Glee Fic: As Visions of Hot Chicks Dance in his Head
I have no idea if anyone who reads this ships Brittany/Santana, but if you do - please enjoy!
Title: As Visions of Hot Chicks Dance in his Head
Rating: R for graphic language (this is Puck’s POV after all) and sex
Word Count: ~5,000
Pairings/Characters: Brittany/Santana; mentions of Puck/Santana; hints of Puck/Rachel
Spoilers: Up through “Special Education” Summary: Brittany and Santana’s relationship, as seen through Puck’s POV.
A/N: This is AU in the sense that Brittany is so very NOT with Artie. I wrote this right before "A Very Glee Christmas" aired, and I was never happy with how it came out. But now I’m hearing some exciting possible news about the Brittana relationship, so last night I was inspired to give this a make-over. I changed the entire middle section, a decent amount of the ending, and upped the rating because more sexytimes were needed!
As Visions of Hot Chicks Dance in his Head
Puck is totally getting his ass kicked at Halo - and normally he’d be pissed as hell - but he and Finn have just finished eating Thanksgiving dinner an hour ago, and he’s so freaking full right now that he can barely move, much less concentrate. Mrs. Hudson is, like, officially the best cook in the world; she actually deep-fried a turkey in peanut oil and put this awesome spice rub on it and… oh, man. He’s salivating again, just thinking about it.
He and Finn are sprawled out on the floor in the den and Kurt is sitting on the couch behind them. He’s bitching about having to remove cranberry sauce from his new sweater, and Puck is doing his best to drown him out. Until things start to get interesting.
“…oh, and Finn, you absolutely cannot answer the door tomorrow night. Blaine is coming to pick me up at 7:30, okay? And my idea of making a good first impression precludes both you and my dad from meeting him until much, much later. Capische?”
Finn drops the controller and twists around to stare at Kurt in surprise. “Wait - is this dude your boyfriend?” he asks, his face twisting into a grimace.
Puck turns around as well. Just in time to see a light pink tinge appear on Kurt’s cheekbones.
“Um. No. He’s - a good friend,” replies Kurt, although he doesn’t meet either of their eyes.
Finn looks as though he’s just realized something. “Holy crap, Kurt. Please tell me he’s not the reason you transferred. Tell me you didn’t leave New Directions in the lurch just to try and get in some guy’s pants.”
Even Puck raises an eyebrow at this. “Dude,” he says warningly, in Finn’s direction.
He chances a glance at Kurt, whose eyes are wide and uncomprehending.
“You don’t mean that.” Kurt shakes his head. “Finn, you know why I left. And honestly, even putting Karofsky aside, I think it was only a matter of time. A ‘capital-G’ gay guy like me just wasn’t going to cut it at McKinley. I mean, it’s one thing for popular girls like Brittany and Santana to hit the sheets; it’s entirely another for”-
Every muscle in Puck’s body seizes. “Whoa, whoa, hold up - what the fuck did you just say?”
Kurt blinks at Puck in surprise. “Uh… I said it was one thing for girls like Brittany and Santana to have sex. They’re girls and they’re popular and hot and”-
Oh, my God. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what I thought you said. I’m just trying to - Brittany and Santana are having sex?"
Kurt looks confused. “Uh… yeah? Doesn’t everyone know that?”
Finn shrugs. “I knew. Santana and Brittany went out on a date with me, remember?”
“But”- Puck splutters. “I thought they just, like, kissed each other. To get dudes all hot and bothered, so they’ll fork out more money for dinner.”
Finn blushes. “Santana might have also said some stuff about Brittany while we were… uh… "
Puck can’t believe this. “No fucking way, dude. Me and Santana have been gettin’ it on since I got back from juvie. She’s never said a damn thing to me.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow. “No guesses as to why she hasn’t.”
Puck narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kurt shakes his head. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”
Before Puck even knows he’s going to say it, he blurts out: “You’re totally sure about this, Hummel? That Brit’s hooking up with her? My Santana?”
Finn stares at him. “Your Santana?”
Puck backtracks. “Not like that. Just - you know. My… fuck buddy, Santana.”
Kurt wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You’re so crass. And yes, I’m sure.”
“How are you sure?”
“Brittany let it slip when she was on the phone with me. And, uh… you know that one time I semi-dated Brittany?” Kurt is blushing furiously.
Puck vaguely remembers. “Uh-huh.”
“She, uh…” Kurt looks vaguely ill. “She asked if I wanted to join them.”
Puck nearly has a heart attack. “And you said…?”
“Well, obviously, I said no, you moron. If one girl does absolutely nothing for me sexually, I highly doubt two would improve the odds. God, it gives me nightmares just thinking about it.”
Puck shakes his head. “Gay or not - you are a fucking disgrace to dudes everywhere, bro.”
“Shove it,” replies Kurt sharply. “I’m going upstairs.”
And he does. But his words are still swimming around Puck’s head - and it doesn’t seem like they’re leaving anytime soon.
