happen but she doesn't want to stop it.
His eyes on hers, he lowers his face until his lips are a breath away from hers, so that she can feel his breathing, and he could feel hers, and know that her breath had quickened, and her heart was pounding, and she just wanted him to kiss her so that she would have some sort of catharsis or epiphany and realize this all was a big fucked up joke. He smirks that smirk that normally she wants to punch off his fucking pretty-boy face, but right now it just makes her want to rip his clothes off. "What have you done to me?" he whispers, and suddenly his lips are crashing down on hers.
Any hope she had of walking away from this unscathed has gone out the window. She has no epiphany, no laughing realization that this is just some stupid hormonal teenager thing. No, all she feels is an incredible, insatiable, burning hunger. Hunger for him, hunger for his body, hunger for his lips, hunger for his skin. And her hands are forming fists in his hair and his are pressing her as close to him as possible and suddenly she's lifted onto the dresser, legs wrapped tightly around him, both hips moving, demanding friction. She can't breathe and it's wonderful and the world just needed to fucking end right now because she doesn't want to know what will happen when-
And it's over. He tears his mouth away from her, and she has enough pride not to yank him back to her. She releases his hair and drops her legs, but he doesn't release her body. She looks away. "Let me go, Smythe. I have a wedding to get to." Her voice is low, broken, and she hates to hear it, but she just needs to get as far away from him as possible to forget this ever happened.
It is his use of her name, and the way he says it, that makes her look up. His expression takes her breath away. He is vulnerable, scared, confused, and just as turned on by this as she is. And she just wants to pull him back and kiss that fear away and-
She suddenly feels like she is going to throw up, or worse, cry. "Let me go. I need to go. I have places to be just let me go God why won't you leave me alone-" she is rambling as she pushes him away from her and hops off the dresser and begins gathering her shit and she just needs to leave, leave, leave.
But as she heads to the door, he says her name. Just once. And like an idiot, she turns and faces him. He says nothing, but his expression asks every question he will ever need to. And Santana has to choose, right there: Be selfish, and keep him around until she figures out what the fuck is going on, or let him go, let him move on, and return to Brittany.
But Santana's personality hadn't changed that much. And so all she says as she faces him is "I don't know, Sebastian. All I know is I want it." And she left.
As she drove to the wedding, all she could think was that she was fucked. Completely, totally, one-hundred percent, fucked.
She was going to kill him.