authors note: I thought of this just today and couldn't let it get away, so here it is in written form. Let me know what you think :)
I've never been to the BMV or DMV so I don't know how they work, I just made the process up and if it's how it goes then yay!
disclaimer: I do not own Glee or it's characters.
You're spontaneous. Most of the people you've dated couldn't keep up with your lifestyle – that's the main reason they left you. Not one of them ever left a note or text. Their only warning was an annoyed sigh the night before they sneaked out.
You wonder why you always fell for cowards. Girls would be a little more obvious – teasing at the fact that even though you're of the same sex; you share nothing in common. It was the boys that you couldn't decipher. They would treat you to expensive dinners; buy you accessories to match the new dress you bought and shower you in soft kisses you thought only devoted people give their partners. Turns out they were only devoted to making you happy for a short amount of time. You got so used to receiving the love that you barely gave it.
You understand why you're so unattainable and as a result you barely go out anymore. Picking up boys or girls at clubs has now changed into just getting drunk and ignoring any signs of flirtation.
It's not that you have given up on love all together necessarily. You have just temporarily given up on yourself… and humanity. That's probably the reason you find yourself waiting in line at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles. Everyone drives nowadays and you think that's the reason people got sick of you. But you aren't doing this for them; you're doing it for you. You haven't felt good about yourself in a long time and you still barely do.
While in line you think about what you're going to do after your test, what questions will be on your test and how you will score. You've never driven a car in your life except for that one time Quinn let you drive her Audi out of the drive way in junior year. You may have knocked over a bin or two, but overall you feel you did pretty well. You're not sure why you never went for your license at an early age but you feel it's because you hadn't found yourself yet. Coming out to your friends and family basically froze your life and you buried yourself in school work.
Tonight feels like the night though.
You think you're ready to finally take up adult responsibilities that your friends already managed too ten years ago.
"Next," a burly man calls to your left. You approach him with a sideways smile. He looks like he hates his job. He slides a clipboard across the desk towards you and you grip the pen attached to it.
You replace the 'o' in Lopez with a love heart because it's become instinctual since 3rd grade. When you hand the clipboard back to the man, he stares between you and the piece of paper with one eyebrow raised. Your lips purse into a straight line and you awkwardly step back.
"You'll be in room four when your name is called," he says in a gruff voice. You bite your lip and turn around, scanning the waiting area for an empty seat. Your eyes fall on a chair facing the window outside. There's a blonde headed woman by the unoccupied seat and you wonder if she's one of those women who grumble when a stranger sits next to them.
Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up and soon enough you're standing in front of the seat. You notice the woman lift her head from her magazine and she stares blankly at you. You're unsure if she's had a botox near her eyes or if they're just cat like naturally. Your teeth clench shut in case that comment spills from your lips. There's movement behind you and one woman stands up from her chair to walk into a room. You look to the seat then back to the one next to the blonde woman.
Your brain is racing at 80 miles an hour. It's just a chair Santana.
You awkwardly clear your throat and make your way towards the seat opposite the woman, not beside her. You find your shirt really interesting and start picking the small bits of fluff off it. It's not until you hear the smallest laugh that you realise the blonde woman had been staring at you the entire time. You slowly and subtly tilt your head up to stare at her, noticing the way her lips curve up into a smirk and the way her eyes pierce through the heading of the magazine she's yet to open.
You think you distracted her by taking an odd amount of time to choose a seat.
You're starting to wonder strange, sexual things – like if she stared at your ass when you chose the seat against the window or if she wanted you to sit down so she could whisper dirty things in your ear.
You aren't interested in her like that, but you think you could be. The way she stared at you so curiously with those crystal orbs makes you think you wouldn't mind staring at those everyone morning for the rest of your life. Are you interested now?
Once again, you take the easy way out and ignore her. You work on flattening the kinks out of your skirt until it becomes impossible without an iron. It would be pretty daft bringing an ironing board and iron to a BMV though. Ah, you're a strange girl Santana, you think to yourself.
The person beside you shifts a little and you think for a moment he's trying to subtly itch his ass. But then he stands and walks into the same room the woman who sat in your seat entered.