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Over the next few days, Puck’s new favorite fantasy is the image of Santana and Brittany fucking each other. Naturally he’s thought of this particular fantasy before (all the girls in glee club have shown up in his fantasies at some point, along with a revolving door of Cheerios and pool-owning cougars - and one memorable dream involving Kurt Hummel that he would kill to have surgically removed from his brain.)
But knowing that his Brittany/Santana fantasy is based in reality? That they seriously do screw each other? That just makes the images ten times hotter.
Puck has fucked Santana several times over the last two years - maybe even more times than he’s fucked anybody else, not that he keeps count - and she is, like, the nastiest, fiercest, I-could-give-a-shit-what-people-think chick he knows. She’s rough and demanding and astonishingly unsentimental. She’s definitely the only chick who bosses him around in bed - not that they’ve ever actually screwed on a bed; he’s not her freaking boyfriend.
So Puck cannot even begin to imagine what kinky shit she and Brittany get up to in private. He keeps himself busy trying to guess, and he nearly comes in his pants every time he sees the girls flouncing down the halls; skirts swishing, pinkies intertwined.
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Puck is all kinds of excited when he overhears Brittany telling Tina that Santana is spending the night at her house on Christmas Eve.
“My parents are going away to visit my brother and so Santana’s coming over. And guess what, Tina? We’re going to wait up all night for Santa to come down the chimney and bring presents!”
Puck can tell Tina is fighting to keep her expression neutral. “You’re waiting up all night for… Santa Claus? That’s - really cool, Brittany.”
“Uh-huh,” agrees Brittany. “But we won’t just do that; that would be super boring. We’ll play games and watch movies and we’ll probably have a lot of sex, too.”
Tina’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh… wow, that’s.. . I just - wow.”
Puck can’t help but agree entirely with Tina’s assessment of the situation.
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By the time Christmas Eve arrives, Puck is feeling pretty fucking miserable.
And the upshot of all his misery is that he really had tried to do the right thing. Rachel had totally come onto him. He had tried to be a good friend. He had listened to her as she’d sobbed to him about her feelings of betrayal and her insecurities. And when she was all cried out, she had nestled her head into the crook of his neck - and then just like that she had reached up and kissed him.
Now Puck would not be able to swear in a court of law that he hadn’t kissed back. He’s only human, and despite what people may say about Rachel, she really is beautiful. But the kiss had lasted for five, maybe ten seconds - at which point he had pulled back from her, and politely but firmly turned her down.
None of which made any difference to Finn. He’s totally cold-shouldering him, and as much as Puck would like to admit otherwise - it fucking hurts.
The rest of the New Directions seem to be siding with Finn, and whereas he and Rachel could definitely have commiserated with one another, they are also both trying to win back Finn’s trust. So the two of them keep their distance.
He’d called Santana twice during the week to see if she’d wanted to hook up - if he’s honest, the calls were made more out of loneliness than horniness - but she’d said she was busy “hanging out” with Brittany. As if Puck doesn’t know what means now.
Man, he’s bored. Pissed as hell and bored, which is a terrible combination. Everyone has plans on Christmas Eve except for Puck’s Jewish family. And Rachel’s, whispers a voice in the back of his mind, but he shoots that thought down immediately. He had originally planned to spend the evening at the Hummel-Hudson house, but yeah - that’s definitely not happening now.
And all of a sudden, Puck is struck with a brilliant idea: Tonight. Christmas Eve. Brittany's house!
Santana’s there, right? She and Brittany are going to be getting their freak on - and he is going to be there to watch. He’s really fucking awesome at sneaking around people’s houses without getting caught; he’s constantly having to dash in and out of rooms and houses to avoid confrontations with boyfriends, husbands, and fathers - courtesy of both his pool-cleaning business and his goal of working his way through every single Cheerio.
He’s put up with a lot of shit this year - the universe fucking owes him a night of watching hot lesbian sex in the flesh. Or through a window. Or - well, whatever.
He’ll figure that out once he gets there.
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He parks his truck a block or so back from Brittany’s house, so as not to arouse suspicion. He is in a fever of anticipation as he walks up the street - and he’s also in luck, because the house is dark except for three brightly-lit windows clustered together on the side of the house.
Puck looks into one of the windows and sees what he assumes is the living room. A couch and a loveseat, two armchairs, and a coffee table - and a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. And no girls - yet, anyway. Puck assumes that if they’re “waiting for Santa” - seriously, how dumb can you get? - that this is where they’ll be.
After a five-minute wait, Puck pricks his ears up at the sound of high-pitched, feminine laughter. In the interim, Puck had discovered that two of the windows had been left unlocked. He had lifted one of them up two inches or so - it’s not going to be any good if he can’t hear the moaning and breathing, right? Plus, Santana uses the filthiest language he’s ever heard in his life when she gets herself off - she actually made him blush once.
A minute or so later Brittany comes into view, wearing a long, pale-blue T-shirt that skims the tops of her knees. Not as sexy as he would have hoped, but he’s assuming that it’ll come off soon enough, anyway. A girl follows Brittany down the stairs into the living room - but Puck is totally perplexed to see that it’s not Santana.
