“Santana? Listen. I understand that what Kurt did when you proposed was totally uncalled for and definitely not at the right time. I get that.” He knew he should uncross his arms, smile more. Everything you need to do to make yourself seem less angrier than he really was but–so far? Blaine just stood there–not listening to his own common sense–and tensed from head to toe. At least his words and tone of voice were relatively calm? “But what I don’t get. Is how you could be his friend and use me and every little insecurity he has against him just to show him he should have kept his opinions to himself. Yes–he made a serious mistake. No–he shouldn’t have opened his mouth but you, of all people, should know that you can’t take the parts of someone that they are the most insecure about and use it against them like that.”
“Not when he’s already at a huge low,” Blaine swallowed the guilt he felt for somehow ending up being the biggest reason for said low. It wasn’t fair that he was the one who ended up here broken and now had trouble looking at himself in the mirror and thinking about Kurt but–here he was doing exactly that. And now–here he was-–stepping in to be the one to stand up for him at the risk of being on the receiving end of whatever Santana came back at him with. –Yep. Here he was. Indeed.– “He didn’t deserve you going that far and in front of people. In his own way, he was just–. Okay. I’m–There are no words.” His lips pressed together in a thin line before he palmed a sigh and his hand fell back to the crook of the opposite elbow. “You need to talk to him before both of you lose someone else important to each other. We’ve all been through that enough already.”
Santana couldn’t count the papers && coffee cups if she tried. Finals were hitting Blaine hard, && as entertaining it was to see him flustered — she was concerned. He worked so hard, never giving up on the things (or people) he was passionate about. Blaine Anderson was a truly good person. How she got to keep him in her life for so long sometimes baffled her. Kurt could be sarcastic and cruel, Rachel was stuck up && bitchy when she needed to be — then there was Blaine. Maybe a diva at times, but never bad. Not on purpose anyways, which was better than most of them could say. He was something special, && that hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Today wasn’t the first time it happened. Santana had a habit of snuggling up to her friends when sleepy. It was just more comfortable to sleep with a warm body by her side. Or better yet beneath her. She’d nearly passed out after a long session of television && self reflecting. That’s all there was to do when the rest of the household slept. She didn’t even fully wake up before finding her way to Blaine’s side. She felt his body shift after a few moments but that didn’t stop her tired head from resting against him. Her attention was only grasped when he brushed her hair back behind her ear. “Hello to you too, bed head.” She laughed under her sleepy breath as she got a look at his disheveled brown locks. “Oh hell no, Anderson — no fair. Everyone knows that I call the shots around here. I refuse to let you move. I am far too comfortable, so you’re stuck with me.” The latina offered a confident smirk before relaxing in his embrace once more.
Blaine kept one hazel eye squeezed shut while he peeked at her with the other. “Are you judging my hair? Probably a mess, huh? You better forget you ever saw this once we’re actually awake,” he smirked lazily and reached back to shove some of the loose strands that were fighting so hard to curl again now that they were out of their gelled cage off his forehead. No luck. His hairdo was a goner. Santana’s quick comeback was nothing short of what should be expected. Given the fact that he just woke up to her snuggling with him while he was utterly the oblivion of sleep and it was incredibly sweet if you thought about it? There has to be a certain amount of bossy tone mixed with her sleepy voice to balance things out or she wouldn’t be Santana Lopez. “Okay, Okay. You’re not letting me move. I get it. I’m the one that’s stuck.”
Slinging one arm around her waist–Blaine nuzzled the back of his head against the cushion again. He’d let her win this round but anyone who saw them would say with her legs tangled up in his and her in his arms as the edge of his nose was fit against the top of her head keeping her firmly in place–he was the one in the lead as far as who was stuck with who. “Everything okay,” he asked in a mumble into her hair still half asleep and wondering whether or not if he was going to wake up and get back to work or stay here longer. The second option was winning so far. “Just checking. Cause if you need to talk or anything? I’m here and I don’t think I have it in me to pick up another text book for the rest of the night.”
“Okay fine — you want my honesty?” He’d done it now. Pushed Santana to tell him some truth, to not sugar coat it. He was the only person she’d ever sugar coat insults for, now that was out the window so she wouldn’t hold back. “I think you’re too sensitive. I think you’re a big cry baby who wants to be something stronger but isn’t. I think you let other people control you && consume you because you secretly have ZERO confidence. I think you wear so much hair gel, you’re practically a slip && slide. I think you need to slow down for any reason other than gay supreme, KURT HUMMEL, so you can actually learn about yourself. Because if I’m REALLY honest, I’ve known you going on four years, && I still barely know you. Do you want to be organized gay sidekick forever? Really?”
