Title: Fucking Super
Summary: AU. The comic books don't tell you everything. Like when to take the mask off, for example. Superhero!Santana, Brittana, Samcedes
Rating: M for language, excessive violence (later), sexual content (later)
Pairings: Brittana, Samcedes, Klaine, Fuinn(?)
A/N: This is my first "real" fic, so I hope you like it. The official title of this story is Fucking Super, but that's against the rules!
Lima is supposed to be a big city like Metropolis or Gotham in this fic. The lines in italics are Santana's thoughts unless otherwise indicated. I think that's all you need to know. This is unbeta'd and might be a hot mess. Let's just have fun with it, okay? Alright!
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Fox/RIB owns Glee.
Chapter 1: Adventures in Body Paint
As always, the line outside the club wrapped completely around the building before winding through the parking lot. I never parked in the section that was reserved for employees, even though it was right by the entrance. I drove my shitwagon to the back of the lot, hopped out, and took the long way.
Some of the club's regulars called out to me and waved. I nodded my head in response like a badass. I'll never tell anyone this, but I actually like it when April Rhodes calls me in for an emergency shift at Ladies Night. People like me here. I feel important. It's a far cry from getting shoved into lockers and thrown in the dumpsters at Lima Heights High School. That Santana Lopez is dead.
Ladies Night was one of the most popular clubs in Lima, probably because it catered to a large, yet specific demographic: women who just wanted to go out, dance, and not get hit on by creepy guys. Sometimes it was a strip club. Sometimes it was a sushi bar. Sometimes it was a whatever-the-fuck April wanted it to be for the day.
April was standing at the entrance, flirting with the bouncers.
"Santana-Banana!" she shouted, tottering over on sparkly purple platform shoes. She grabbed me in a bone-crushing hug and then held me out at arm's length.
"Look at you, sexy lady! I like your outfit, very lesbian chic!"
I rolled my eyes. Everything I wore was "lesbian chic" to April. I'd thrown on some ripped jeans, black Chucks, and a flannel shirt over my Ladies Night tank top. So it was more like "laundry day chic" from the Bedroom Floor Collection.
"Thanks," I said, prying her off of me. "You know, this is the third time this week I've had to fill in. I'm not gonna tell you how to run this place, but somebody's ass needs to get fired around here."
April threw her hands in the air dramatically. "Well it's not my fault all of your replacements have been absolute horse crap! Between you and me, I think this Harmony chick is preggers. And I can't have a pregnant bartender. That's just gonna make people uncomfortable."
I shrugged. "Uncomfortable people order more drinks."
"Very true," she said, tapping her chin in thought. "See? This is why I need you around! You think outside the bottle!" She grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the entrance.
"Now get your booty behind that bar so we can pretend you never left! Maybe you'll come to your senses and beg me for your job back."
I laughed and stepped back, letting one of the bouncers open the giant pink double doors for me. "Something tells me I wouldn't have to beg very hard." April shrugged and winked before returning to her post at the head of the line.
Everything inside the club was pink and plush except the bar. The bar was located on the wall furthest from the entrance. The lights behind the liquor bottles slowly changed color every few minutes.
I'm pretty sure that April modeled the club's interior after what goes on in her brain. She was a smart and successful business woman, but she was also batshit crazy.
Instead of going straight to the bar, I decided to make a detour to the DJ booth. I passed by the stage, which was still being set up for the first act of the evening. In a few hours, the floor would be covered in body glitter and baby oil. Yuck.
The DJ booth sat on a platform that overlooked the entire club. The noise coming from the speakers was almost deafening up close. I honestly don't understand how Mercedes does this every night. I can never go up there for more than a few minutes before my head starts pounding.
Mercedes turned, looked down at my empty hands, and turned back to her turntables.
"I know you didn't come up here without a drink for me!" she shouted over the noise.
"Calm your tits, Aretha!" I shouted back. "I haven't even been to the bar yet!"