Holy shit! Are they going to have a freakin’ threesome? Puck’s dick feels like it’s about to explode already.
And then the girl shifts into the light and Puck is absolutely floored to see that it is, in fact, Santana - but it’s Santana as he has never seen her before.
She is wearing faded pink flannel pajama bottoms and a gray long-sleeved T-shirt. Her hair - which he doesn’t think he has EVER seen out of its customary pony-tail - falls in loose waves, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. She is not, from what he can tell, wearing any make-up at all, and it makes her look so much younger somehow.
Her entire demeanor is different. Her shoulders are not squared defensively, her lips are not pursed together in annoyance, and her eyebrows are not drawn together. Her facial expression is soft and unguarded.
Puck can’t even be annoyed that they’re clearly not getting pelvic at the moment - in fact, he’s too stunned to think much of anything right now.
Brittany flops onto her couch with a contented sigh. She gazes up at Santana with a slow, sweet smile and holds her arms out. Santana sets down her mug on the coffee table and joins the blonde on the couch. She slowly sinks into Brittany’s arms, smiling and nestling her head on Brittany’s shoulder, while Brittany traces soothing circles on Santana’s back with one hand, and strokes Santana’s hair with the other.
Puck blinks once. Then twice. Santana Lopez - cuddling? This defied every law known to humankind. It just wasn’t freaking possible. Was it?
God, once after sex he had pressed a quick kiss to her forehead - an affectionate post-coital reflex of sorts - and she’d huffed and gotten up and dressed and left immediately. Seeing her like this was just… what the fuck was this?
Santana reaches her arm out for her phone, which is also on the coffee table. “Hold up, babe - I have a text.”
Santana scrolls through her phone, still wrapped in Brittany’s arms, and frowns slightly at whatever she’s seeing.
“It’s from Tina,” she says, eyebrows drawing together. “It just says, ‘Merry Christmas, lovebirds. Have fun tonight waiting for Santa.’” Santana tips her face up to look at Brittany in the eye.
“Um - why would I be getting a message like that from Tina Cohen-Chang, of all people?”
Brittany goes cross-eyed in her effort to remember. “Um… I think ‘cuz I told her that’s what we were doing tonight? Why, was I not supposed to?”
Santana sighs. “It’s fine, babe. It’s just - I just wish that there weren’t so many people that knew about”… She gestures in Brittany’s direction. “… us. This.”
Brittany looks so sorrowful that Santana presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s fine, Brit. Just … try to remember, okay?”
“Are you - are you ashamed of me, Santana? Is that why nobody’s supposed to know?” asks Brittany, with a slight tremor in her voice.
Santana’s eyes widen. “Baby, no. It has absolutely nothing to do with you at all. I promise.”
Brittany twists the hem of Santana’s shirt in her fingers nervously. “So why, then?”
“Because I know how people are, okay? I mean, guys would be totally slobbery and gross about it and girls would be all freakin’ judgmental and, like, the Gay-Straight Alliance would be insisting that we fly the Bi Pride Flag all over the place - seriously, who needs all that shit? Plus, we’re so hot that we’d be fighting down offers for threesomes twice a day”-
“But we like threesomes,” argues Brittany.
Santana smiles. “We do,” she agrees gently. “But only with people who get it. Who get us. Who understand that our relationship doesn’t exist for the purpose of some random asshole getting his rocks off watching us.”
“People who get that we’re beautiful?” asks Brittany tentatively.
Santana raises an eyebrow. “Everyone knows we’re beautiful, Brittany.”
Brittany shakes her head. “No - I mean, people who get that this is beautiful. That we’re beautiful together.”
Santana leans down and kisses Brittany, eyelashes fluttering closed against the blonde’s cheek.
“Yes,” she says, so softly that Puck can barely catch the word.
“That’s why I asked Kurt if he wanted to join us,” announces Brittany. “He gets it. Plus he’s really pretty.”
Santana stifles a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he ‘gets it’ just fine - but somehow I don’t think we'd be Hummel’s idea of a good time. Don’t take it personally, babe.”
“You’ve never asked Puck to join us,” announces Brittany suddenly.
Puck’s heart starts beating madly. He feels as though they must know he’s outside, watching them.
Santana smiles widely. “Yeah, well… he’s the epitome of asshole jock. He’d make it all about him - like it was his very own personal porn show, and… I don’t know, I just prefer to keep things simple with Puck. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great in the sack, but - you can’t have a conversation with him. You definitely can’t trust him. Finn’s living proof of that.”
Puck feels a sharp twist in his stomach. Can’t have a conversation with him. Can’t trust him.
Brittany doesn’t seem to have a response to that. She presses a quick kiss to Santana’s cheek and continues to stroke Santana’s back.
Santana seems bothered by Brittany’s silence. She lifts her head up slightly. “Hey, Brit. Are you, like, pissed that I’m sleeping with Puck?”
Brittany shakes her head. “No. Are you pissed that I’m sleeping with Trey? Or Danny? Or Jack? Or Kenneth? Or Rae-Kwon? Or Isabel? Or”-
“No,” says Santana, laughing. “God, you’re something else, Brittany.” But then her eyebrows knit together suspiciously. “Wait - do you mean Isabel Hallett? From our second-period Spanish class?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, that I actually do mind. She’s a total bitch to me.”
