rachel barbra berry

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jaggedsnix‌:

There was something admirable about Rachel’s sense of duty, but even for the moderate wage, Santana wouldn’t climb onto a strangers ass and let them ogle her tits. It crossed her mind at one point, loomed in the back of her mind when she got a paper back and there was anything below an A marked on the top. It was this unreasonable fear that never quite disappeared until she faced that fork in the road. She’d dropped out of college and used up all her savings, but there were two adds in the paper, one for a strip club and the other for a bar. And here she was. Santana just wondered if Rachel ever had a choice, or if this one was made for her. “I like your work ethic,” she mutters, and shoots her a small smile.

It felt like a goodbye, like the one she’d been waiting for, but she still didn’t have the closure she expected. It all felt so awkward. “Just stay safe,” she says, and she knows nothing will change and it would be wrong to expect her to adjust her routine because an old friend thought it was unsafe. Santana didn’t want to be her hero and sweep her off her feet, so she bit her tongue. Rachel was a big girl and she got herself into this and she’d have to get herself out of it. But that didn’t stop her from imagining things playing out differently. Santana squeezed her tightly, for just a second before she let go. “Call me,” she says, just because she could, and it’s not like anyone else could hear how pathetic she sounds and she doesn’t drive away until Rachel is out of sight.

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jaggedsnix·:

It was like talking to a different person, and she’s realized maybe that’s just who her friend has become now, because the Rachel she knew refused to leave the apartment for half a week because of all the puddles on the road, and she was afraid of being splashed on her way to college. In truth, it had crossed Santana’s mind too, but she was too stubborn to copy Rachel and only proceeded to prove the fucking point. Her Christian Louboutin boots were ruined that day and she’ll never forgive Kurt for the way he laughed. “Do you ever think maybe it’s just a little risky to be walking through New York alone, especially working such a high profile job,” is that what you call it? Santana didn’t really know the correct vocab but her point was there. Rachel literally sat on the laps of probably ever pervert in the city, one was bound to want more eventually. Santana certainly did.

They were in a pretty rough area and Santana liked these parts, mostly because she liked feeling invincible, and because her favorite dealer lived just a block over from where Rachel was directing her. Santana was a good girl, she only played with weed, but she lived on top of the bar and they often got spot checks from the cops to make sure everything was legit, and she’d never risk putting her business in danger for a stupid habit she picked up when she was fifteen. As soon as the car stopped, she noticed a light flash on across the street and she’s pretty sure one of Rachel’s nosy neighbours were watching. “I’m—” Married. “I’m around, if you need a ride, so don’t throw away my card, or I’ll just start sitting outside the club and stalk you.” Santana shrugged, and she doesn’t know why but her hand fell on Rachel’s thigh, and she didn’t bother to move it, “I— don’t want you to die, okay?”

Was it risky to walk alone in the middle of the night in New York? What kind of a stupid question was that? Of course it was risky, but, as Rachel told Santana with a shrug, “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, you know?” She’d love a day job, working a 9-5 where she can both go to work and come home when the sun was still up, but she was either ineligible due to the lack of a college degree or it was a minimum wage job that paid far less than what she made at the club. It was better this way.

She was thankful that Santana didn’t mention how shitty of an area she lived in. It was kind of embarrassing, and the inside of her apartment was even more so, but she could only do so much with diapers and wipes, doctor’s visits, toys, and a nanny. Something had to slack, so that was the apartment. “Thank you,” she chuckled, smirking as Santana said she’d stalk her. “Like you did tonight?” she teased. When her former friend said she didn’t want her to die, she leaned over the center console to hug her. It was sideways, the gear shift was in the way, and it was pretty awkward because of that, but she didn’t care. It was nice that after all this time, Santana still cared about her. “Thank you,” she mumbled into her neck, repeating herself. “I’ll call you, okay?” she said as she pulled back, grabbing her purse. “I really appreciated the ride.”