"Yeah, I can tell!" Mercedes bobbed her head along with the music and trailed her finger up and down the list of songs on her laptop screen. "You're too clean!"
"What?" I turned towards the bar and frowned. I could see Mike and Matt sitting on top of the bar, grinning like idiots as a dozen drunk girls lined up to write on their chests with markers. It was Body Paint Night.
"Not body paint again!" I buried my head in Mercedes shoulder. "I hate that stuff! Now it's gonna be all over the counter, the stools, the bottles, the glasses! And guess who's going to be cleaning it up? And I hate those stupid black lights! They make me feel like I'm on drugs!"
I could feel Mercedes's shoulders shaking against my cheek. I shoved her away from me, which only made her laugh harder. Mercedes and I had been best friends since we were in kindergarten, so she was used to my dramatics and I was used to her laughing at me. She was also my roommate, so I could easily paint her face while she slept for revenge. Again.
The lights on the stage went up. Mercedes slid her headphones off her neck and put them down on the counter.
"Oh wait, hold on," she said, pointing down to the stage as the floor manager, Sugar Motta, trotted out in a bright green sequin dress. She looked like a radioactive disco lime.
Mercedes grabbed the volume knob and allowed the song to slowly fade out. "It's show time."
Sugar's voice filled the entire building as she reached center stage.
"Alright ladies! You know what time it is! But before we get this show on the road, let's give it up for DJ Diva, holding it down on the 1's and 2's! Holla!"
The crowd cheered and hooted for Mercedes, who waved politely in return.
"I'm your hostess, Miss Sugar Motta. And I have the pleasure of introducing our first act for tonight, a crowd favorite and a man that is sure to get you hot and keep you wet, Fireman Sam!"
The crowd went crazy as Sam Evans strutted out to center stage in a full fireman's uniform. Mercedes was cheering louder than anybody else. Sam looked up at her and blew her a kiss, which she "caught" and pressed to her lips.
If you look up weird in the dictionary, there will probably be a picture of Sam proposing to Mercedes. I don't even bother trying to understand them anymore. Somehow, the universe thought it would be funny if the world's biggest diva and the world's biggest nerd fell in love with each other. Not that I didn't have a hand in it. When I introduced them, I figured they'd go on a few dates, get it on, get bored, and get over it. Two years later, wedding bells are ringing. Go figure.
"I don't get how you can watch other women stuff money into your future husband's shiny gold thong and not get upset about it."
Mercedes shrugged. "I don't have to worry about Sam. I know he doesn't want anything from these women but their money. And that money has gotten us plenty of nice stuff!" She smirked, gesturing to her top of the line DJ equipment. "And even if I didn't trust him, I can see everything from up here and he knows I'll break his legs if he steps out of line."
"Good point. I gotta get behind the bar since everyone is too busy being painted to make drinks."
"Alright, but I want my rum and coke!"
Since most of the women were crowding the stage to throw money at Sam's junk, the bar wasn't very crowded. Mike and Matt were wiping paint off their abs with bar towels, while Aphasia and Sunshine were taking their turns as human canvases.
"Welcome back, traitor!" Matt called. "Here to steal our tips?" He grinned and held out his fist.
I bumped it, then slapped his bare stomach, causing him to double over. "You know I don't keep your stupid tips. And don't use the bar towels for that!"
"You'd get more tips if you showed some skin," Aphasia called over her shoulder as some drunk chick drew squiggly hearts down thighs. "And more tips for you means more tips for me!"
I snorted and shook my head. "Maybe I'll just pull down my pants so you can kiss my ass."
I never participated in April's crazy games and theme nights. No body paint, no body shots, no lap dances. Those were my personal rules and April respected them. And even though the other bartenders liked to tease me about never showing skin, they knew the Ladies Night regulars tipped me very well. If you wanted someone to play with, you went to the other bartenders. But if you wanted a good drink, you came to me.