Brittany shrugs. “Okay. I’ll stop. But the others? You don’t mind?”
“No. And you don’t either?”
Brittany reaches a hand down and squeezes Santana’s ass. “No, silly. Having sex is fun and all, but it only really means something to me when it's with you. And you feel the same way. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well… I think that’s all anybody can ask of anybody.”
Santana reaches a hand up to cup Brittany’s face tenderly. Her eyes are sparkling in the firelight. “Brittany,” she says, and her voice is rich with feeling. “Has anyone ever told you - that you can be really smart, sometimes?”
A sharp, tense silence follows that statement. “Are you - making fun of me, Santana?”
Santana locks eyes with Brittany. “No. I mean it, babe.”
Brittany nods slowly. “Okay. Then - no. No one has ever told me that.”
“Well, I’m telling you now.” Santana kisses Brittany then, soft and slow and wanting. She twines her arms around Brittany’s neck, and the girls melt into each other, their hands beginning to explore in earnest the familiar-but-much-beloved territory of each other’s bodies.
Santana breaks the embrace abruptly and draws her face back, her lips slightly fuller and her cheeks flushed to a dusky rose.
“Hey, Brit - I know this is, like, a super lame thing to say, but I kinda think I … like, love you? A little?” She tenses her shoulders defensively, as if bracing herself, and then shakes her head as if to clear it. “God, you know what? No. I - that was - I don’t know what that was. I’m sorry. It’s weird, right? I mean, it’s weird that”-
“So do I.”
Santana freezes. It almost doesn’t look as though she’s breathing.
The look of distrust and bewilderment on her face is almost too much for Puck. How is it possible that Santana - Santana - a girl he’s fought with, laughed with, schemed with and sung with and danced with and fucking slept with too many times to count...
How is it possible that he has no fucking clue who she is? The girl he’s looking at now is a stranger.
“Fuck, Brittany,” she breathes, her voice shaking slightly. “You can’t say that shit to me, okay?”
Brittany shrugs, her eyes wide and guileless. “Why not? It’s true.”
Santana swallows heavily. “No. Brit - you’re the kind of person that - I mean, it’s easy to love you. Like, I’m pretty sure everyone who knows you loves you. I’m different. I’m - a total bitch. And I get that, okay? It’s not like I”-
“Not to me,” says Brittany softly. “You aren’t a bitch to me, Santana. You help me when I get confused and you don’t laugh at me. Even when I act stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Brittany. Listen to me, babe - you’re not. You just see things differently than most people. It’s like you’re living in a dream-world even when you’re awake.” She smoothes back a stray lock of hair from Brittany’s forehead. “We should all be so lucky to live there.”
Puck thinks he hears Brittany’s breath catch softly, and he feels an unexpected shiver zip up his spine.
Santana laughs suddenly, almost to herself. “God, I’m such a fucking girl tonight.”
Brittany gazes steadily up at Santana, her eyes sweeping over the dark-haired girl’s face. “You always say that like it’s a bad thing. Girls are nice. I mean - you like me, right? And I’m a girl.”
Santana’s face reddens slightly. “Yeah, it’s just - I don’t know. Most girls don’t like me.”
Brittany shrugs. “Well, duh. That’s because you steal their boyfriends and say mean things about them.”
What happens next happens very quickly. Santana lets out a low hiss and pushes herself off of Brittany, starting to swing her legs over to the side of the couch - but Brittany’s too quick for her. She grips Santana’s arms tightly, pulling her back down. Once Santana is pressed against her, she shifts her weight abruptly, flipping them over until their positions are reversed and Brittany is hovering over Santana, who is pinned beneath her.
“Brit - what the hell - ?”
“I didn’t say anything bad, Santana - don’t get mad. I just think if you tried to be nicer, things might work out better for you. Like, you might be surprised.”
“Brit”-
“Santana, it’s okay to act like a girl.” Brittany half-pleads. “And it’s okay to like a girl. It’s okay to like me.”
“I know that, okay? I know that," snaps Santana.
“So then act like it.”
Santana - her eyes dark and wide, her face flushed, and her chest heaving - lunges upward suddenly, capturing Brittany’s mouth with her own. Brittany lets out a low moan, grinding her pelvis down and snaking a hand between their bodies to palm Santana’s breasts.
“Fuck, Brit”-
“Yes…” groans out Brittany. “Santana - Santana, wait! How - how much longer do you think it will be before Santa Claus gets here?”
The entire time she’d speaking, Brittany’s hands had trailed slowly down the length of Santana’s body, until her fingers stop - hovering just above the waistband of her flannel pajama pants.
“Oh - fuck,” says Santana, panting heavily - “It’s gonna be - awhile. He’s still in, um - Africa. Just trust me, okay? We’ve got plenty of time.”
Reassured, Brittany’s hand dips below the elastic of Santana’s pants - the dark-haired girl groans loudly - and then Santana’s right hand disappears beneath the hem of Brittany’s nightshirt.