Your eyes travel back to the now empty seat beside you and your eyes narrow when you notice the patch of sweat or something else disgusting. Your nose twitches slightly as you attempt to smell if the damp patch is actually sweat or urine. When you get a whiff of it your face scrunches and you turn away quickly, trying to breathe in some clean air.
You hear that small laugh again. You lift your head and this time you actually want to maintain eye contact because those eyes are simply captivating.
"Hi," she whispers.
You wonder why everyone whispers in here. You think it's because there are tests going on but then you think they're behind solid walls and sound wouldn't be able to resonate through them.
Instead of answering with words, you just nod your head and keep staring into her eyes. You aren't staring too hard at her, just enough so that she knows you're interested; you just don't know where to start.
"What area are you from?"
The first thought that enters your mind is that she's being racist by asking that. But you never know; she could have asked that to a Caucasian person as well.
"Lima Height Adjacent." Your voice is barely audible but she hears you and sends you an intrigued smile.
"I'm from Lima Heights, so we're like neighbours." You find it endearing that she didn't wait for you to ask her the same question. It proves that she senses your interest. "What are you doing here?"
"Are you a counsellor? Are you counselling me?" You ask without thinking.
Her eyes narrow slightly and you can tell she's contemplating the strange question. You're spontaneous.
"What makes you think I'm a counsellor?" She asks quietly.
You weakly bite your bottom lip, a drop of sweat sliding down your left cheek. It's hot inside. This place doesn't have good air conditioning.
"You ask your questions like you're trying to get inside my head," you reply monotonously. Your tone doesn't faze her. She sinks in her chair a little and places the unopened magazine on the empty chair beside her. Her right leg crosses over the other and her eyes squint slightly. She looks even more like a counsellor now.
"Maybe I am," is her answer in a gentle, non-threatening voice.
Your expression freezes for a millisecond. You hold her gaze. Her eyes flicker to the seat beside you and before she's even up off her chair you know what she's thinking. The scent of her overwhelms you and thankfully overpowers that distasteful, unsanitary former smell.
"You're stranger," she replies automatically.
"I'm a stranger?"
"No," she shakes her head, laughing softly, "you are stranger."
"How so?" You watch her eyes fall across your chest, then travel down the length of your body before meeting your eyes again. "You are the one that didn't introduce yourself. You asked me where I'm from then continued to bombard me with personal questions."
"I didn't bombard you." She replies casually, unaffected by your slight change in volume.
"You bombarded me, you attacked me," you say confidently, turning to face the people in line. They're using magazines to wave in front of their face to cool down.
"Now I attacked you?" The blonde woman gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. "I did no such thing."
"Well," you lick your lips nervously, "you start talking to me then find the need to sit next to me when I didn't invite you too."
The woman looks offended and you wish you kept your mouth shut. It's always been a struggle to lie to people. Normally it's the opposite for everyone. People lie with ease and refuse to be honest, claiming it could ruin a friendship or relationship. You find honesty to be a privilege – probably because you became sick of everyone you dated simply sauntering out without giving you an honest answer, or any answer at all.
You know from experience that being honest with people, strangers mainly, can result in either negative or positive outcomes. Everyone wants to mean something while wanting something meaningless.
You think you suit the honest bitch. You wouldn't change yourself, although you aren't sure who you are yet. You haven't met anyone like this woman. She asks you questions, she has got you thinking – wondering – about yourself and the things you've done.
You're interested; you're just unable to show it without looking like an anxious toddler.
"I haven't check my mail this month, maybe my invitation got lost," she says. You watch her from the corner of your eye. She tilts her head to look you in the eye. She wants to make you laugh.
You feel your lips curve, but quickly inhale a deep breath and sigh.
You've never really been good at showing emotion or feelings. Half your partners guessed you were suffering from a mental illness because you would say 'I like you' so distantly. You don't think you ever learnt how to express emotion because you never received it from your parents.
"That isn't my problem," you mumble.
"Are you okay?" The question catches you off guard. "Did you have a recent break up? Is that why you're struggling to communicate now?" The anxiety sets in and you contemplate walking to the restroom, locking yourself into a stall and crying. But you can't get enough of this girl. She's actually making you feel.