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jaggedsnix·:

There was something to be said for Rachel’s determination, she always liked the commitment Rachel had to just about everything, and apparently that stretched a lot further than just Broadway and fame. Santana admired her ambition and she knows it inspired her from time to time over the past year, because there’s been so many times where she’s been close to walking out from a business meeting or slapped an investor. So much more went into running a successful business than she initially thought when she signed up, and now here she was, and she hates that she left Rachel behind. “It’s winter, it’s New York, it’s bad weather.”

A year of stripping. Santana wonders how anyone would prefer to take their clothes off for strangers and collect jizz stained ones over asking for help. It’s difficult, sure, but sometimes your pride isn’t worth that much. It kind of stings to think about the way she’s treated some of her friends over the past six months and she’s pretty sure she’ll be sending out some flower basket, and maybe with a few connections Rachel could hook up a strippergram for Puck. “I’m all about rooting for the underdog, but David and Goliath wasn’t real, Rachel and you’re a smurf, even krav maga can’t help you.” Santana snorts, and reaches over into the glove compartment for one of her business cards and drops it into Rachel’s lap, “call me next time you need a ride.”

“The snow doesn’t even reach my ankles and I’m wearing boots. It’s not bad. I’m talking about conditions like three Fridays ago when the windchill was -35º or when in December, I couldn’t see five inches past my face because the snow was so heavy. That’s bad weather.” She conned her dads into buying her a pair of Sperry Saltwater boots in gold, so she looked cute while also keeping her feet dry and warm in the rain and snow that she was able to conquer on her own. She was Rachel Barbra Fucking Berry, she could do anything.

“I can handle myself,” she’d say with a smirk when the business card landed in her lap, “But, thank you. I’ll keep this in mind.” She slipped the card into her jean pocket, and changed the topic by saying, “At the stoplight up here, you can take a left. Then in two blocks, you’ll take a right and we’ll be on my street.” As much as she didn’t mind walking home, she greatly appreciated how quickly she’d be home tonight because her feet were killing her. She had been working so hard the last few days to earn some extra money for her son’s upcoming first birthday; she really wanted to treat him to something really nice and ensure he had fun at the little party she was throwing for her parents and a few close friends that she’s made in the last two years.

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jaggedsnix·:

The first time Santana ever spent time with Rachel outside of the Loft, had been a Wednesday, she remembers because they met just after Rachel’s class had finished and two of her friends assumed something gay was going on between them. At the time Santana scoffed and she remembers the silent treatment she got from Rachel for the next day and a half, until she conceded to list all of the quote “sexiest things about Rachel Berry” in a full six page slide show. Santana still has the powerpoint and she’s pretty sure she’ll never delete it, for whatever reason. She wondered if she could add “stripper ass” to the list.

All the streets were relatively quiet, for New York. Even at night there was still enough traffic that she couldn’t push the speed limits like she can when they go back to Lima for vacations. “So you walk home a lot?” Santana asks quietly even though she knows the answer, but she’d been there when Kurt woke up in the hospital after being mugged, it changes the way you think. “Can’t you get a cab or an uber? It’s dangerous.” Santana’s pretty sure she sounds like her mother but the old lady was right about some things. “I won’t be able to do this every night.”

“I like to save my money for days with bad weather,” she shrugged. Ubers or cabs got expensive over time, and she learned she could save over a hundred dollars a week if she just walked and took the subway. That was another hundred dollars she could put towards her son, and every penny counted to spoil that little kid. Not that she’d ever tell Santana that-- or, at least, not anytime soon.

“Oh my god, I don’t expect you to do it at all. I’ve been doing it for close to a year now-- it’s been about eight months since I started this job.” It took her a few months of hard work to get the baby weight off-- she was lucky enough that she didn’t gain too much weight during her pregnancy. “I know it’s probably unsafe but... I have a rape whistle, I took krav maga at the JCC, and I keep my phone out in case I need to call the cops or something.” She knew how to keep herself safe, but she really did appreciate Santana’s concern.

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jaggedsnix·:

There was nothing about this scenario that felt normal, but she thought about what the others might say if they knew what Rachel was doing, and how they’d feel if they knew Santana let her walk home at 3am. Santana was a good friend and that’s why she’d been sitting outside of the club for the better part of three hours, because she’s pretty sure her car would’ve been jacked if she’d left it unprotected all night. The club was only a few minutes drive from the bar, and yet it had some pretty sleazy customers and she had trust issues.