The movement of Santana’s arm draws Puck’s eye - he’s so turned on that he can’t believe he’s able to remain standing - and then he sees Brittany bite her lip, clearly trying to stifle whatever reaction she’s experiencing.
“No,” gasps out Santana. “No. Brittany - baby - don’t hold back. Let go. It’s just us, okay? It’s just you and me - there’s no one else here” -
Puck feels a sudden, sharp twist of guilt.
Brittany starts to move her hand - the hand inside Santana’s pants - in a slow, firm, circular motion, and as she gets into a rhythm, Santana throws her head back and draws in a sharp breath - and then she begins talking.
Puck flashes back to the last time he’d fucked Santana. He remembers the things she’d said to him: “Fuck me - faster - fuck - harder - don’t even think about getting off before I do, asshole - fuck - you’re such a little bitch, Puckerman - fuck - next time, I’m getting a strap-on and fucking showing you how this is done.”
And the thing is, she hadn’t even meant it. Well, maybe she’d meant the strap-on part, because Santana’s kinky as hell, but the point is that he knows she thinks he’s a total stud in bed. He’d just heard her say so a few minutes ago, but even if he hadn’t, the fact is that Santana Lopez wouldn’t have bothered to keep coming back if she wasn’t pleased with his performance. So he’d figured - you know - that that’s just what gets her hot. Her talking down to him; berating his performance. If he’s honest… he’d thought she was like that with everybody.
But now it seems that - like with fucking everything else in his life - he’d been wrong about that, too.
“Brittany… oh my God, Brittany… please, baby… God, that feels so… Brittany…” Santana arches her back up off the bed. She makes a strange, half-hiccuping noise and - fuck - he thinks he can see tears clinging to her eyelashes, pearlized drops sliding slowly down her cheeks. “Brittany, please … I love you… I love you I love you i love you iloveyou iloveyouiloveyou…”
And that’s enough.
Puck can’t watch this anymore. He just can’t.
His body feels leaden and tired. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’d expected to see tonight, but this hadn’t been it. And he feels like a total jerk for not realizing sooner that this moment - like every other moment he had witnessed tonight -
- was obviously meant to be private.
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Puck sits in his truck for a good long while. He is feeling - God, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. He wants something, but…
In frustration, he scrolls through his cell phone contact list. He dials Finn’s number before he can chicken out. After just three rings, it goes to voicemail.
Sighing, he keeps scrolling through the list. And after staring at a number for a long time, he nods and presses “Send.”
After two rings, the phone picks up.
“Noah?”
Puck smiles. She sounds extremely surprised.
“Hey, Berry,” he says.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
“No, I just - I, uh, I know it’s been a couple weeks, but I just - uh, with everything that happened. I don’t think I ever wished you a Happy Hanukah.”
He can almost see Rachel’s surprised stare. “Oh. A Happy belated Hanukah to you as well. Um, not to be rude - but - are you certain you’re okay?”
“Uh…” He swallows. “It’s actually been kind of a shitty night.”
There are a few seconds of silence. “Do you… do you want me to come over?” He can practically hear the pounding of her heart through the phone.
“Actually, Berry - do you mind if we - uh - can we just talk? You know… have a conversation?”
He hears Rachel swallow. “Yes, Noah,” she says finally. “I don’t have plans. We can talk.”
Two-and-a-half hours and one epic conversation later, they hang up.
And Puck thinks that this Christmas Eve hadn’t really sucked as much as he’d thought it would - much better than going to Xin Hua Restaurant with his Nana and Aunt Bernice, anyway. In fact, if they make him go out to a Chinese restaurant tomorrow - it being Christmas Day and all - he’s totally dragging Rachel along with him.
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Brittany and Santana are lying on Brittany’s couch, naked, wrapped beneath a few layers of knitted afghans. They are kissing each other slowly and softly, enjoying the languid aftermath of sex.
“Santana?” asks Brittany. “If I fall asleep, will you wake me when Santa Claus gets here?”
Santana nods. “I will.”
Five minutes later, the blonde is sound asleep, snoring very softly.
Santana very carefully extracts herself from Brittany’s embrace, pulls an afghan around herself, and walks to the downstairs closet where Brittany’s parents keep the “Presents from Santa.”
The Pierces find it adorable that their daughter still believes in the magic of Christmas, so they had instructed Santana to fill the stockings and lay the presents out under the tree while Brittany is asleep.
She fills the stockings as quietly as possible, carefully arranges the presents under the tree, and climbs back onto the couch with Brittany. It’s lucky that they’re both so petite - or they’d wake up and find themselves on the floor for sure.
She nestles into Brittany’s shoulder, marveling at the warmth of her body, the feel of her steady heartbeat, and the sound of her deep, even breathing.
Brittany stirs slightly as Santana snuggles against her. “Is it - is it Santa?” she mumbles softly. “Is he here?”
Santana presses a chaste kiss to Brittany’s lips. “Go back to sleep, babe. Santa will come soon, Brittany. I promise.”