She's similar to you. She's blunt, possesses just the right amount of ego and knows how to connect in a certain way. You aren't sure of that 'certain way' yet, but you find it engaging.
"You're not going to stop with the strange questions are you?"
"Strange people ask strange questions," she states proudly, "I'm guessing this conversation wouldn't be as fun if we both weren't strange."
"This isn't fun," you answer bluntly and she laughs, louder this time. "You think you're making me happy right now but you aren't." You can't help but smile a little as you say that. The blonde woman is smirking at you and it makes it hard not to show a little expression.
"You are a terrible actress," she answers with a smile.
You breathe out a laugh and look down. "Well I'm glad I gave that up after high school then."
Her smile fades slightly. She inches closer to you on her chair, but you know you're safe because the arm rests keep a barrier between your bodies. Of course she could just reach over and stroke you or caress you or lick you. You shake your head and look up at the woman again.
She's staring at you with her head tilted to the side and her lips half inside her mouth. "That brings me back to my second question – what are you doing here?"
"How old are you?" You ask suddenly, changing the subject.
She doesn't flinch. "How old do you think I am?"
You pinch your lips together in thought. "Nineteen."
She makes a disappointed, breathy noise and shakes her head. "Twenty. How old are you?"
"I'm twenty eight." You notice her eyebrows rise up in surprise. You wonder why that's always the reaction with people when you tell them your age. You're aware you have the body of a sixteen year old but you're also aware of the visible lines on your forehead that were never there before.
"What are you doing here?" She goes back to the original topic.
You finally answer her. "I'm getting my license, it's about time anyway."
"No," she shakes her, "what are you doing here?" You frown at her immediately, unsure of what exactly is behind the slight change in tone when she said 'here'. Are you not supposed to be here? Is she a psychic that has witnessed your future and is about to tell you where you're destined to be?
"I'm…sitting." She shakes her head. "I'm talking to you."
"Is that why you're here? Did you want to catch my attention before I even saw you?" She asks with a sense of hope in her voice. You wonder what exactly she's hoping for. Does she like the attention you're giving her even if it's only a little bit?
"You just caught my eye for longer than a second," you shrug, "and I wanted to know how you would react if I sat next to you."
"But you didn't sit next to me," she says.
"Because you didn't react how I wanted you too. You made me nervous, not welcomed."
She nods slowly, turning away from you for the first time. Is she thinking about you? You're unable to receive your answer from her as a voice calls your name.
Your head whips up and you notice a woman waving you over into a room. Not the one those people beside you entered before. You don't say goodbye to the blonde woman and you don't ask her name before you walk away.
The room your test is held in is even hotter than the waiting room. The questions confuse you. You remember how you passed every test in high school by choosing each letter at least three times. But there are no letters in this test – it's online and you find yourself re-reading the first question eight times.
You're afraid if you go back out there after you finish your test the blonde woman will sense that you didn't do well and laugh. Fuck it, you think. You click random answers and the screen, subtly, for good luck. You then raise your hand, waiting for the supervisor to approach you.
Once she does, you exit the room and find that the blonde woman is gone. Your eyes scan the entire BMV, but she's nowhere. Maybe she's in a room. Maybe you can knock and tell the person in charge of that room that you never finished your conversation with the blonde.
"No," you mutter, shaking your head. You walk out of the building, determined to go home and open a bottle of wine. It helps that you live within walking distance of most bars and bottle shops so you don't have to worry about getting pulled over. You can hide your intoxication well and walk in a straight line if told to.
Your head twists to the side and you're about to turn forward again until you notice the blonde woman sitting on the hood of a green bug car. She grins at you. You're unable to see her eyes behind the dark glasses she's wearing but you're sure they're glistening.
"Need a ride?"
You take five steps forward and stare at her car for a while. As your eyes move to the hood, you're able appreciate her legs. They're creamy, long and asking to be stroked for days.
She has a smile on her face when you look up at her again. You find yourself smirking back, before walking to the passenger side of the car and settling in. You still sweat even though the air conditioner is blasting.
When she pulls up to your house, she doesn't leave the engine running. You turn to her and worry your bottom lip between your teeth.