I threw my flannel on the back bar and started taking orders, making drinks, and ignoring the requests from women that wanted to draw on me or lick salt off of me or something equally asinine. Pretty soon, Fireman Sam's act ended and Officer Mike took to the stage, showing of his abs of steel.
The incredibly drunk brunette seated at the bar in front of me started to bang on the counter and flail wildly. "Arrest me, Officer! Take it all off!"
I was about to tell her to shut the hell up and get away from the bar, but a familiar voice interrupted me and I froze.
"Rachel, take it easy," the blond girl laughed, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I think you've had one too many wine coolers, sweetie." She turned towards the bar and when she saw me, her eyes widened and her face broke into a huge smile.
"Santana! What are you doing here? They told me you quit!"
I blinked slowly and shook my head, trying to shake off the fuzziness that always wrapped around my brain whenever Brittany The Living Masterpiece Pierce spoke to me. I hadn't run into her since I officially "quit" bartending two months earlier. She looked incredible, but that was nothing new.
I met Brittany The Most Beautiful Woman on Earth Pierce when she came to Ladies Night for the first time eight months earlier. She'd been sitting at the quieter end of the bar and in the saddest voice ever, she'd ordered a Long Island ice tea.
Now, I don't believe in love at first sight, but when those sad, piercing blue eyes landed on me, it felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on my head. I couldn't look away. She was absolutely stunning. I suddenly had the urge to do whatever I could to wipe that frown off of her face. So out of instinct, I grabbed three empty beer bottles and started juggling them. Brittany's head lifted and she watched me. Once I got her to crack a smile, I put the beer bottles down and pulled out the big guns, flipping bottles of rum and vodka over my head and behind my back.
And when I finally handed Brittany her drink, I somehow found the courage to lean over the bar and whisper "Turn that frown upside, gorgeous. Only the bartenders are allowed to cry here."
The smile she gave me was so big and bright that I felt warm all over, like I'd just helped an old lady cross the street or taken one too many shots. She thanked me, tried to pay me (I refused, of course), and introduced herself. And then I allowed her to do something that I never let any of the other asshole customers do at the bar. I let her talk to me about her life.
Call me anti-social, but I'm not the kind of person that likes to talk to random people. I'm not Sam Malone, this ain't Cheers, and I'll never be that kind of bartender. But for some reason, listening to her voice made me feel all tingly and happy.
Until, of course, she started talking about her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, the serial cheater. Her boyfriend, the workaholic. Her boyfriend, the reason she was sitting at the bar in a dance/strip club, barely holding back tears and pouring her heart out to a complete stranger.
Is there anything more ridiculous and frustrating than having a crush on a straight girl with a shitty boyfriend? Probably not.
After that, Brittany Everything That Is Right and Good in the World Pierce started coming to Ladies Night a few times a week. While her friends would go watch the show, I, like a circus monkey, would do tricks for her. Sometimes I'd even drop a bottle on purpose to make her laugh (until April caught me and told me it was coming out of my check). Brittany would tell me about whatever shitty thing her boyfriend had done or how pervy her boss was being or how loud and messy her roommates were. And I would listen attentively, asking her thoughtful questions and trying not to drool on myself or stare at her boobs. I'm classy like that.
Unfortunately, the entire staff figured out that I had a crush on a straight girl and never missed an opportunity to tease me about it.
Stop staring, you weirdo! Speak! Use your words!
I cleared my throat, bringing myself back to the present, and tried to return her smile. "Yeah, Harmony's sick, so I'm covering for her," I croaked out. "Um… the usual?"
Brittany nodded and clapped enthusiastically, licking her lips. The sudden appearance of Brittany's tongue completely wrecked my concentration and it took a good ten seconds for me to even remember what I was supposed to be doing. I grabbed a shaker, plopped some ice in a glass, and starting pouring tequila.
"Hey, wait!" Brittany said, leaning over the bar. "You're not gonna do any tricks?"
I set the bottle down and frowned. "Do I really have to?"