Well this was a huge mistake. No sooner did he open his mouth and tell her to stop holding it back and give him exactly what was going through her head because he was tired of watching her hold it in via glares and huffs towards him or Kurt or both of them? Than he instantly regretted it. Blaine stood through the tongue lashing with a look of shock causing his mouth to drop open. Speechless. He was speechless. When she was finished, he gnashed his teeth together to hide he actually cringed as he felt the words dig in. Deep. Palming over his mouth, Blaine took a step back and broke eye contact wriggling his fingers in the air and managed a half-shrug. “You don’t know hardly anything about me because you never bothered to try. Contrary to popular belief? I’m not Kurt’s sidekick. I’m his fiance’. I know plenty about myself but you wouldn’t know that either. Maybe if you spent less time getting angry at me or anyone else for who knows WHAT reason? We might have a conversation and you could find out just how wrong you are.” Problem was? The sinking feeling he struggled to ignore made her rant too real not to wonder if that’s how everyone saw him. How he saw himself if he wasn’t playing Mister Oblivious to it because it was easier. Safer. All he could do was swing his hand from his hip and keep backing away. “I’m sorry I asked. Never mind. This was a mistake.”
send me ❥ for your muse to cuddle up next to mine while asleep on the couch @devilinarcddress
Finals were starting to feel like an endless hole of stress that Blaine wasn’t sure he was ever going to crawl out of. Books and notes and more notes were strewn across the coffee table. Empty paper coffee cups and several mugs that kept being replaced because he forgot to take his with him into the kitchen were mixed into the mess. Evidence that he was either trying to solve the crime of the century or–at least pass Composition/Music Theory without becoming a nervous wreck. Words on the book he held close to his nose after losing the battle and stretching out on the couch began to blur. The book hit the floor and Blaine Anderson was down for the count.
He barely registered a body snuggling up until he had his legs twisted into Santana’s to pull her close. One arm slid underneath a slender waist while the other wrapped around the top to keep her there. Blaine even hummed quietly against her hair after burying his face into the cool, dark strands that tickled his nose. They stayed like that for who knew how long–Blaine not budging an inch until another tug and wiggle pressed his cheek to the curve of her shoulder. Lashes fluttered, slits of tired hazel peeked up and up went the eyebrows at the unexpectedness of it all. Reaching up–he tucked a lock of hair dangerously close to her eye behind her ear and melted back down letting his eyes close because why not? She was warm and soft and this was beyond comfortable. “Hi,” a scratchy whisper, “You’re way too comfortable..not letting you move. Too late. You’re stuck..” His chest heaved in a content sigh and it was back to half-asleep with most of his weight now pressed against her side. Right where it felt the most comfy.
Santana’s full lips pulled into a wicked grin as he repeated the nickname. His attitude towards her insults was always so amusing. Sure, if he wanted to, Blaine could yell and argue and make her feel like a horrible person for the way she acted && the things she said. Yet for some reason, he didn’t. He never pushed her or called her out unless completely necessary. She could respect that. “Now that is hurtful! You really think I would put cheap garbage into my body? That’s so freshman year. This stuff costed well over twenty. I’m not made of money, but I have standards.”
What do you do when the first swallow tastes like the bottom of a shoe pulled from a volcano? You swallow another gulp with the sheer prayer that the next round burns the tastebuds out of your mouth and you don’t have to worry. That’s what Blaine did as Santana nearly made him shoot liquor out of his nose at her chiding him that he wasn’t drinking swill but second shelf price tagged liquor. Thanks to divine intervention–he was saved that possibly life scarring event. Fingers steepled against his chest and he pretended to be totally schooled as laughter pinched his eyes almost shut. “Twenty bucks a bottle? I’m so sorry I insulted your taste in,” his nose scrunched as his mouth reminded him of the flavor on a whim of it’s own, “alcohol, Santana. Of course, of course. Nothing but the best for–.” Time for a fish out of water breath or two and a cinch together of his teeth. “You now,” he picked right back up where he left off. “Wow. What is this?” His arm extended the bottle towards her so she could catch up to his two gulps.
After a little bit of arguing, some well deserved partying, and plenty of alcohol– new years eve was kicking off to be a great night. As time went by the latina female found herself talking to many people she never cared much for in the past. Mainly her fellow GAYS. You’d be surprised how much sexual tension could linger between a gay warbler and a lesbian cheerleader. Her hips rocked to the beat of the music, not even stopping when people scuttled around preparing for the count down. The one thing that did catch her attention was one Blaine Anderson, dancing his way over to her. Even the wicked bitch of the west couldn’t help but smile. He was cute, she’d give him that. Their bodies moved to a drunken rhythm, one filled with giggles, eye rolls, and even a touch or two. That’s when time started to slow down. Number after number, they were approaching the new year. With nobody else eligible in sight, there was a silent agreement between the two’s stare. He was pretty high up on the standards bar. About high enough for hers actually. One thought rang out, why the hell not ? As the clock struck midnight both moved in, surprisingly Blaine taking the lead. The way their lips moved together, was proof this wasn’t a mistake. One thing she didn’t account for was the over dramatic dip, him holding her by the small of her back, and the back of her neck. No doubt in her mind, she was loving it. As their lips separated for breath, another laugh erupted between them. Whatever that meant, whatever would happen next — she was ready to be a part of it.