So no, she wasn’t just in the neighbourhood, she was at home thinking about all the different ways Rachel could be murdered on her way back from work, but it would be weird to admit that, she she just shrugs instead and says, “I live near here, I was out getting milk.” Santana starts up the car, and taps on the seat warmers, because it was cold outside and she’s pretty sure that Rachel doesn’t get sick pay. “Direct me,” she tells her, and turns the music to a nice ambience level, which she hadn’t specifically picked out for Rachel.

Rachel gave her a suspicious look when Santana mentioned buying milk. At three AM? Not likely. She didn’t know the real reason, however, just thinking that Santana went and bought some weed or something. It wasn’t anything important to think about, so she just got comfy with the seat warmers on. It wasn’t something she got very often, if at all-- she sold her car to afford rent one month when she was a waitress, and she only got a ride to or from work, usually from a co-worker, every once in a blue moon.

“Just go to the right up here. You’ll go a few miles on this road,” she said, pointing the right way. She really loved the feeling of the heat on her back and sunk into the seat. “I know I’ve already said it, but I really appreciate this. It usually takes me an hour to get home, including the wait times for the subway and such. It’ll be nice to get home before sunrise, so-- I’m rambling,” she’d chuckle. “Sorry. I guess things still haven’t changed.”

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jaggedsnix·:

The knock on the window wakes her from whatever daze she was locked in and when she jumps away from the window, she sees Rachel. She didn’t intend on waiting around for her shift to end, but when she saw the same bouncer, some part of her felt intimidated. The guy had smirked at her in a way that said, “two visits in a week?” So, naturally, she returned to her car and waited for Rachel to get out of the club and sought refuge in her blacked out windows. As soon as she heard the tap, she lowered the windows, but suddenly her whole reasoning for being there seemed pathetic. So, she simply responded with a “yes?”

There was a significant lack of tits and short skirts and she feels kind of stupid for thinking that Rachel walked around outside of work in anything outside of the ordinary, but she probably would’ve been less surprised to at least see some nipple tassels or a thong. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just leans over across the car and pushes open the door, “get in, I’ll drive you home.” It was the chivalrous thing to do at almost 3am, this was when all the creeps came out and yes, she was completely aware that she probably seemed like one of those creeps right now.

What was Santana doing here? It was three o’clock in the morning; it wasn’t necessarily a normal time to be out and about. She was surprised when Santana popped the door open and offered her a ride home. Did she come here just to pick her up? How long was she waiting for her? There were a lot of unanswered questions that, quite frankly, she was a little too nervous to ask. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you,” she said softly.

Hopping in the car and buckling her seat belt, she looked over at the girl. “So... you were just in the neighborhood at 3 AM?” she asked, a bit of a smirk on her face. It was odd, considering that she didn’t see Santana in the club at all. She didn’t have too many private sessions tonight, so she would’ve seen her unless she only spent less than twenty minutes there, and who spends less than twenty minutes in a club? “I appreciate you taking me home. I only live about ten minutes from here,” she shrugged.

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jaggedsnix·:

So, masturbating while thinking about Rachel isn’t necessarily a completely new thing for her. The first time it happened, they’d got mixed up in a game of truth or dare and when Rachel spun Santana things got heated pretty quickly and before she knew it, there was a lingering feeling in her lady loins that resembled a pretty familiar sensation. Somehow, she’d found a way to king of write it off as a control thing— because she was into the idea of tempting a straight girl over to the dark side and while she knew better now, it still had her hooked.

It happened because there was nobody else left to think about, because at some point in every fantasy, she became the person on the outside looking in. Nothing hurt more than to watch Brittany touch someone else, and she really didn’t need to re-live that memory time and time again. And when she got to have that lovely first hand live experience of a half-naked Rachel Berry grinding against a metal pole, eventually Brittany just disappeared from her imagination all together. So that’s why she showed up again, a week later, because she can’t get her out of her head. But that doesn’t make it any easier to go inside for a repeat.