"It tastes better when you do tricks…" she said in a sing-song voice, grinning back at me.
"You just made that up."
Her lower lip jutted out in an adorable pout, which ruined my resolve like it always did. My frown slowly turned into the embarrassing, dorky smile that I try to keep locked away in my internal Dungeon of Feelings.
"Okay, okay, fine. Put the pout away. But if other people start asking me to do this, I blame you!" I grabbed a bottle of gin, flipped it behind my head, and caught it with my other hand before pouring it into the shaker. I continued to grab bottles, slide them around my shoulders, flip them in the air, and juggle them around each other. My muscles relaxed as I got into it, even though I hadn't done it in a while. It was like riding a bike for me. After giving the mix a single dramatic shake, I dumped the contents into a glass, walked around to her side of the bar, and presented the drink with a bow.
"Your Long Island iced tea," I said, wedging the lemon onto the rim and plunking a straw into the glass.
Brittany took a sip and moaned loudly as her eyes rolled back into her head. I almost choked on my own tongue.
"It's perfect, as always," she gushed. "My favorite drink from my favorite bartender."
I shrugged off her praise. "Aphasia's Long Islands are decent. Sunshine's aren't half bad either."
"Not as good as yours." Brittany shook her head and took another sip. "Not even close."
I could tell by the way she said it that she wasn't just being nice, but making good drinks was what I was paid to do. It just so happened that almost everyone else behind the bar ranged from mediocre to complete shit at their jobs.
We sat in relative silence for a minute, while "I'm Too Sexy" played and a club full of women screamed for Officer Mike in the background.
"I miss you."
My attention snapped back to Brittany, who was smiling shyly and looking down at her drink.
Her eyes slowly rose to meet mine and she continued. "I came in one day and they said you'd quit. And people kept saying you were bartending for a couple nights here and there, but I guess we keep missing each other."
She… she misses me?
My heart was pounding so hard, I would've sworn that Mike could hear it from the stage and was pop-locking to the beat.
She misses your tricks and your free drinks, Lopez. Calm down, killer.
"I only come in when April needs the help," I said, hoping my voice wasn't going to give away the fact that my lungs were imploding.
Her hand was on my forearm before my brain could process the movement. "It's not the same around here without you."
"Heh, I'm sure it's better," I chuckled. She didn't laugh and I somehow managed to feel more awkward. My arm was tingling where her fingers continued to graze my skin. I was only ten percent sure that I wasn't having a heart attack.
She's touching me. Since when does she touch me? Is this real life?
"So, what have you been up to?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory.
"Oh!" she squealed excitedly. She mercifully released me from her grip and my body's Terror-Alert level went from Orange back down to Yellow. "One of my photos made the front page! Quinn wrote a great article!"
Brittany was a photojournalist for The Lima Times and had taken some of the best photos I've ever seen.
"Right, the one about the Hummel investigation."
Apparently, some cop had been killed during a drug raid about a month earlier. The police department said he'd died in the firefight with the drug dealers, but an independent autopsy showed otherwise. The family was demanding answers and claimed there was a cover-up going on. Brittany's photo of the funeral procession perfectly captured the tension between the family and the police. It deserved to be on the front page.
"You saw it?"
"Of course I did, it was awesome," I said. Before I could worry too much about whether that sounded creepy or stalkerish, I added "Congratulations!"
"Thanks. We're actually supposed to be celebrating, but I think Rachel is pretty drunk and Quinn is trying to figure out a way to lure that fireman into her bed."
"Don't worry, DJ Diva will put a stop to that."
"What about you?" Brittany asked. "What have you been doing lately?"
"Same old, same old. Just working."
"You're never going to tell me where you work, are you?" Brittany laughed.
Hell no. Never. Nope.
It wasn't that I was ashamed of my day job. Actually… yeah, that was it. I was embarrassed and I didn't want her to know about it. Hell, I didn't even want her to know that I was a bartender, but there wasn't much I could do about that.