"Come inside," you state. It sounds like a demand. By her smirk, you think she likes being ordered around. Not the kind of orders you receive from parents, but the kind of orders a sexy stranger gives you.
You walk a foot in front of her and pull a single key out of your pocket when you reach the door. You hate key chains. You think if you had a car then you would invest in buying lots of fancy key rings. You suddenly wonder if you should have stayed in the room to get your results instead of just walking out. It's too late now. They know your name anyway, they can look you up.
Once inside your house, you place the key on shelf near the door and walk through to the living room. This isn't the first time a woman whose name you don't know yet has been in your house.
But this is the first time you're desperate to find out.
You aren't sure what to make of the tension in the room. You predict it's sexual, because you're both clearly interested and the woman is just staring at you, unmoving as her predatory gaze locks onto you.
You try to look away but it's as if she has a magnet behind her eyes. Your lips twitch, but you don't make a sound.
She steps forward, finally. The tension however increases when she stops only an inch from you, her breasts lightly grazing against yours. "Do you want me to stay?"
Your eyes wander across her face, landing on her lips. You lick your own subconsciously. You think this could go somewhere even after you have sex with her, but you're scared. You're scared of feeling after so long. You're scared of what exactly she will make you feel. You always thought with your vagina when it came to men and women, but right now you're finally thinking with your heart.
You lean into her, noses brushing against each other's, and breathe against her lips. "Yes." You can't even swallow because your mouth is so dry. So when the blonde woman presses her lips to yours, it's awkward at first, your lips are unresponsive to her movements because you just really wanted to swallow.
She leans back and breathes out a laugh, grinning at you like she just found her favourite thing in the world. Her nose nudges your upper lip and your lips twitch into a smile. It fades quickly though when you realise how intimate this is and how she's making your heart soar. This can't happen. You just settled into loneliness and now this woman is ruining it. Her lips are so inviting.
You step back, reluctantly dismissing her advances. You told her she could stay, not that she could kiss you. She doesn't get the hint or maybe she does and she's ignoring it. You feel like she's the type of woman that does what she wants. She steps into your space again and you dodge her. She chuckles and places a hand on your waist.
You swat the hand away but she grips you tighter, pulling you into her. You close your eyes. "Stop it."
She giggles right against your mouth. "You didn't invite me in so we could just stare at each other," she whispers.
You clench your eyes shut, hiding your lips into your mouth and shake your head weakly. You know you want this, why aren't you giving in?
You give in too easily, that's why.
Wet lips applied to your cheek cause your eyes to shoot open. She grazes her lips against your jawline and you close your eyes, wrap your arms around her neck and pull her in. Your nose is crushed against her shoulder and your eyes shut tightly again. You feel her lips against your neck and you actually start to relax. You don't know what you're doing or why you're doing it.
You don't really know your life any more, you just settled.
She places light kisses along the curve of your neck and you slightly tilt your head to give her better access. You want this now. You're holding her and now you know you don't want her to stop.
You finally pull back after you feel the tip of her tongue flick against your collarbone. Your thumbs caress her jawline as you lean in and firmly connect your lips. She makes a noise and kisses you harder. Her other hand falls to the other side of your waist and squeezes. She's suffocating you, but you're enjoying every minute of it.
Her head falls to the side and you follow her lips. She opens her mouth slight wider to capture your bottom lip and you hear her make that noise again as she sucks it into her mouth.
You gasp when you pull back from the kiss, but she leans forward, taking the opportunity to slide her tongue between your lips. You frown and push her chest, causing her to stumble backwards. She's panting. Her eyes are lidded and penetrating yours. You wish you were close again; you liked seeing the blue in her eyes mix with the golden flakes surrounding her pupil. You realise you're breathing just as hard as her when you almost choke. You turn around and walk towards your bedroom, a million thoughts running around in your head. You don't know what you're doing.
Just as you make it near your bed you hear the door slam behind you and you find yourself being turned around. The blonde woman grips your arm and pulls you towards her, slamming your bodies together. Your lips smash together; forceful yet without haste. The roughness of this kiss spurs you on and you grip her shoulders, pushing her backwards until her back hits the door with a thud.