For whatever reason, today’s shift dragged. It was only six hours, but it felt like it lasted a whole damn week. The second she was released from her shift, she rushed backstage to change from her sweaty lingerie into a pair of jeans and a hoodie. She took her wig off and fixed her hair so it didn’t look too gross while she made the trek home. She usually walked, unless it was blizzard-like conditions or the windchill made her bones hurt, but she was so tired she was kind of tempted to call an Uber.

She was getting the app up on her phone, but it was running extremely slow. It was an old iPhone 6s-- it was three and a half years old and everyone knew how slow old iPhones got after the new releases. She rebooted her phone as she was leaving, saying goodbye to the bouncer on her way out. “Your hot friend is waiting in her car,” he told her, pointing to the black Range Rover in the parking lot. Her first thought was that her nanny, Lindsey, came because something was wrong with her son, but when she saw the car she knew that wasn’t the case-- Linds drove a red ‘99 Grand Am. She recognized the car to be Santana’s; she remembered the day the girl got it in high school. Why was she waiting in the parking lot for her? Confused, she made her way to the passenger side, tapping on the window.

↳ instagram: new photo from @berryrachel

Sweat now, shine later ✨

↳ 212 likes ↳ 11 comments:

@lindslomas WORK IT, GIRL 🙌🏻

@lomasjulie you’re making SUCH progress! you should be proud!

@kellysboys 🔥

@cali.naomi The only way you could get me to run on a treadmill is by holding some wine in front of me!

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#insta:rb

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jaggedsnix·:

Just like that, it’s done and she retracts her hands quickly. It hits her that maybe it was wrong to cross that line. Santana is immediately aware of the loss of hot contact and misses it intensely, but she keeps her hands by her sides and leans as far back in her chair as humanly possible without toppling them both over. “I didn’t— I wasn’t suggesting you were,” she says, and her lips purse when she notes the vulnerable expression on Rachel’s face and it hurts that she’s the sole reason it’s there. Santana’s never really been very good at keeping close female friends just that, because she always ruins it, she falls in love, falls on their face, it’s the same old story and Rachel had never been one to trip her up.

As soon as she’s on her feet, it’s like all the blood rushes to her head and she’s completely aware of how totally inappropriate it was to touch Rachel, or even just to follow her back here in the first place. Santana wasn’t a client and they both knew it. “Look,” she says, running two hands through her hair and giving Rachel a dismissive look, “I came in here to see the show, I’m local so, curiosity killed the cat.” Santana shoves her hands in her pockets and pulls out the small wad of money she pocketed before leaving the bar, and she wonders how much she can tip Rachel without it seeming weird, but she drops a few larger bills onto a small table by the door anyway. “I shouldn’t have come, is what I’m trying to say,” she whispers, and then her hand pushes down on the handle. Without looking back, she says, “thanks for the dance, Rachel.”

There was a part of Rachel who felt bad for stopping this-- whatever this was. She was lonely and missed this kind of contact with people, since it had been so long since she had been intimate. But she also knew it was inappropriate to be doing this while she was working, as well as going against the number one club rule of no touching. It was for her safety, and the safety of the co-workers; she trusted Santana not to put her safety at stake, but a rule was a rule. She was always one to follow the rules.

It also felt awkward that their first encounter in almost two years was a heated lap dance at a stuffy club. She didn’t have any way to contact Santana, except stalking her social media which was, again, weird so she knew that this would probably be the last time she’d see her-- that was, unless her former friend decided to return to the club. She just hoped that if Santana did, she came alone. The room seemed to stop around them as she watched the girl leave, not able to move or speak. She watched her throw the money on the table and leave the room with a thank you. When she was gone, and when the door was shut, she sat down on the couch and released a huge breath she didn’t realize she was holding in. God damn.

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jaggedsnix·:

At this point, she’ll admit she wants to best her. Santana looks at her carefully, smiling viciously at the way Rachel’s pupils have blown, and the small sheen of sweat on her forehead. It’s even hotter inside the little back room than it was out on the floor, and the intimacy of the moment isn’t helping. The rules. Santana swallows carefully, wondering how far she should push Rachel and then looks down at her hand; at where her thumb etches a tight circle right up against the edge of her bra. Santana wonders if Rachel picked it out herself, or maybe a boyfriend. “I know,” she whispers.