Sugar Motta walked behind the bar and began pouring herself a drink. I decided to avoid the job question and make fun of Sugar's crazy ass dress instead.
"Hey, Motta. Kudos to you for finding the only Shrek-colored sequin dress in existence. You look like a bedazzled pickle."
Sugar started choking on her drink. Brittany covered her mouth to keep from laughing.
"Fuck you, Lopez!" she fumed, giving me her best death glare. She looked like a 12 year old, so her death glare never really did much damage. She was only a year younger than me, but that still made her the youngest employee at the club.
"Aw, Sugar," I cooed. "Is the baby getting angry?"
Sugar leaned over and slammed her hand on the counter between me and Brittany. "I'm really, really not in the mood tonight. Cut the shit and get back behind the bar." She pointed at Brittany. "That way, you can actually make drinks while she doesn't give you her number instead of just sitting on your ass while she doesn't give you her number."
I clenched my jaw as Sugar turned on her heel and stalked back toward the stage with her drink in hand. Despite being good friends, Sugar and I somehow managed to get caught in a never-ending game of "Antagonize and Embarrass the Shit Out of Each Other". We'd usually laugh about it later, but at that moment I was just hoping that Brittany couldn't see me blushing.
I was still glaring daggers at Sugar's back when Brittany's friends showed up. I could never remember their names, so in my head I just called them Loud and Mean. Loud looked super wasted and was leaning on Mean like she couldn't feel her legs. Mean had a look on her face like she smelled something rotten. She probably did smell something rotten; Loud had vomit all down the front of her shirt and was sweating like a sumo wrestler in a sauna.
"Hey, Quinn. Whoa, what happened here?" Brittany wrinkled her nose.
I smiled politely at Mean, but she just gave me a blank look like she didn't even see me.
What a bitch.
"Hey Britt, we need to get going. Rachel just threw up in the bathroom so I think the party is over for her."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Mean huffed. "I just wanna get the hell out of here."
Brittany looked at me and then back at her miserable looking friends. "Okay, Quinn. Five more minutes?"
Oh, right. Quinn and Rachel. Definitely not gonna remember that.
Mean sighed. "Fine. We'll be sitting on the bench outside." She shifted Loud, who moaned like a zombie. They staggered through the crowd and made their way to the entrance. Brittany slowly turned back to me with a look of… determination? She had an intense look on her face like she was about to challenge me to a duel or something.
"Santana, I…" Brittany started, but trailed off into a sigh. She looked above my head as if the rest of her sentence was floating on a teleprompter above me. Her eyes traveled down to the bar beside her and she spotted a neon pink body paint marker lying on the counter between us. She picked it up, twirled it between her fingers and raised her eyebrows suggestively.
She uncapped the marker.
I balked. "Hey! No no no! No way!" Her lips quirked up into a grin.
I held up my hands in self-defense. "You know I don't do that stuff."
"Come on, Santana," Brittany said. "You owe me one."
"How?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You're my favorite bartender! You quit without telling me, you disappeared for two months, you come in on random nights when I'm not here. Do you know how many crappy Long Islands I've had to pay for?"
The thought of lifting up my tank top right then in front of everyone, in front of Brittany, was terrifying.
"I really don't think that I-"
The rest of my words fell back down my esophagus and died as Brittany stepped into my personal space and whispered into my ear. I froze.
"You think too much." Brittany's lips gently grazed my earlobe and her hand tugged the hem of my tank top. Her entire body was pressed up against my side. "I just want to leave you a little something in case we don't cross paths for a while."
Oh my god. I can't breathe right now. I don't understand air.
"It's just a little paint, right?" Brittany laughed softly, breathing puffs of warm air against my overheated skin. I was amazed at the fact that the heat from my face alone hadn't caused both of us to burst into flames. Summoning what was left of my brain power, I nodded slowly.
