TITLE Keep The Change, Ya Filthy Animal
CHARACTERS: Santana Lopez/Rachel Berry.
DISCLAIMER: I don't owns the Glee.
SUMMARY: The best thing about the holidays – other than the fact that Rachel bakes like a mad woman and lets Santana lick the bowl – is that Home Alone comes on like every other day.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For dratij who read my tags and asked for fic. Title is like relevant and not. Whateva. Whateva. I do what I want.
The best thing about the holidays – other than the fact that Rachel bakes like a mad woman and lets Santana lick the bowl – is that Home Alone comes on like every other day. She’s not complaining at all even though she already has it on DVD (and VHS for nostalgia or whatever). It’s one of her favorite movies. Ever.
She’s lying on the couch in a pair of black leggings and a red long sleeve shirt with like candy canes on it (she obviously didn’t buy it) watching Home Alone when Rachel comes in from rehearsal. She hears her toe off her shoes and drop her keys into the bowl by the door then her footsteps go padding down the hall toward their bedroom.
When Rachel finally appears, she’s in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. She doesn’t wait for Santana to sit up, just lies down right on top of her and presses a quick kiss to her lips.
“Hi, baby,” Santana says, hands coming up to wrap around her girlfriend. She runs them up the back of her thighs and gives her ass a little squeeze. Rachel giggles and shifts her body until Santana’s settling her hands on the small of her back beneath the sweatshirt.
“Hey,” she says, kissing her again. Then she turns her head to rest it on Santana’s chest and goes quiet, which is fine with Santana because she really loves this part. She’s mid-laugh when Rachel says, “I don’t like the movie, Santana.”
She just raises an eyebrow and looks down at Rachel who’s still looking at the TV with her brows pinched tight and that little furrow of frustration on her forehead.
Yeah, she’s totally not about to get into this.
She keeps her mouth closed, moves her fingers back and forth over the skin under her fingers. It’s a little chilly in their apartment but Rachel’s warm.
“You’re not going to ask why?”
“No.” She laughs. “I don’t really care.”
Rachel lifts her head then, scowling, and like, honestly, of all the things to pick up from her it has to be that. Santana just stares back, quirks her eyebrows as if to say ‘What do you want from me?’ Rachel huffs and rolls her eyes, then drops her head back down and shifts so Santana’s not touching her skin anymore, which is dumb since she’s still lying on top of her. Whatever. She can deal with the silent treatment if it means she can get back to laughing.
“It’s just that…“ Rachel says, twenty minutes later while Santana’s quoting Kevin and saying, “Keep the change, ya filthy animal,” with laughter in her voice.
“Really, Rach?” She asks because she thought this was done. Rachel ignores her, moves so she’s got one hand under her chin and Santana directly in her line of sight.
“It’s just that,” she repeats herself, “this movie is so sad.”
“Are we watching the same thing?”
“He’s all alone. On Christmas and they forgot him.”
“That’s kind of the point of the movie, babe. And you don’t even celebrate Christmas. Why is this hurting your feelings?”
“It’s about the human condition.”
“No. It’s about Kevin McCallister being a bad ass motherfu—“
“What? How is having a fu—freaking – sorry, god – blast with the house to yourself a bad thing?”
“There are robbers!” She can’t even fight her eye roll. Why? Just why.
“They don’t kill him. There’s a happy ending. Calm down.”
“I am calm, Santana. It’s not my fault you have the sensitivity of a cactus when it comes to others.”
“Okay, hold up,” she says, frowning a little and holding up a hand in protest. “When did this become about me?”
“You’re awful,” Rachel says before pushing herself up and off of her body. She rolls her eyes and lets out this exasperated little groan and storms off mumbling about whatever it is she’s mad about. Santana doesn’t know and she mostly doesn’t care because she’s like, sensitive to others feelings and stuff. It’s why she’s really good at giving people orgasms. Obviously.
She ponders getting up to like, check on Rachel or whatever but the bedroom door slams and the showdown is happening on the screen and she’d rather laugh. So.
When the movie ends, she just kind of lies there for a minute, watching the beginning of some other holiday movie that’s all sweet, so, you know, she doesn’t really care to watch it. Rachel hasn’t come back out of the room. She heard her on the phone with Puck saying something and she knows she heard her name. She really does not know why Rachel’s mad at her and she only cares a little bit but she’d rather not sleep on the couch tonight. Actually, she’d rather practice her sensitivity in the season of giving, y’know?
She gets up and heads to the kitchen and makes herself some cocoa and Rachel some tea the way she likes it because cactus her ass. She’s an awesome girlfriend. Rachel can shove it.
She pushes the door to their bedroom open and peeks her head in. Rachel’s lying against the pillows, reading the book Santana finished last week. They like reading the same things and then discussing them, which, surprisingly, does not involve as much arguing as everyone thinks. Rachel lowers her book, glares a little then lifts it back up. Santana squeezes her eyes shut then crosses the room.
“Made you some tea.”
“Thanks,” Rachel says shortly, not looking up from her book. Santana puts the mug down and goes around to her side and puts her own down after taking a sip. She drops down onto the bed, lies on her side staring at Rachel. “Stop.”
“M’not doing anything,” she says. Rachel sighs and leans over to drink some tea then puts the green mug back on the nightstand. “You’re seriously mad?”
Rachel looks at her incredulously and Santana just smiles and shifts until she’s straddling Rachel’s hips.
“Santana,” Rachel whines. “I’m reading.”
Santana just shakes her head, moves Rachel’s book to the nightstand and threads their fingers together, holding them up.
“Now what’s this shit about me not being sensitive?”
Rachel rolls her eyes, “You’re awful.”
“So, I’ve been told. What’s this about?”
“You don’t care that the movie makes me sad,” Rachel says with this little frown and – ugh. She wants to like, kiss it away, but she also does not like being called awful. She kind of is sometimes, but not to her girlfriend. So.
“No you don’t, Santana.”
“Okay, not really, but I mean, it’s just not sad to me and you can’t force that on me.”
“You could pretend.”
“You want me to be a liar and awful?” Rachel rolls her eyes, presses her head deeper into the pillow with a little pout. “I think the hills being alive with the sound of music is pretty fucking stupid but I watch it when you want to, Rach.”
“It’s a classic.”
“It’s lame.” Rachel rolls her eyes again and gives her this little look that says she isn’t amused. She hasn’t stopped squeezing Santana’s fingers, so she thinks they’re pretty okay. She leans down and presses a kiss to her lips. “I mean, it does suck that his family left him,” she says, once she’s pulled back a little, but Rachel’s lips are still in reach if she wants them again.
“They are,” Rachel says indignantly.
“Yeah and we’d never, ever forget our kid,” she says, kissing her again. Rachel squeaks and lets one of her hands go then pushes it into her hair, stroking her scalp lightly and pushing her tongue past her lips. “What was that for?” She asks when Rachel’s pulls back, cheeks pink.
“You want to have kids with me?”
“You said our kid,” Rachel says with her eyes all dark and a little glassy.
“Oh. I mean, I’m not having kids with anyone else.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to Rachel’s lips and running a hand up under her sweatshirt. “Now let me show you just how sensitive I can be.”
“How do you feel about the name Barbra?”