There's something wrong with this scene.

Sebastian Smythe's deft fingers caressed her cheek as they lay with their backs facing the wall, their fronts meeting with the soft silk of the bed underneath them. His eyes were drawn to her face, her catatonic expression as she tried ignoring the incessant fluttering feeling forming inside her stomach—damn butterflies.

Her own sight was set on nowhere in particular as she tried to remember everything that had happened before they came to this.

It was sex.

Yes, it was sex.

This certain arrangement had been established later after regionals, after the New Directions beat the Dalton asses. Sore loser Sebastian Smythe followed Santana Lopez home in an attempt to demean her. She was walking her usual route home when she felt a presence behind her.

He hadn't even noticed that they reached her house until they stopped at a doorway.

It had been a long night, she was tired and she needed a leeway to get off. Brittany had been cold to her and it had been way too long since her last session with her girlfriend. And quite frankly, Brittany couldn't get her aroused anymore.

And it just so happened that the man standing behind her, although presumed gay to the bones, was extremely attractive and with a body built for sex.

She didn't know who pulled who first, but she found herself being pressed to his body as she savored and devoured his tongue delving inside her mouth before he bit her bottom lip in an attempt to win in terms of dominance.

Later, they found themselves pressed against each other, now upstairs on Santana's bed with the said vixen on top of the confused gay. Sebastian tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear as he kissed her lips once more.

Santana, feeling the weird fluttering in her stomach, pulled away with an excuse that she should sleep because she has school the next day—which was a good enough excuse because he immediately stood up and got dressed to go. But not after pulling her in for another kiss, one where he pushed her up the door and kissed her deeply that her head was spinning when her feet were set down on the ground.

"I'll see you, Santana," he breathed on her cheeks, not even the slightest of shame in his tone. Instead, a smirk was on his slightly swollen lips that were inching closer to hers… almost kissing her until he turned his head away with the same confident smile on his handsome face, satisfied that it was evident in her that she was under his spell.

Needless to say, the deed had continued until now.

Every time, he would arrive at her house around six in the evening. Her parents weren't always around—if they were, she'd call him and she would go to his house instead.

There almost wasn't a day when they wouldn't meet. It was always around six in the evening.

They never exceed past ten in the evening also. He would always leave at around that time, but never without a breathtaking kiss good bye that would boggle her mind the rest of the night and the moment she woke up—if she could ever sleep at all.

That was part of the reason why she had been as snarky as ever to her Glee club mates and her schoolmates. She couldn't even control herself around Brittany which was why she decided to cool it off first before she does anything stupid.

This was affecting her much more than she had intended it to, but she wouldn't recognize the effect because she silently loved—no, scratch that—liked this whole new arrangement with the Warbler. It was her escape from everything.

And needless to say, the Warbler also liked it. He found his new challenge. Chasing after Blaine Anderson was nothing short of fun, but it lacked the challenge that he was looking for. He found it in a person he never wished, never even imagined, to have bedded. Every time they meet, he would find himself being challenged to a new extreme. He always needed to come up with something better than before—a better insult, a better catcall, a better way of making her moan… it was always a challenge.

And he'd like to think that he had exceeded her challenges and himself every time they meet.

She was waiting for it to die out—to feel like a routine. She was waiting for it to feel bland because it was sinful and it was wrong because all these time, she had chased after Brittany because she thought it wasn't ever possible to love anybody else. And love means being able to focus on one person. But she couldn't bring herself to say no every time he calls.

One day, she was met with a text message from a certain Warbler explaining his absence for a whole month. He was back in Paris because his grandmother had died and would stay there for a few days.

That was when she decided to test if it would really die out. She spent more time with Brittany, forcing herself to mingle with the sweet and innocent girl as clean as she could of sin and cheating. She would spend every time trying to bring back the fluttering feeling in her stomach. But it seemed that that ability had been owned by the Paris boy. By Sebastian Smythe.

When she honestly thought it was over, that the feeling had died out and will never return, he had to show up at her school, just right in her parking spot even if it was raining hard and he was soaking wet to the bone.

She frowned because in his hand was a box that seemed to have been wrapped elegantly with a golden wrapper—only to be destroyed by the rain. She had the feeling that it was meant to be given to her. Why else would he bring it to her school?

And why the hell was he in her school? In McKinley, the place he despised. He does not fit in there.

What made her calm a little as she stood under her umbrella a good few feet away from her car where he was standing near was that smile that he was holding even with the cold weather. Somehow, it reminded her of the dynamic that still obviously and evidently is present between them.