"Ok then." Brittany took a step back, lowered the marker, and slowly pulled the hem of my tank top up. She stopped well below the edge of my bra, and I was simultaneously overjoyed and dismayed. She pulled my arms against my sides so that the shirt would stay up and bent her knees so she could clearly see my belly.
When was the last time I went to the gym?
Did I eat today? Because if my stomach growls right now, I'm gonna change my name and move to Zimbabwe.
I should've kept my flannel on. And buttoned it up. And worn a parka. And stayed home.
"Now, hold still. And don't peak!"
She flattened her right hand against my stomach and all coherent thought ceased. For the first time in my life, the snarky running commentary in my head just stopped.
Holy sweet hell. I… I think I'm dead.
The cold, wet tip of the marker touched the left side of my stomach, causing my breath to hitch. I tried my best not to move, but it's hard not to squirm a little when Brittany Ruler of the Universe Pierce is up close and personal with your abs. Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she carefully drew and retraced lines and shapes. Since most of my brain was currently melting, I couldn't concentrate enough on her pen strokes to make out what she was writing. When she finished, she smiled to herself, satisfied with her artwork. She capped the marker and nodded.
Then she started gently blowing back and forth across my stomach so that the paint would dry.
Yup. I'm dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
After what felt like several billion years, she rubbed the paint to make sure it was dry. She stood up straight, grabbed my tank top, and began to straighten it for me like this was just normal everyday behavior.
"I have to go now, Santana," she said quietly. She was still standing extremely close to me. "But… I hope to hear from you soon."
She sounded a little nervous, so I used my working neurons to conjure up my dopey smile that she liked. She smiled back, handed me the marker, and turned to leave.
I waved like an idiot, and by the time I realized she couldn't see me, she was already halfway across the club.
Goodbye, Brittany Master of My Body Pierce.
It wasn't until I returned to my rightful place behind the bar that I realized I didn't even know what she'd written on me. I lifted up my tank top and gazed at the strange symbols on my stomach. The black light made everything look bright and tacky, but after a few long seconds, I realized what I was staring at.
It was a phone number.
It was Brittany Life Ruiner Pierce's phone number.
I heard soft, slightly annoying laughter before I felt a body sidle up next to me.
"Awww, it worked. Congrats, sweetie. And you're welcome."
I was too mesmerized by the blinding neon pink numbers to respond.
"Can I have my marker back now?"
I handed it to her blindly, still staring at my stomach in awe.
"How… how did you do that?" I whispered, as if talking normally would scare the phone number away.
"Reverse psychology, Lopez," Sugar said, refilling her glass. "As soon as I told her that she didn't want to give you her phone number, it was over. She would've walked on burning coals and broken glass to give it to you."
I shook my head, still gazing at the giant zero that was perfectly centered around my belly button. "Bullshit. You couldn't have predicted that."
"Think what you want." She tapped her temple. "But my 'bullshit' just got you a phone number and probably the best semi-sexual encounter you've had in years."
"Yeah, why did you do that, anyway?" I asked. I finally looked up and met her eyes. "We had a good thing going with this bitchy tit-for-tat and you had to go and mess it up by doing something nice for me. What gives, Motta?"
She took a sip from her drink and shrugged. "You were too chicken shit to make a move, so I made one for you. Watching you pine over the same girl for six months, followed by two months of her looking like a sad puppy every time she showed up and didn't see you… it got boring for me."
She paused briefly, then looked down into her drink.
"And… it's not the same without you around here. So maybe if I do something friendly every once in a while, you might decide to show your face even when Harmony's not puking her guts out."
I poked her in the ribs. "Are you trying to say that you miss me, Motta?"
"Don't ruin the moment, Santana."
She left her half-finished drink on the back counter (because she knows it drives me insane) and walked toward the stage where Matt the Magician was revealing to the audience where he'd been hiding his dong. Spoiler alert: it was in his tear-away polyester pants the whole time.
"Sugar!" I called out. She stopped, but didn't turn. "Thank you."
"Whatever, loser. You owe me."
And all was right with the world.