Brittany falls back to sleep less than a minute later. Santana, feeling more relaxed and content than she has in months, lays her head against her lover’s chest and shuts her eyes tightly.
And as visions of sugarplums dance in her head, sleep overtakes her.
FIN
Title: As Visions of Hot Chicks Dance in his Head
Rating: R for graphic language (this is Puck’s POV after all) and sex
Word Count: ~5,000
Pairings/Characters: Brittany/Santana; mentions of Puck/Santana; hints of Puck/Rachel
Spoilers: Up through “Special Education” Summary: Brittany and Santana’s relationship, as seen through Puck’s POV.
A/N: This is AU in the sense that Brittany is so very NOT with Artie. I wrote this right before "A Very Glee Christmas" aired, and I was never happy with how it came out. But now I’m hearing some exciting possible news about the Brittana relationship, so last night I was inspired to give this a make-over. I changed the entire middle section, a decent amount of the ending, and upped the rating because more sexytimes were needed!
As Visions of Hot Chicks Dance in his Head
Puck is totally getting his ass kicked at Halo - and normally he’d be pissed as hell - but he and Finn have just finished eating Thanksgiving dinner an hour ago, and he’s so freaking full right now that he can barely move, much less concentrate. Mrs. Hudson is, like, officially the best cook in the world; she actually deep-fried a turkey in peanut oil and put this awesome spice rub on it and… oh, man. He’s salivating again, just thinking about it.
He and Finn are sprawled out on the floor in the den and Kurt is sitting on the couch behind them. He’s bitching about having to remove cranberry sauce from his new sweater, and Puck is doing his best to drown him out. Until things start to get interesting.
“…oh, and Finn, you absolutely cannot answer the door tomorrow night. Blaine is coming to pick me up at 7:30, okay? And my idea of making a good first impression precludes both you and my dad from meeting him until much, much later. Capische?”
Finn drops the controller and twists around to stare at Kurt in surprise. “Wait - is this dude your boyfriend?” he asks, his face twisting into a grimace.
Puck turns around as well. Just in time to see a light pink tinge appear on Kurt’s cheekbones.
“Um. No. He’s - a good friend,” replies Kurt, although he doesn’t meet either of their eyes.
Finn looks as though he’s just realized something. “Holy crap, Kurt. Please tell me he’s not the reason you transferred. Tell me you didn’t leave New Directions in the lurch just to try and get in some guy’s pants.”
Even Puck raises an eyebrow at this. “Dude,” he says warningly, in Finn’s direction.
He chances a glance at Kurt, whose eyes are wide and uncomprehending.
“You don’t mean that.” Kurt shakes his head. “Finn, you know why I left. And honestly, even putting Karofsky aside, I think it was only a matter of time. A ‘capital-G’ gay guy like me just wasn’t going to cut it at McKinley. I mean, it’s one thing for popular girls like Brittany and Santana to hit the sheets; it’s entirely another for”-
Every muscle in Puck’s body seizes. “Whoa, whoa, hold up - what the fuck did you just say?”
Kurt blinks at Puck in surprise. “Uh… I said it was one thing for girls like Brittany and Santana to have sex. They’re girls and they’re popular and hot and”-
Oh, my God. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what I thought you said. I’m just trying to - Brittany and Santana are having sex?"
Kurt looks confused. “Uh… yeah? Doesn’t everyone know that?”
Finn shrugs. “I knew. Santana and Brittany went out on a date with me, remember?”
“But”- Puck splutters. “I thought they just, like, kissed each other. To get dudes all hot and bothered, so they’ll fork out more money for dinner.”
Finn blushes. “Santana might have also said some stuff about Brittany while we were… uh… "
Puck can’t believe this. “No fucking way, dude. Me and Santana have been gettin’ it on since I got back from juvie. She’s never said a damn thing to me.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow. “No guesses as to why she hasn’t.”
Puck narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kurt shakes his head. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”
Before Puck even knows he’s going to say it, he blurts out: “You’re totally sure about this, Hummel? That Brit’s hooking up with her? My Santana?”
Finn stares at him. “Your Santana?”
Puck backtracks. “Not like that. Just - you know. My… fuck buddy, Santana.”
Kurt wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You’re so crass. And yes, I’m sure.”
“How are you sure?”
“Brittany let it slip when she was on the phone with me. And, uh… you know that one time I semi-dated Brittany?” Kurt is blushing furiously.
Puck vaguely remembers. “Uh-huh.”
“She, uh…” Kurt looks vaguely ill. “She asked if I wanted to join them.”
Puck nearly has a heart attack. “And you said…?”
“Well, obviously, I said no, you moron. If one girl does absolutely nothing for me sexually, I highly doubt two would improve the odds. God, it gives me nightmares just thinking about it.”
Puck shakes his head. “Gay or not - you are a fucking disgrace to dudes everywhere, bro.”
“Shove it,” replies Kurt sharply. “I’m going upstairs.”
And he does. But his words are still swimming around Puck’s head - and it doesn’t seem like they’re leaving anytime soon.