"You idiot," she said as she walked to him, her ponytail bouncing behind her head. Her frown had diminished a little, but it was still there for him to see that she wasn't pleased or confused about this.

"Did you miss me, Snix?" he asked, his voice competing with the sound of the rain hitting the pavement. His eyes squinted as he tried to make eye contact with her.

"Of course not, you idiot," she called at him as she put the umbrella over his head.

She never realized how close they were until the only thing that remained between them was their hot breaths. Still, the Paris boy managed to keep talking, which rooted her to the real world and avoided her drowning from his scent which was odd since he had been in the rain for what looked like hours.

"This trash here…" he held up the ruined box and slightly frowned at it. "It's technically for you. But I don't think you'll—like it or whatever. You know what, just take it."

She reluctantly took it from his hand, looking at him for signs of it being a prank or a joke or a trap to see if she was soft or something. But there was something odd in his face. Was it sincerity? Or something else? Something wrong, definitely something wrong.

She opened it as soon as she got it, maybe a little slower than a normal person because she was still feeling it if it were a prank or something.

Before she could unravel the thing, he started talking once more.

"I saw that you have this small collection of little figurines—ballerinas—in your room, which was odd because my grandma has them back at home… in Paris, I mean. I thought… you know, since she's gone and all, you can have that—

And there it was. A small ceramic, a little bigger than the ones she has at home, but it was beautiful.

And at that moment, she didn't know what to say because they weren't supposed—no, they weren't meant to show affection in any way because it breaks the rules of their dynamic. It was established that it was strictly physical, that affection is banned.

This had never been a problem to any of her other sexual partners. Those stayed physical—only sex and nothing more. But with Sebastian, it felt difficult to stay away.

But then, she smiled and it satisfied his heart. A thing he had always believed to never have existed until then. Of course, he wouldn't tell her about it. Not yet.

Before he could even say anything else, her free hand was behind his neck, pushing him down to crash their lips together in a searing kiss—a force that only existed to show how much she missed his touch, his presence and his challenge. And Santana Lopez never misses anyone.

His hands wound around her waist, an immediate response to this particular stimulus. After having spent more than a month in bed with this woman, he had never felt so comfortable winding his arms around anybody else's waist ever again. Only to and with her would he have these kinds of reactions that are so subtle yet so loud that it spoke to the deepest, darkest corners of the place he never thought he had.

Later that evening, she placed the new figurine amongst her little ones as the same pair of arms wound around her waist, a pair of lips kissing her exposed neck while a warm body pressed at her back, beckoning her back to bed.

Thank goodness the day after that was a Saturday.

And for the first time, by accident, Sebastian Smythe had slept in.

And somehow, they didn't lash each other out for that, nor talked about it the day after.

Summer came and it happened a few more times after that, only by accident every time. But it became more frequent and often, it wasn't by accident anymore.

Sometimes, it would be because he would pull her back to bed by kissing her fervently—the kind of kiss that would tickle the tips of her toes. Those kinds of kisses never turned her on… it just glued her to bed with Sebastian. And somehow, she couldn't find the will to pull away.

And the worst part is… they started talking.

"Your mom's a dentist?" he asked one night when they decided to take a bite after a few long hours of activity, looking at the diplomas on the wall of the dark hallway leading to her room.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "Kind of. She's also a businesswoman, a CEO, many things. That's why she never comes home."

"You never miss her?" he asked in an innocent way, somehow like a curious child. There was something that shifted in his eyes and it was somehow the loudest that his body had given her as a sign.

It took her a while to answer, finding in herself the right response. "How about you? Do you miss your mom?"

That was a blind question—she doesn't know anything about his family. All she knew was that his father was also absent in his life.

"Oh I do," he replied, a little smile on his lips. "Every freaking day."

"I don't understand," she said, grabbing his arm gently to stop him from walking further. He turned to look at her with that same soft smile.

"She died when I was fourteen," he said, looking down at the floor. "I don't quite remember what happened that day, partly because I did want to forget it, but mainly because I was in that car crash too, and lost some of my memory… I… I sometimes wish I still could tell her about everything because she was the only one who understood me. I mean… me, the gay me."

Then he chuckled.

"I don't think I'm gay anymore."

"Excuse me?" she asked, although she heard clearly what he had said.

"I said I don't think I'm gay anymore—I don't think I'm attracted to boys at that matter," he replied, a little louder than the first.

