I'd Excuse Murder | Santana Lopez

20

A/N: Who's here? 

Longer chapters are coming. I'm trying to feed you some content around my busy schedules and deadlines. More to come!

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Valerie putting off sleeping with her boyfriend had been a sign of hope for Santana for the last few weeks. She hadn't realized it till now, but that hope was ill and so unpleasant.

She knew. Santana was no idiot. She knew Valerie too well.

The glow about her when she walked into the room the next Monday after the wedding and a long weekend of processing how McKinley practically exiled the only gay kid to another school. That damn redhead walked in with Sam's arm around her and a twinkle in her eyes that Santana used to see when they'd have their Friday nights.

She'd seen the gossip in the group chats. Sam and Valerie slept together, making their dance of a relationship official. 

Santana hated everything. Hated her for making her feel this way, but hated Sam so much more for ruining what they had. It could have stayed their secret. It could have been their game until it mutually led to their destruction. Now she was stuck here watching Valerie blush, as Sam whispered in her ear, rubbing her upper thigh suggestively.

Mark her words, Sam Evans wouldn't get his dick wet on school property. If she had her way, he wouldn't at all. Valerie didn't need a second child while she was still in high school or with Sam Evans.

Santana averted her gaze. She could feel the tingling across her cheek at the thought of taking this crush as more than what it was—A sick lesbian crushing fest. She liked sex with Valerie. It just turned into this by accident. She didn't need to make it more than it was by picturing children with her. That would involve picturing a life with her, a family with her.

It would involve picturing waking up beside those pretty hazel eyes. Telling Valerie how beautiful she looked with her messy hair and flushed cheeks, because Santana knew she's gotten hot flashes since her pregnancy and that added to her worries of not looking her best. One of them would make breakfast, most likely Valerie because Santana would absolutely volunteer to help Jax brush his teeth and do his hair, so all those little girls and boys at school knew he was a Chang-Fabray handcrafted heartbreaker.

Santana would go to work—she's gonna be famous, duh—and drop Jax off at school while Valerie enjoyed not having to leave the house. Or maybe she did, and Santana would support her dreams of being a sketch artist for a police department, or perhaps she was famous too and Santana could show off the sexy piece of ass she got to call her wife.

Her breath hitched.

Wife.

That was taking these daydreams way too far. Is this what lesbianism does to a person? Santana hasn't even accepted she's in love with Valerie yet and she's already trying to decide between a twenty foot and a thirty foot Uhual to park in her driveway. She hasn't even considered how to tell her parents, her Abuela, her...Quinn.

Oh, that conversation wasn't going to be fun. Quinn Fabray was going to have her by the throat. Sure; it would be hot since Santana could picture Valerie instead, but she was going to get her ass handed to her if Quinn knew she thought of Valerie in that way.

That lesbian might combust into a billion little gay confetti pieces if she knew Santana masturbated to thoughts of Valerie last night.

Her smile, her touch, her moans, the twinkle in her eye when she came, those adorable whimpers, the breathy pleads for Santana to keep going until Valerie could hardly stay in place.