A/N: Um, so I ship this.
You should be wilder.
You're no fun at all.
But you, you give me the electric twist.
And it kicks, and it kicks.
She has a purpose for him, she's sure of it. There's a reason. She's not sure — she doesn't know what it is yet, but there's a purpose for him.
She just needs to figure it out. Eventually. At some point.
For now, it's nice.
He looks at her when he's fucking her. That's new. It's — oh, it' a good feeling, isn't it? It's so fucking… it's fantastic.
What was that purpose she was talking about?
Oh, right. She doesn't enjoy this. Not at all.
He's… awful. He's just awful.
She tells him that, eventually.
"You're shit in bed."
He glances at her from the other side of the bed. "What?" He sounds hurt. She almost cares.
"You heard me." She crosses her arms. Ever the uncaring bitch.
He sits up on his elbows. "Why are you here then?"
She has a purpose for him. Hasn't she always said that?
"Because when I'm done with you, you won't be."
And that's that. Her reason for keeping him around. She thinks that might be it. Because she's bored, and he's her project. Turn the Cabbage Patch into Malibu Ken.
She's lost count.
One, two, three, four… seven. Twelve. Eighteen.
She gave up counting a while ago.
He still hasn't gotten her off yet, and that's her new goal. She'll stop playing with him when he can bring her over the edge, but not until then.
He's too good. It's almost sad, really. Pathetic.
But she still keeps him around.
In the morning, she usually wakes up to a Nutrigrain bar on the side of the bed and a glass of milk.
They sit and eat in silence. Santana's parents are health nuts, so this is their breakfast.
Eventually, she realizes that the silence isn't awkward at all.
It's almost — well, it's almost — nice. It's almost…
"You have a bit of a milk-mustache," he tells her helpfully one morning.
She makes a point to do it every morning, until he finally learns it's an invitation to lick it off.
She's corrupting him.
Ha, Berry. Double ha.
She likes his smile.
Then she remembers not to ever think something so disgustingly domestic in her life and washes out her mouth with Listerine.
She comes, eventually, with his teeth in her left breast and her legs hooked around his waist.
She'd never told him about her ultimatum, her deal with herself to let him go when he could finally bring her there — but all the same, all the same.
"Are you done with me yet?"
There's a smile in his voice. As if he's mocking her.
She laughs, but it's not funny. "Fuck you."
And she rolls over, and he does.
It doesn't stop.
Brittany notices. Puck notices.
"You found someone new?" They both say it like it's a surprise.
"Have you ever known me to stick with one person?" she tells them like it's obvious.
But she blows them off for Finn every time.
The sex is better. But there's something else there, too. Something she doesn't want to feel.
He tells her after he fucks her, because she's turning him into her. Sex before words. She feels like she's ruining him, ruining everything about him that endeared her in the first place.
But then she sees him, and he's looking a little guilty, a little sad, and he's smiling that smile, and she realizes even she can't change him.
"I'm gonna…" He frowns. "Gonna try to get Rachel back."
The words hit like atom bombs.
Santana throws a bunch of used condoms at him until he's running out of her room like they always do, every single time.
She cries herself to sleep like she's a baby again.
And then she realizes that she never really had a purpose for him.
Rachel and Finn smile at each other like they know a secret, like every word in Marry You pertains to them.
Santana smiles because she knows a bigger secret.
She doesn't think about the destruction it'll cause. She doesn't think, really.
She's not smiling anymore. But he is.
And she remembers when that smile was all she saw in the morning.
Santana realizes he broke her heart.
That little fucker.
Next time she touches him, it might be a slap to the face.