
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/193050.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Rachel_Berry/Santana_Lopez
  Character:
      Santana_Lopez, Rachel_Berry
  Additional Tags:
      Character_of_Color, Mirrors
  Collections:
      Remix_Madness_2011
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-05-01 Words: 1269
****** Keeping Score (Brown-Eyed Girl Remix) ******
by littledust
Summary
     Santana has kissed a brunette. In fact, she's done a whole lot more
     than kiss one.
  This work was inspired by
      Keeping_Score by summerstorm
Giant sales crowds are enough of a pain, but mix in small town desperation and
you've got a recipe for disaster. Every Black Friday, Santana makes sure she's
causing the disaster, rather than becoming its victim. She's a cheerleader and
a total bitch; elbowing her way into a dressing room is a cinch.
Except the dressing room is occupied.
"Santana," says Rachel Berry, clutching a freakin' animal print sweater to her
chest. How did she even find something so ugly in here?
"Berry," Santana snaps, "get the hell out of my dressing room. One: I needs to
get my fashion on, and two: I'm going to light that sad little pile of clothes
on fire if I have to look at it any longer." Not her best zinger, but there are
more important things on her mind.
Then comes classic Berry: her lips compress into a thin line, she squares her
shoulders, and she twitches her little skirt at the same time she tosses her
hair. She always busts out the diva moves before quitting glee club or after
someone's cracked a gay joke. Also, apparently, when someone tries to take
something from her. "I refuse."
Santana shrugs and hangs up her clothes on the door. "Whatever."
The look of shock she's getting is almost hilarious enough to make up for the
annoyance. "What?"
"I said whatever, freak. Hope you're not going deaf." Santana toes off her
shoes and lifts her shirt over her head in the same motion. Her jeans follow
shortly after. "I'll just make myself at home."
Berry squeaks, face going bright red, and she spins around, obviously trying to
find a place to look that isn't Santana's rockin' bod. Too bad (or too good)
for her, because these dressing rooms don't skimp on mirrors. Santana strikes a
pose before she takes the first dress off the rack and slides it on.
"Stop twitching and zip me up, loser."
To her surprise, Berry complies. Berry always goes for the social suicide
option, which usually involves sticking up for herself, with sticking up for
Quinn a later addition. Her hands are warm as they lift Santana's hair out of
the way and slide the zipper up, and yes--there is a little tremble to them,
and they do linger a little bit too long. Santana smirks. So that's why.
Santana whirls Berry around, pinning her against one of the mirrors. "You think
I'm hot," she purrs.
"You're also a terrible person," Rachel says, voice even despite the flush to
her skin. "But I can work with that," she adds, and kisses her.
Little Berry's been fooling around with somebody more fun than Finnocence,
because it's a damn good kiss. Berry's doing creative things with her tongue
that probably originated from vocal exercises or whatever. Santana groans in
appreciation and slides her hands under Berry's shirt, palming her breasts
through the cotton of her bra. Tits always feel amazing in Santana's hands, and
Berry's are no exception: they're small, firm, the perfect handful. This is
fun.
Then Berry spoils it all by breaking off the kiss and backing away. Santana
retaliates by pinching her nipples and Berry gasps, the flush of her cheeks
deepening. "A dressing room," Berry manages to get out, and Santana rolls her
eyes.
"Just pretend that we're on stage," she snaps, and spins Berry around yet
again. She gestures to their reflections in the mirrors. "This is your
audience, and you have to put on a show. It makes you horny, right? Everybody
watching."
If there is one thing Santana Lopez is good at (and there are so many things
Santana Lopez is good at), it's sex. Rachel Berry has freaky interests like old
movies and Bedazzling glee club property, stands to reason that she'd be a
freak in the sack. Sure enough, Berry gets all breathy and then starts
stripping, the cadence of her movements measured as a dancer's. (Santana starts
to think of Brittany and then stops herself. There's sex, and then there's sex
with Brittany, and the two categories do not overlap.) Berry's got her game
face on. Santana lets her take all of her clothes off, nodding in approval when
she shimmies out of her panties, which spell out SATURDAY in cheerful yellow.
"The show must go on," Berry says, which has to be the stupidest come-on
Santana's ever heard. She's itching for a fuck, though, and so she kisses
Berry's neck as she runs her hands down her sweet little body. It's awesome to
watch herself feel up Berry from three different angles. "Look at you," she
murmurs, and Berry shivers.
Santana enjoys her some foreplay, but she's also a fan of skipping straight to
the good part. She slides a hand between Berry's legs, and Berry throws her
head back and says "Mmm, yes" in a throaty voice Santana's never heard before.
Just for that, Santana takes her time teasing her, fingers circling her clit
but never quite making it there. Berry squirms in frustration and Santana
laughs, delighted.
"I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you, and I want you to watch me
watching you." Santana drags out her words like she's dragging out the sex:
languidly, and with a hint of malice. She slides three fingers inside Berry,
who's so wet she could probably fit a mic--probably has before, Santana thinks,
and muffles another laugh in Berry's hair. Berry doesn't notice, too busy
bucking against Santana's hand. Her enunciation is perfect as she moans "Yes,
yes, yes" over and over.
"Star of the show," Santana manages, just barely because her pussy's aching so
much she can barely resist crossing her legs. "Look at you, Rachel Berry."
Berry comes as fast as a virgin, panting and shuddering. Santana watches
through half-lidded eyes as Rachel Berry three times over sighs in post-coital
bliss.
"Your turn," Berry breathes. Santana doesn't even have time to process the
words before Berry's fingers are in her panties. Berry's clumsy, but she at
least knows how the female body works, which is more than Santana can say for
some of her sex partners. "Your panties are soaked," Berry says, low and
excited, and Santana closes her eyes, willing herself not to come too soon.
Dirty talk is another one of her weaknesses, and dirty talk coming from Berry's
pristine mouth is downright amazing.
"No, really, I didn't know girls could get so wet," Berry continues, like this
is something that she does every day.
"Shut up," Santana moans, slamming her head back against the door. It hurts
just enough to feel good.
"You must really love watching girls come." Berry might have a mean streak
after all. Either that, or she's a quick study, if the teasing fingers are any
judge. "You loved fucking me in front of all those people."
Just as Santana's deciding she can't take anymore, Berry slides her finger over
her clit, back and forth and forth and back and then Santana is coming, her
hands searching for purchase until she sinks her nails into Berry's shoulder.
"Jesus fuck," Santana growls after she's ridden out the last wave of the
orgasm. Her body feels weightless and heavy at the same time, and she can see
in triple vision what total wrecks she and Berry look like.
"I agree," Berry says, and smiles. "Shall we?"
Some of the women outside the changing room shoot them scandalized looks as
they exit, but Santana flips them all off. "Don't think this changes anything,"
she warns Berry.
"I assumed as much."
"Yeah, well, see you."
Santana buys the dress, though.
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