They’re at a point where Santana can either stop herself, and possibly redeem her actions, or she can cross the line and find herself in uncharted territory. It’s a simple decision in the end, but she still feels nervous, even though Rachel is the one who’s almost completely naked and straddling her. She lets her hands fall away, to Rachel’s hips, and she pops open the button on Rachel’s skirt and it falls just a little. Santana can see the top of Rachel’s panties and her fingers spread possessively against her friends abdomen, and she has to bite down on her lip when she feels the muscles underneath contract. “You could stop me.”

“I-- I could,” she whispered, her tone mildly suggestive and not at all serious. It honestly felt so nice to feel hands on her-- especially hands as gentle and soft as Santana’s. They weren’t sweaty and rough that she felt when she took clients’ hands to lead them to the room-- the only touching she ever usually allowed-- and Santana overall didn’t smell like burgers and grease. It was such a nice change compared to the usual that she didn’t feel like she was working; for a minute, she felt like she was in the loft having a hot moment, like the extremely erotic dream she once had after she and Santana kissed because of a dare.

But then it clicked-- she was at work. She wasn’t 18 and carefree. She was a working woman, one who was a stickler for the rules. Sure, she knew and trusted Santana, but that shouldn’t matter. Rules are rules, and she had to enforce them. If she let Santana slide, then she had to let everyone slide. It wasn’t right. She stood up so fast she almost got whiplash, saying quickly, “I’m not a prostitute.” Her eyes didn’t even glance at the clock, one that was directly behind her, as she said with heavy breath, “I think our time here is up.”

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It occurs to her too late that maybe Rachel isn’t doing this on purpose, maybe it wasn’t about making Santana uncomfortable and truly as simple and doing her fucking job. There’s a loaded moment, and she knows Rachel is waiting for her answer, and she honestly doesn’t know what to tell her. “I understand,” she says and her voice is no louder than a whisper, there’s a moment when she looks up at Rachel and she just takes in her wild eyes and her shy expression, she even finds herself smirking at her, “I really missed you,” she breathes, and presses her lips to the corner of Rachel’s mouth, because she means it absolutely.

Her fingers don’t move, and her heart is almost beating out of her chest and she knows Rachel can feel it. Santana smooths her thumbs over Rachel’s wrists and she strokes her fingertips up along her arm. “It’s weird,” she tells her, shrugging when she forces herself to angle her head just enough so she can look Rachel in the eyes. “but I didn’t say I’m not enjoying it,” she says, and she feels a smug sense of confidence hit her so fiercely. Santana doesn’t think about what the consequences when she lifts her hand to Rachel’s throat, her eyes fixed on her thumb as she strokes it along her collarbone. Fuck it. She’s probably already going to hell.

She wasn’t necessarily surprised when she felt Santana’s lips on her, so close to her mouth. It was something she got often from customers trying to get in her pants; what did surprise her, however, was that she leaned into it, smiling softly. Even though they were friends at one point, she should be kicking her out of the room for breaking the rules, but the nostalgia and grief in her just enjoyed their closeness. “I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered just as softly, tangling a hand in Santana’s hair.

A boost of confidence ran through her veins when Santana said she was enjoying this little encounter of theirs. She reached down to unbutton her skirt but stopped as she felt Santana’s thumb on her throat and collarbone. She shuddered at the feeling. No one had touched her like that since... well, since Finn, and he’s now been dead for almost two years. Her eyes closed and she reveled in the moment before coming to her senses. “I-- I-- this is against the rules, you know.”

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jaggedsnix·:

There’s an almost predatory look on Rachel’s face and she welcomes that all too familiar sensation between her legs. Does that make her a bad person? Santana has eyes and a weakness for blondes, even when it’s fake. “I— we can just talk you know? You don’t have to dance.” Santana says, but Rachel’s already pretty comfortable and invading her personal space without any hesitation for a second time that night. Santana has to abstractly wonder if there’s even such a thing as personal space in this job, because Rachel seems at home with her legs spread and she wonders if she’s imagining the heat on her lap.