You don't feel numb any more. It's as though her touch and kiss are bringing you back to life.
She runs her fingers down your back and halts them just above your ass. You want her to touch it, you want her to touch you everywhere and anywhere she likes. When she slides her tongue into your mouth this time you don't resist. You invite it in with your own tongue, caressing the roof of her mouth and tickling her lips.
She groans, tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth. You wince and pull back to walk away. She doesn't stop you. You walk to one side of your bed, your back facing her.
You hear footsteps and when you look right, she's standing on the opposite side of the bed. You turn so you're facing her. Your fingers tug your shirt up and over your head. You're spontaneous. You pull your skirt down and watch her eyes devour your body.
She begins removing her clothes too and once you're both naked you wait a moment, your eyes lingering on the triangle of neatly trimmed blonde hair, before crawling onto the bed. She palms your lower back and lays you down on the bed. That's new. So was the staring while getting undressed. You never cared to really leer at the girl's or guy's body you were fucking. This doesn't feel like a fuck though; right now this feels real.
But you never know how you'll feel tomorrow.
For the first time you don't have the goal to solely get yourself off. You want to make this woman feel the best pleasure you have to offer.
As she hovers a few inches above you, she dares you with her eyes to make the first move. You're not sure if she wants you to kiss her. You buck your hips and rub against her thigh instead. She gasps softly and bites her bottom lip. You lean up and kiss her chin – too intimate. You bite the skin on her jaw. Better.
She makes that noise again. It's a whimper and you crave hearing it every second.
You wrap your arms around her waist. She palms the back of your neck. You kiss her softly, distracting her. You roll her on her back and her arms lock around your neck. You've never held anyone like this. She feels really good.
Your bare skin pressed against her bare skin like this feels like a drug trip. You've only been high once, but you remember it clearly. Instead of the slight tingle, your skin burns. Instead of your heart beating, it hammers. Instead of having sex with her, you make love to her.
She reminds you of an unpicked flower, blooming under the sunlight. She tightens and loosens, her petals quivering as the pads of your fingers caress their edges. Her toes curl. Her back arches like the stem of a daisy attacked by a small gust of wind.
She tastes like a pure, rare substance, unheard of in the world. She tastes like a secret – precious but dangerous.
Your lips widen to suck on her breast. Your tongue flicks rapidly against her nipple and then slides across her chest to satiate the other pink bud. Her fingers slide through your hair and pull hard, causing your lips to pop back.
She whimpers loudly when your tongue and fingers work together inside her. Her breathing becomes ragged. Her ankles lock around your back as your head bobs up and down between her legs.
Your fingers tease the ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves. She cries out in satisfaction. You pump a finger inside her again. You suck on her clit, closing your eyes to really focus and absorb her taste. Her secret drips down your lips and you lick it up, swallowing it to keep forever.
Her body deflates like a balloon that hasn't been tied yet. She stares down at you, shakes her head and laughs.
You both move to the bathroom and you run the water in the bath. She grabs the bubble bath, giggling as she pours it in the warm water. You swallow hard.
This is intimate, this is not you. Is it?
Your thoughts are interrupted when she wraps her arms around you from behind and gently kisses your shoulder. You think you're going to faint in her arms. She walks you forward and guides you into the tub. She sits down on the opposite end, her legs tangling with yours.
She grins at you with her lips, you grin back with your eyes. She moves forward to crawl on her knees towards you, causing a wave of water to fly up to your neck. "What's your name?" She asks when she's a hairs breath away.
You wonder why now?
"Who cares?" You breathe back before kissing her again. She doesn't fight you for an answer; not even when you stop kissing. She moistens her lips and slides her tongue along your collarbone. Her lips will definitely leave a mark.
She sucks on your skin. She bites on the thin skin on the curve of your neck. She even kisses the skin above your armpit.
She straddles you and you gently grab her thighs. You flinch when you feel her hand palm your sex. You know how wet you are but you're unsure if she knows seeing as you're in water.
The tips of her fingers rub fast against your clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure. She slides her fingers down until they're hovering over your entrance. She looks up at you, desperate to catch your gaze – too intimate.