The night was going amazing to his surprise. He didn’t think he was going to be able to make it. Weather was awful. Committing to showing up was, also, committing to staying for most of the night if it got worse. By a stroke of luck–and a break in the snowstorm–here he was. Hours went by and –wow– no drama either. No pitiful stares, no questions asked. Just a lot of liquor, music and dancing. Officially well past eleven and Blaine managed to dance with nearly every person in the room. Except one Miss Santana Lopez who looked very content with swaying to the music and alcohol pumping through her veins. Figuring ‘why not’, Blaine separated from Tina and started boogeying over . One arm snaked around her waist, their bodies moved perfectly–alcohol and all! Her laughter was contagious enough to spurn his on and make it last so long that he, also, didn’t stop as people began to scramble around to find their would-be kisses. Neither of them had anyone coming. They both knew but tonight his heart didn’t sink. He was wrapped up in watching her grin without a care and wishing he could be like her. Bulletproof. Untouchable. THREE, TWO, ONE! –Just once.– His heart leapt to his throat but his mouth was on hers. Lured there by the scent of rum and candy and the want to taste what living like her would feel like. A whim that he listened to without debating it into nothing. Their lips fit together and the world disappeared between them. Time stopped. Until it rushed to catch up as his fingers threaded through her hair on a path to her neck. His grip on her waist steadied and he figured he’d tilt her world about half as much as she did his if he dipped her. They came up for air laughing. Hazel eyes stared down, sparkling through lashes that nearly touched his cheekbones. Blaine’s laughter sputtered a breathless chuckle and a lick of his lips as he glanced at hers. Fingers stroked her side when they spread out to support her. Should. A Catch 22 word. Should pertained to a lot. Should he kiss her again? The tingling on his lips should have faded. He should stand up. He should let her get her footing. This should be an easy choice. Of all the things he should do? Rubbing his nose against the tip of hers wasn’t one that crossed his mind but he did it. A huffed laugh wasn’t one either and, oh, he wished he knew where to go from here. He should..but he didn’t.
“Doesn’t matter.” In all honesty she had no clue what could make her either happy or angry with him. Blaine was always just, there. He was a pretty face with talent. Not nice enough to piss her off, but not mean enough to match her WIT. Thanks to his exterior and personality being so present, Santana actually felt almost better. Having him around wasn’t irritating, it was quite the opposite. So she did him the honor of gracing him with her company, and drinking time. “Thank you, grease ball.” && with that, she began downing the drink.
“Grease ball,” Blaine frowned like she wounded him deeply with the name calling. Even gave one of those little hurt humphs that jarred him i his seat and a low browed, forehead crinkling pout. “I’ll have you know,” up those eyebrows went so he could make his point very clear, “that name calling is hurtful, Santana. I would expect better than that from my future drinking partner.” His light tone and overdone facial expressions said he was clearly messing right back with her and having a round not only at her expense but his own, too. “I’m going to be hating life in the morning. I can already tell by the smell of this. How much as it? Four dollars a bottle?” Bottoms up anyway! Just breathe through the nose and try not to choke!
There would be no hiding. A thunderstorm was normally just a fear. Something to get nervous about then sleep through instead. Of course the first storm since moving in with Blaine Anderson had to be different. This was one for the ages. The windows seemed to SCREAM with each movement. The winds that blew past the house felt like they were seeping in through invisible walls. In the head of Santana Lopez, the storm was EVERYWHERE.
Nine times out of ten the Latina female would easily DRINK herself to sleep, and forget the weather till the sun returned to the sky. Now more than ever she prayed for a sleepiness to take over. Who knew how long she’d been sitting there, a small curled up mass of goosebumps and jitters. If she saw another going through such a thing, she may call out words like, pathetic, or stupid. The thunder and lightning wont do a thing. Sadly a phobia is a phobia. There’s just no changing it. Even when you have the pride of the king of the jungle.