It’s too hot and there’s a steady beat strumming through her body from the music that bounces through the building, and she knows her heart is probably moving at a similar speed, especially when Rachel starts to unbutton her shirt. Santana has always been a boob girl, and she’s pretty sure she and Rachel talked about that at one point over the course of their friendship. It was unfair to use inside knowledge to ruin her composure, and maybe it was out of frustration, or just something else entirely, but she barely gets to register the sensitive flutter in her stomach before her hands catch Rachel’s forearms,

No touching. It’s a rule, it’s stamped all over the walls and she’s pretty sure that’s a given. It’s in all the movies. And yet, she ignores it anyway. There’s a distinct lack of space between them and she knows they’re sharing the same small pocket of air, because she can feel Rachel’s hot breath on her face. “Why are you doing this?” She asks, so quietly, and she doesn’t feel apologetic when her fingers move, trailing lightly over Rachel’s wrist. “You don’t have to do anything, Rachel. Don’t you know that?”

“I’m on the clock,” she said in reply to Santana telling her she didn’t need to dance. Of course she needed to dance. A job is still a job, even if a former friend is your customer. However, she was always great at multi-tasking, so she had absolutely no problems talking while she did her work. She just hoped whatever Santana wanted to talk about wasn’t awkward enough that she felt compelled to stop dancing.

The look that flashed on Santana’s face reminded her that the girl was into boobs-- it was something she had learned before, but never remembered. It was with that reminder that she made a bigger show out of her chest, hoping that Santana may give her a bigger tip if she emphasized what she liked. She was just about to move her arms to press against her breasts from the sides and make them seem bigger when she was touched.

She gasped. Only one person had violated this rule before, and Rachel immediately got him kicked out. But for some reason now, she just froze, completely stopping all movements. “It’s my job,” she said softly, a look of vulnerability on her face for the first time since they were reacquainted. “I have to make money. I have to work. Are you not enjoying it?”

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jaggedsnix·:

There was a look that flashed over Rachel’s face, and Santana’s no novice, she knows when she’s insulted someone. It seemed unfair that having some form of manners came across as a snub to whatever skills Rachel had been taught. But she knew there was some expectations, no doubt. Santana had somewhat of a reputation for her high libido, despite a long and steady relationship, that was never quite forgotten. Santana rarely brought dates back to their place, having curtains and bookshelves for walls never felt like something to brag over. But she often found herself on the opposite side of the couch to Rachel, comparing notes on their partners and sharing tips.

Maybe it was insulting after all, and with that on her mind, she doesn’t bother to do anything other than adjust her short skirt and allow a gentle hand to pull her up and into Rachel’s own space. “Hi,” she whispers, and swallows back any other words, because it seems like being nose to nose with someone was nothing out of the ordinary for Rachel, and she was being pulled away not a moment later. It was exhilarating and she feels exceptionally vanilla for never getting a lap dance from a professional before, “fun?” Santana whispers, and with a slow and loaded inhalation, she obeys. She’s learned to trust Rachel years ago.

While part of her really wanted (and needed) to make this money, another part of her really wanted to show off for Santana. She remembers once going home and crying to her when her former professor told her she had the sex appeal of Shrek; she was really proud she went from that to a stripper in one of Manhattan’s most popular clubs. If she had to be honest with herself, she wasn’t necessarily proud that she was a stripper, she was just proud that she somehow gained the sex appeal to become one. Even more amazingly, she had a baby in that time-- she never thought she’d be sexier after she’d given birth. Somehow, she was lucky enough to not get a lot of long-term stretch marks, and the ones she did keep, she was able to cover with either makeup, clothing, or a combination of both.

“Fun,” she nodded. As Santana sat, she straddled her. It was her routine to immediately roll her hips into the customer’s lap. Things always worked out, so why change them up now? She let her fingers dance down her arms, and then back up her sides, making eye contact sensually with her the entire time. “So, what did you want to talk about?” she asked as she slowly unbuttoned her top. She let the white shirt slide off, hitting the ground and leaving her only in her push-up bra that made her tits look incredible.