Her fingers learn your secret within ten minutes. She pumps them so hard that you don't know whether your legs are still connected to your body. You feel her float backwards and you wonder what she's thinking. You watch her slowly sink underwater and just before her head fully disappears, she winks.
Your breath hitches and you grab the sides of the tub when you feel her tongue press against her clit.
You wonder how long she can hold her breath.
One minute, twenty six seconds.
She gasps when she resurfaces. You pull her towards you and suck her tongue into your mouth. You whimper into the kiss and don't even care that you're both moving so violently in the tub that water is spilling over the edge onto the tiles.
You're glad you invited her inside.
Tomorrow you feel different. You knew it. You can't feel, even though you felt more last night than you have in your entire life.
You shared secrets with her.
The sheet on your bed is half covering her body and you stare at her for a while, adoring the curve of her back. You're not a morning person, especially when there's another person in your bed. No matter how beautiful she is, you need her to get out.
You slide out of bed and wrap a dressing gown around your body. You walk into the living room and pick up a pen and notepad from the table. You kneel down and start writing.
You're halfway to work and don't know if she's found the note yet. You don't even know her name so you had to just start the letter with 'hi'.
You don't expect a note when you get home, resting exactly where you left yours. You sit on the sofa and read over what it says.
I really thought I meant more than one night. You could have been a little nicer in your letter instead of just telling me to get dressed and leave. You're weird, but I forgive weird.
p.s I stole your box of crackers.
You find yourself smiling. You don't know how you could be so mean to this woman. Then you remember you don't feel, especially alone in your house like this.
One week passes. You go about your normal routine. You haven't had sex in a week, you don't want too. You desperately want to meet people, but you only find that you can do that in clubs or bars and those people always want one thing.
You think you'll feel tainted in a way if you give yourself to someone else like you gave to her.
You have the day off. You jog to a café in Lima Heights, enjoying the breeze caressing your skin. You enjoyed her fingers more.
You shake your head and wipe the sweat off your upper lip while entering the café. The bell on top of the door rings, capturing the woman behind the counters attention. She grins at you and you send her a half smile.
You haven't smiled fully at someone in years.
She knows what you order; you've been coming here recently.
When you turn your head to find an empty booth, your heart ceases to beat. You stare at the back of the blonde woman's head and feel something click in your brain. You want intimate – with her.
This is no coincidence. You're a firm believer in fate.
You weave through the tables and stand by her booth, waiting for her head to lift her head from the newspaper in front of her. Her gaze flickers forward and slowly her head lifts, a smile forming on her face when she sees you.
Your breathing has picked up; you aren't sure if this is what you want to do. You know it's something you need to do though, in order to let people into your life again – especially people like her.
"When I was 19 I decided to visit a psychiatrist without anyone knowing. I'm spontaneous. She diagnosed me with anxiety and depression. I take 150 milligrams of Doxipen a day, no more, no less. That's an anti-depressant, because I'm depressed and I don't even know why. I get anxious over little things even when they don't involve me. I have moments where my body shuts down – more often than not. I don't like meeting families and if we were to date and I would meet yours I don't think I would speak or even make it passed the front door. I think people go through things like this to see what they're really made of. I haven't been seriously injured on the surface but inside I'm like a ticking time bomb. I have money, but I spend it on medication and food and if I get my license I'm going to have pay for a car and petrol and fixing it when it breaks down. I'm a lot like a car, I can work for a long time and then I'll break down when you least expect it. Nobody can handle me. I don't know how to handle me," you stretch your hand out. "I'm Santana by the way."
The woman frowns and slides out of the booth, studying you closely. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. You're thankful there are only a few people in this café and they're all at the other end.
When the blonde woman is standing close to you, you feel her fingers tangle with yours. She smiles.
"Who cares? You're perfect to me." She leans in and gently presses her lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut just as she pulls back and you follow her with a grin on your lips. "I'm Brittany by the way."
"It's very nice to finally meet you Brittany," you whisper back.
edit: I mixed up the point of view so here it is hopefully all correct.
also I'm going to be writing two more chapters for this, not for a while though, hope to hear from you.