Probably the only thing to shock her more than the rattling sound coming from each outing of the home, was the feeling of another’s presence coming up behind her. A part of her would of KILLED to get that bottle back, but the warm comfort radiating from the male himself, felt somehow— BETTER. Her delicate, and still shaking arms lifted slowly, leading her fingers to grip Blaine’s shirt. “No…” She attempted to deny. As luck would have it another boom of thunder crashed her thoughts, making her nearly jump off of the other. Thanks to their position though, she didn’t go anywhere. “Fine— just, shut up.” The female shook her head. This was so damn sad, pathetic, STUPID. How could she feel so much fear and intimidation from light and sound. Two things that science wouldn’t do without. Maybe she was disappointing in how weak she felt in the moment. Or maybe it was the strange happiness she let herself feel coming from being in her friends lap. Knowing somebody cared, of course that should feel nice, but her PRIDE would never let her enjoy it.
“Shh, Santana,” he felt her jump so hard that it made him jerk underneath but his arms around her shoulders refused to let go. Seeing her petrified made his heart want to reach out to her. Erase the source of it and make sure it never touched her again. Problem with strong people? They weren’t unsusceptible to weaknesses. The worst part of being unbreakable was that the things that could break you? Had to you harder than they hit anyone else. They struck with deathblows against a person’s willpower to not let it show. Until they couldn’t hold back or stop it. No amount of fake anger would cover it up. No amount of lying to yourself that it didn’t hurt or rattle you worked. You only crashed and burned.
Imagining Santana Lopez afraid of her thoughts, of parts of herself, was one thing. Her being afraid of any amount of thunder and lightning, wind and rain wasn’t something he could picture until tonight. Not that he thought it was STUPID or childish like she did. Who was he to judge what people were afraid of? Everyone has their weaknesses. Even him. Random as some of them are. They weren’t something to judge a person about. Or hold over their head. She wouldn’t find any of that from him. He barely even mentioned anything about their situation unless she was the one to comment on it.
Blaine only hung onto her tighter. Through his jump, through her battle with being seen as weak –never weak, he’d never see her as weak–. “Shut up? Can do,” he clamped his mouth shut to prove he was listening. Deeply sighing, he rubbed her shoulders and leaned back. Far enough that she wouldn’t lose her grip on his shirt if she needed something to hang onto but allowed him room enough to push a lock of her hair behind her ear. Not making a peep, Blaine nodded in patient understanding. His face and gentle stroke through her hair said everything he didn’t. –I’m here. I understand. This is just between you and me. No one needs to know you were afraid. I wouldn’t tell a soul.– Squeezing her back in close again, Blaine hooked his chin over the bend of her neck but kept his gaze at an upward angle watching her without making it obvious. She’d be okay. The storm would pass. Til the last clap of thunder? She had him.
Santana STARED as he went by. Of course he wanted a glass, or escape. She watched tentatively. Yet nothing went forward. How irritating for him to keep her WAITING. Those dark hues watched until he came back around. He had his glass, and the bottle, what more did he want? “Grab your glass, Netflix & Chill, then come sit down and drink with me. BRING the bottle with.” Her last sentence rang out as she twirled her empty cup in front of his gaze.
Five seconds to find his bearings after they were thrown off a la Santana Lopez playing dirty. Blaine stared at the soda bottle sitting in the fridge mocking him because where it got to sit in there cool as a cucumber? He was anything but. How’d it get so hot in here? This He was ridiculous. Bottles hooked under his arm, shot glass in one hand and remote in the other, Blaine appeared back in the room. Totally put back together after realizing his ridiculousness hit rock bottom when he was jealous over a soda bottle’s luck. “I’m chill. You chill. Miss Devil Stare of Death. What’d I do?” Setting everything down and freeing his hands up he bounced down beside her and bent forward. Hers and his shot glasses were filled to the brim with a not so steady hand. “One for you, one for me.. Bottom’s up.” Here they go!
“Calm your sellf soft cheese cream. It’s FINE.” Her eyebrows lifted along with her confidence. “No need to thank the Berry queen. Just ignore her for the spicier, FUN version.” Santana smirked at the male as she dragged him upwards, handing over a full bottle of tequila. “Have fun, Anderson. Or else.” The last words were hardly audible as she twisted around, grinding her hips against Blaine’s once, slowly, so slowly, before sitting down. “Netflix is up. Pick something, bowtwerp.”
“Soft cheese cream,” he mumbled under his breath, “What is that even?” Santana’s smirk got one back from him and oopsie daisy! up he went. Bottle of tequila firmly in hand the challenge was initiated. Blaine could already feel his insides hating him for what he was about to do– Dead halt to his en route to the kitchen for another shot glass brought on by Santana’s hips meeting his. If it weren’t for his vice grip on the bottle it would have dropped to the floor. No that wasn’t a subtle discoloring on the tips of his fingers going shades lighter. Yes it was. “Oh. Ooh. Netflix,” he palmed the, did you just, gape of his mouth away and went three different directions in first steps until he grabbed the remote and carried it to the kitchen. What the hell was he doing? Starting a movie or getting a glass? He forgot. Glass! Glass first!
pianokeysandbowties 