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jaggedsnix·:

There was a twitch, a sensation in the tips of her fingers and she’s pretty sure it had something to do with the alcohol, but she had to fight the instinct to reach out and touch Rachel’s hair. It looked as fake as most of the dancers botched boob jobs and she wanted to see what was underneath, did she still have her bangs, or did she outgrow those too? It stung, to think of how, maybe she’d just outgrown her friends the same way. “Old is right,” she mumbled, and winced at the way Rachel looked down at her, like they hadn’t laughed together, or even cried together.

As lost as Rachel might be, she still seems as at home as she did in their little eclectic apartment, searching for her dream. Santana was also fully aware of how the special attention she was receiving might look to the Groupies that are gathered on nearby tables, she could count at least three balding men watching their every move and just waiting for the moment where Rachel might decide to switch her attention to another patron. Seriously, if looks could kill. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk?” Santana asks, because she doesn’t want to buy a dance, and all her intentions when arriving at the strip club now feel degrading and she hates how dirty she feels.

Talk? Santana wanted to talk? Part of her understood, since she just up and left them with nothing more than a note when they came home from Finn’s memorial, but another part of her was offended. Why the hell wouldn’t Santana want a dance? Maybe it was because she dealt with such sleazes on a daily basis that she just assumed Santana came here for all these sexual intentions. “Talk?” she whispered. “Sure, we can talk, in the back.”

She stood up, reaching out for Santana’s hand. “I’ll lead the way.” And when Santana stood up, she walked back to the room, winking at the table of old guys that had been watching them the entire time. They were some of her regulars and had never seen her with a girl before-- there were very few females that frequented the club. She opened the door to unoccupied room three, leading Santana to the couch. “Sit, we’ll have fun while we talk.”

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jaggedsnix·:

The terrifying part of all this is how grown up Rachel looks, even under the layers of unnecessary make up, false eyelashes, and cheap wig, “did you buy that at a charity store?” she asks, because the way Rachel smirks sparks up something new that Santana hasn’t felt before and it’s holy infuriating. It feels like so long ago now, but it reminds her of the inexcusable way Rachel up and vanished, because for at least a year, Rachel was one of her best friends. She considered her family once upon a time and she can’t stop staring, looking hungrily for traces of the girl she thought of as her Rachel.

It didn’t really make any sense, because she never would’ve predicted this path for her and she hates how it suits her, even if the familiar name she’s adopted doesn’t, “I think you can pull off more than you give yourself credit for.” Santana wonders what could’ve forced her to give up on the fame she so desperately wanted. She remembers quite vividly now, the first day she came home to Rachel rehearsing lines for an audition and the careful dedication to commit the lines to her memory. Santana never said it but she admired her determination, because nobody in the room was ever going to shine brighter than Rachel, and she they all knew it.

In reality, it all felt strangely familiar, because Rachel never really grasped the concept of personal space. Santana often found herself on the couch with a pair of legs over her lap, or a hand attached to her elbow as they walked, even that one time they accidentally shared a toothbrush and Rachel seemed completely uninterested in the possible germs that could’ve been spread. She didn’t touch her though, she kept her hands out of dangerous territory, because there’s still a line that she was intent to not cross. “I look great, Quinn.”

Rachel smirked, moving a small blonde hair away from her face. “Oh, this old thing?” She hated the wig, but she had to wear it; it was part of her contract to wear some sort of wig. They all had to. Unlike a lot of the old men that popped boners when she sat on their laps, she welcomed this feeling of being on Santana’s lap-- it wasn’t awkward. It was familiar. This was something they did fairly often in the year or so that they were roommates, and it kind of felt like home.

She tried ignoring Santana’s inspirational-esque comment, because she knew if she thought about it, she’d get emotional. That wasn’t something she felt like doing on the job, so she let her fingers play with the Latina’s hair. “You look amazing,” she emphasized. “Listen, I don’t want to deal with all this small talk. Why don’t you come back to a room with me? I can give you a show that will make your visit worthwhile.” As close as she used to be with Santana, there was nothing special about her to make Rachel want to dance for her. She was treating the girl like any other customer-- it was all about the money. She wanted to put on a good show, get paid for the private room, and earn herself a nice tip. That’s what this job was all about.