23 February 2012 @ 07:43 pm
Hmmm, random entry is random, but. As those of you who are acquainted with my Tumblr might now, I have recently taken an obsession interest in Santana/Sebastian interactions, and have been taking prompts and consequently writing drabbles about them... this one turned out about 1300 words, and thus falls, IMHO, more in the ficlet zone than the drabble one-- ergo, I thought it might be somewhat worthy of LJ honors. ;)

Here's the (thus far untitled) ficlet, and for those of you who watch Glee: is this ship even known, much less liked, outside of Tumblr? Let me know!

His hand trails lazily over her naked back, the touch of the fingertips light and fleeting.

“Is it next week?”

Santana turns her head to the side a little drowsily, looking as sated as a purring cat. “What is?” she mumbles.

“The pep rally at your school. You know, the ones that always seem to end in carnage, stampede, and sex riots.”

Not that it’s any wonder, Sebastian thinks to himself. Santana could probably cause a sex riot on her own. While wearing overalls. In a desert.

“Mmm, yeah. Next week. Hopefully everything will turn out fine… as long as Berry doesn’t come up with another one of her crazy ideas to better showcase her annoyingness.” She rolls her eyes, and rolls herself over, too, ending up nestled into his side. He likes it far more than he’s ever admitted to. He plans to keep it that way.

“Does one need tickets for that? I’d love to see the number.”

“No, of course not. Just sneak in, nobody’s going to care. Figgins runs that school like a toddler runs his nose. No control whatsoever,” she smirks, making him chuckle in turn.

“Okay, so I’ll be there. And then I’ll just wait for you to get out instead of picking you up later,” he concludes, and it’s a fairly logical statement to him. Maybe that’s why he’s so surprised when her eyes get saucer-wide.

“Are you kidding me? You can’t wait for me. People will see us together!”

He raises an eyebrow, huffing out a laugh, because this kind of dramatic reaction has to be a joke. After all, they’ve been going out for a while – almost two months, what do you know! – and sleeping together for… well, longer than that. At this point, it’s hardly a secret.

Or… is it?

“And…the problem with that is?”

“Are you stupid or something? If they see us together, then they’ll think we are together.”

“Which is perfectly reasonable, considering we are together, don’t you think?” his tone remains pleasant, but there’s an edge to it now. He can tell something’s coming, and he can tell it’s not going to be good.

In fact, she fumbles with the sheets a little, her fingers toying with the fabric, her eyes looking everywhere that’s not him.

“Yeah, I guess we are. But I don’t want—I mean, I don’t think my friends should know. …Yet,” she adds, too-quickly, as if to lessen the blow.

Well, it’s a little too late for that.

“Isn’t that right,” he replies, and all trace of pleasantness has left his voice, his jaw set. “And why’s that?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t. You tell me.”

She bites her lip, looking somewhere between uncomfortable and irritated. It’s not a look she wears often, and Sebastian doesn’t think it looks good on her.

“Because this is not—we’re not…” She sighs, starts over. “This is not like, a-- a real relationship.”

He swallows. He can feel anger bubbling up inside his chest; he’s angry because this fucking hurts, even angrier because he’s being forced to admit he cares.

“And why isn’t this ‘like, a real relationship’?” he snaps back, his tone a cold mimick of her slangy speech. “Just because I have a P where you’d normally prefer a V?”

“Oh, please, did you seriously just quote Easy A at me? Because that’s just so--”

“Fuck you, I asked you a question,” he cuts in, voice vibrating with suppressed fury. He doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence, of the teasing that’s so gay that’s going to inevitably come out. He wishes he was still ‘so gay’. Bending boys over in a gay bar bathroom was much easier than this. Easier, and painless.

She opens her mouth angrily, an answering ‘fuck you’ ready to fall from her lips, but then she flushes, looking down. She looks young – younger – more like sweet sixteen than eighteen-going-on-college, and that just irritates him more. He doesn’t need to feel sorry for her right now. He needs her to butch up and face the facts and cut the crap.

Because he doesn’t think he can’t handle this on his own. It takes two to play grown-up.

“I was under the impression that hanging out, going on dates and—you know, fucking at pretty much every hour in the day constituted a relationship. Now you tell me where I’m wrong,” he prods her when she’s still silent.

“It’s not wrong. I just don’t think…” she groans, exasperated. “Do we have to do this?”

“Yes, we do!” he exclaims, perfectly able to see that he’s pushing her past her breaking point… and sure enough, a moment later she explodes.

 “Fine! I just don’t think it’s serious enough to tell anyone. Ever occur to you that we’re not exactly the perfect couple? Things could go to hell any moment! And when that happens, I don’t really want my whole posse to be in the know. I can do without the humiliation of all my friends having to know that I walked into you screwing a Warbler over your desk, or something, thanks a lot.”

The moment she closes her mouth, regrets flashes through her face; it’s obvious she wishes, with sudden desperation, she could take it back, but so much for that.

Sebastian opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His lips curl into a little smile that has everything of surprise and nothing of cheer in it. In fact, he may even be looking a little pale, because fuck everything, he hasn’t been sleeping with someone else for ages, and that’s a big deal for him. And yeah, she hasn’t done anyone else either, but that’s not an excuse—if anything, she should know. What it means. How it feels.

In some way, she probably gets it now, at least judging by the nervous way she’s fixing her messy hair. “Look, Sebastian, I…”

He cuts into that sentence before it even starts, his voice low and harsh and steel-clear, the way it gets when he’s about to fall apart. “Just because you got your heart broken once, that doesn’t mean you’re the only one who can feel things. It doesn’t mean you have some—credit towards the world that says you’re allowed to not risk anything anymore and give people shit for asking you to.”

“That’s not what I--”

“Get the hell out.”

“Get—get out?” she splutters, outraged. “I’m not—I haven’t even showered yet!”

“That’s not my problem,” he points out with a smirk, “We’re not in a relationship.” He spits the word out viciously, because he may have mended his ways, but vengefulness is not a habit you just drop, and when it comes to the two of them, offense sometimes is the best defense.

She glowers, but doesn’t say anything, starting to get dressed. Deep down, she’s already sorry. He knows she is. He also knows it won’t take anything short of a week for her to admit she is, and it will probably take at least two for him to be willing to listen. That’s just the way it is, and frankly, it’s exhausting, but they don’t know anything else. He closes his eyes, weary.

“Well,” she says after two minutes or so, her voice quiet and resentful. “I’m ready. So… I guess I’ll go now.”

Just from the sound of her voice, he knows she’s standing at the door, not moving, waiting for something. Anything to make her stay.

“Don’t let the door hit your ass,” he replies, not even bothering to look up.

He sinks back into the pillows, flinching when the violent slam of said door echoes through the room. Fuck everything, he’s not calling her first.

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