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Over the next few days, Puck’s new favorite fantasy is the image of Santana and Brittany fucking each other. Naturally he’s thought of this particular fantasy before (all the girls in glee club have shown up in his fantasies at some point, along with a revolving door of Cheerios and pool-owning cougars - and one memorable dream involving Kurt Hummel that he would kill to have surgically removed from his brain.)
But knowing that his Brittany/Santana fantasy is based in reality? That they seriously do screw each other? That just makes the images ten times hotter.
Puck has fucked Santana several times over the last two years - maybe even more times than he’s fucked anybody else, not that he keeps count - and she is, like, the nastiest, fiercest, I-could-give-a-shit-what-people-think chick he knows. She’s rough and demanding and astonishingly unsentimental. She’s definitely the only chick who bosses him around in bed - not that they’ve ever actually screwed on a bed; he’s not her freaking boyfriend.
So Puck cannot even begin to imagine what kinky shit she and Brittany get up to in private. He keeps himself busy trying to guess, and he nearly comes in his pants every time he sees the girls flouncing down the halls; skirts swishing, pinkies intertwined.
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Puck is all kinds of excited when he overhears Brittany telling Tina that Santana is spending the night at her house on Christmas Eve.
“My parents are going away to visit my brother and so Santana’s coming over. And guess what, Tina? We’re going to wait up all night for Santa to come down the chimney and bring presents!”
Puck can tell Tina is fighting to keep her expression neutral. “You’re waiting up all night for… Santa Claus? That’s - really cool, Brittany.”
“Uh-huh,” agrees Brittany. “But we won’t just do that; that would be super boring. We’ll play games and watch movies and we’ll probably have a lot of sex, too.”
Tina’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh… wow, that’s.. . I just - wow.”
Puck can’t help but agree entirely with Tina’s assessment of the situation.
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By the time Christmas Eve arrives, Puck is feeling pretty fucking miserable.
And the upshot of all his misery is that he really had tried to do the right thing. Rachel had totally come onto him. He had tried to be a good friend. He had listened to her as she’d sobbed to him about her feelings of betrayal and her insecurities. And when she was all cried out, she had nestled her head into the crook of his neck - and then just like that she had reached up and kissed him.
Now Puck would not be able to swear in a court of law that he hadn’t kissed back. He’s only human, and despite what people may say about Rachel, she really is beautiful. But the kiss had lasted for five, maybe ten seconds - at which point he had pulled back from her, and politely but firmly turned her down.
None of which made any difference to Finn. He’s totally cold-shouldering him, and as much as Puck would like to admit otherwise - it fucking hurts.
The rest of the New Directions seem to be siding with Finn, and whereas he and Rachel could definitely have commiserated with one another, they are also both trying to win back Finn’s trust. So the two of them keep their distance.
He’d called Santana twice during the week to see if she’d wanted to hook up - if he’s honest, the calls were made more out of loneliness than horniness - but she’d said she was busy “hanging out” with Brittany. As if Puck doesn’t know what means now.
Man, he’s bored. Pissed as hell and bored, which is a terrible combination. Everyone has plans on Christmas Eve except for Puck’s Jewish family. And Rachel’s, whispers a voice in the back of his mind, but he shoots that thought down immediately. He had originally planned to spend the evening at the Hummel-Hudson house, but yeah - that’s definitely not happening now.
And all of a sudden, Puck is struck with a brilliant idea: Tonight. Christmas Eve. Brittany's house!
Santana’s there, right? She and Brittany are going to be getting their freak on - and he is going to be there to watch. He’s really fucking awesome at sneaking around people’s houses without getting caught; he’s constantly having to dash in and out of rooms and houses to avoid confrontations with boyfriends, husbands, and fathers - courtesy of both his pool-cleaning business and his goal of working his way through every single Cheerio.
He’s put up with a lot of shit this year - the universe fucking owes him a night of watching hot lesbian sex in the flesh. Or through a window. Or - well, whatever.
He’ll figure that out once he gets there.
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He parks his truck a block or so back from Brittany’s house, so as not to arouse suspicion. He is in a fever of anticipation as he walks up the street - and he’s also in luck, because the house is dark except for three brightly-lit windows clustered together on the side of the house.
Puck looks into one of the windows and sees what he assumes is the living room. A couch and a loveseat, two armchairs, and a coffee table - and a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. And no girls - yet, anyway. Puck assumes that if they’re “waiting for Santa” - seriously, how dumb can you get? - that this is where they’ll be.
After a five-minute wait, Puck pricks his ears up at the sound of high-pitched, feminine laughter. In the interim, Puck had discovered that two of the windows had been left unlocked. He had lifted one of them up two inches or so - it’s not going to be any good if he can’t hear the moaning and breathing, right? Plus, Santana uses the filthiest language he’s ever heard in his life when she gets herself off - she actually made him blush once.
A minute or so later Brittany comes into view, wearing a long, pale-blue T-shirt that skims the tops of her knees. Not as sexy as he would have hoped, but he’s assuming that it’ll come off soon enough, anyway. A girl follows Brittany down the stairs into the living room - but Puck is totally perplexed to see that it’s not Santana.