And for the first time, her heart leapt and it was not because his hands were playing gently at her hair after sex. No, it was because of that… that confession.

Being gay means having an attraction towards the same gender. It means a person would want to be with another person that has the same reproductive organ as them.

And Sebastian not being gay means a whole lot to Santana. It meant that maybe… just maybe, he's feeling something towards her.

But something was odd.

If this was said a little earlier than that day, she would have gutted him and she would have cut his balls off for telling her an off-limit topic. She would have given him a little bit of her known Lima Heights Hospitality. She would have made him look like a fool, and then she would have made some false scandal about him and spread it all over Lima Heights.

Her silence boggled Sebastian to an extent that he reached out to pull her in for another one of those kisses that used to glue her to bed. Her response was instantaneous, threading her fingers through his already-fucked hair and pressing her stomach flush against his toned torso.

But the sudden realization bounced back to the front of her mind like a ball thrown to a wall. Just like that ball, she bounced away from Sebastian with a livid expression in her eyes—one that has been thrown a few weeks earlier when she was followed home by a sore loser.

That same sore loser looked at her pleadingly, still holding her waist by his left hand and tugging at her shirt in a manner that would have had an immediate effect on her. But not now, not when they have something that's worth talking about.

Her eyes narrowed and her small and slender fingers wrapped around the hand that's on her waist. She didn't pull it away, but she didn't let it go either. She was just holding it in place, like she wanted him there but was having some kind of realization.

"What do you mean… you're not gay?"

"Anymore," he supplemented. "I'm not gay anymore. Not one bit of…" he chuckled nervously, looking at her with those innocent eyes. "Gayness. It feels weird saying that."

And she didn't know how he could go from a vicious monster to this hurt little boy gazing at her through bright and innocent green eyes. Something must be really wrong with this because it turned her livid expression to another one—one that's alien to her. Maybe it's an emotion she never used before.

"How do you do this to me?" Sebastian asked, inching closer to her face. His eyes looked darker—with lust? No, something else. "You turned me on and turned me out—still… Santana, you're a wonder."

He was using that seductive voice that just turns her insides into mush and she could not help but groan in anticipation. Everything, the caution, the question, everything was thrown away and all that she felt was his impressive lips on hers.

He kissed her fervently, winding his arms around her waists and lifting her feet off the ground for a moment before setting her back on it again. Her breathing was ragged when he pulled away, and it became more ragged when she noticed that even with his dilated pupils, he still had the will to look at her and hold his gaze for a few moments to tell her something so sincere she never heard it from anyone ever before.

"God, Santana," he breathed on her lips, making her body tingle with coursing pleasure. "You're so beautiful… a masterpiece."

She pulled him closer and pushed her lips against his. Hearing him groan with the same electrifying pleasure made her stomach do a somersault. She pushed her body closer to his and he took it a sign about her willingness to do it again.

That ended up with them in that morning, Sebastian Smythe's deft fingers caressing her cheek with a bubbling question on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for her eyes to lift and meet his.

The moment they did, he asked the query.

"Will you love me if I say that I am falling for you?"

She knew it. Something was wrong—definitely wrong with this scenario.

But somehow, in the light of the moment, she realized that the reason why she didn't do the things that she would have done if that confession was a little sooner than it was is because she was silently and quickly falling in love with this bastard.

This sore loser.

Santana Lopez, although known for her striking words and her mean demeanor, wasn't good with words. She was fine when it was all about actions and physical contacts, but when words are involved—especially with his words—she becomes petrified.

"No," she replied impassively.

When she observed how grotesquely his expression had changed, she could not help but grin. She knew she had to say it.

"No… because I've already fallen for you."

His frown became a childish grin, something she hasn't seen yet and it imprinted a grin on her lips. The lips that he inched closer to and kissed, a tingling kiss, a breath taking kiss, something that would glue her to bed every day.

The sheets rumpled under them as they shifted their weights—her body on top of his as he trapped her bottom lip between his teeth, causing her to moan quietly. He used his arms to make her melt her body with his.

"Stay with me?" he asked breathlessly, his lips a mere inch from hers. His gaze never left hers and she felt like on top of the world even if she was only on top of him.

How did this happen?

"As long as you want me to," she whispered in a tone of voice that does things to him.

Author's Note: Hi, guys. This was a short thing that really sprouted out of nowhere. I tried writing in the normal universe, adverse from my comfort zone. Tell me if you don't like the open ending.

Really.

Write it in the comments section down below.

I want to commend for such a wonderful change in the website. It's cool.