Holy shit! Are they going to have a freakin’ threesome? Puck’s dick feels like it’s about to explode already.
And then the girl shifts into the light and Puck is absolutely floored to see that it is, in fact, Santana - but it’s Santana as he has never seen her before.
She is wearing faded pink flannel pajama bottoms and a gray long-sleeved T-shirt. Her hair - which he doesn’t think he has EVER seen out of its customary pony-tail - falls in loose waves, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. She is not, from what he can tell, wearing any make-up at all, and it makes her look so much younger somehow.
Her entire demeanor is different. Her shoulders are not squared defensively, her lips are not pursed together in annoyance, and her eyebrows are not drawn together. Her facial expression is soft and unguarded.
Puck can’t even be annoyed that they’re clearly not getting pelvic at the moment - in fact, he’s too stunned to think much of anything right now.
Brittany flops onto her couch with a contented sigh. She gazes up at Santana with a slow, sweet smile and holds her arms out. Santana sets down her mug on the coffee table and joins the blonde on the couch. She slowly sinks into Brittany’s arms, smiling and nestling her head on Brittany’s shoulder, while Brittany traces soothing circles on Santana’s back with one hand, and strokes Santana’s hair with the other.
Puck blinks once. Then twice. Santana Lopez - cuddling? This defied every law known to humankind. It just wasn’t freaking possible. Was it?
God, once after sex he had pressed a quick kiss to her forehead - an affectionate post-coital reflex of sorts - and she’d huffed and gotten up and dressed and left immediately. Seeing her like this was just… what the fuck was this?
Santana reaches her arm out for her phone, which is also on the coffee table. “Hold up, babe - I have a text.”
Santana scrolls through her phone, still wrapped in Brittany’s arms, and frowns slightly at whatever she’s seeing.
“It’s from Tina,” she says, eyebrows drawing together. “It just says, ‘Merry Christmas, lovebirds. Have fun tonight waiting for Santa.’” Santana tips her face up to look at Brittany in the eye.
“Um - why would I be getting a message like that from Tina Cohen-Chang, of all people?”
Brittany goes cross-eyed in her effort to remember. “Um… I think ‘cuz I told her that’s what we were doing tonight? Why, was I not supposed to?”
Santana sighs. “It’s fine, babe. It’s just - I just wish that there weren’t so many people that knew about”… She gestures in Brittany’s direction. “… us. This.”
Brittany looks so sorrowful that Santana presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s fine, Brit. Just … try to remember, okay?”
“Are you - are you ashamed of me, Santana? Is that why nobody’s supposed to know?” asks Brittany, with a slight tremor in her voice.
Santana’s eyes widen. “Baby, no. It has absolutely nothing to do with you at all. I promise.”
Brittany twists the hem of Santana’s shirt in her fingers nervously. “So why, then?”
“Because I know how people are, okay? I mean, guys would be totally slobbery and gross about it and girls would be all freakin’ judgmental and, like, the Gay-Straight Alliance would be insisting that we fly the Bi Pride Flag all over the place - seriously, who needs all that shit? Plus, we’re so hot that we’d be fighting down offers for threesomes twice a day”-
“But we like threesomes,” argues Brittany.
Santana smiles. “We do,” she agrees gently. “But only with people who get it. Who get us. Who understand that our relationship doesn’t exist for the purpose of some random asshole getting his rocks off watching us.”
“People who get that we’re beautiful?” asks Brittany tentatively.
Santana raises an eyebrow. “Everyone knows we’re beautiful, Brittany.”
Brittany shakes her head. “No - I mean, people who get that this is beautiful. That we’re beautiful together.”
Santana leans down and kisses Brittany, eyelashes fluttering closed against the blonde’s cheek.
“Yes,” she says, so softly that Puck can barely catch the word.
“That’s why I asked Kurt if he wanted to join us,” announces Brittany. “He gets it. Plus he’s really pretty.”
Santana stifles a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he ‘gets it’ just fine - but somehow I don’t think we'd be Hummel’s idea of a good time. Don’t take it personally, babe.”
“You’ve never asked Puck to join us,” announces Brittany suddenly.
Puck’s heart starts beating madly. He feels as though they must know he’s outside, watching them.
Santana smiles widely. “Yeah, well… he’s the epitome of asshole jock. He’d make it all about him - like it was his very own personal porn show, and… I don’t know, I just prefer to keep things simple with Puck. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great in the sack, but - you can’t have a conversation with him. You definitely can’t trust him. Finn’s living proof of that.”
Puck feels a sharp twist in his stomach. Can’t have a conversation with him. Can’t trust him.
Brittany doesn’t seem to have a response to that. She presses a quick kiss to Santana’s cheek and continues to stroke Santana’s back.
Santana seems bothered by Brittany’s silence. She lifts her head up slightly. “Hey, Brit. Are you, like, pissed that I’m sleeping with Puck?”
Brittany shakes her head. “No. Are you pissed that I’m sleeping with Trey? Or Danny? Or Jack? Or Kenneth? Or Rae-Kwon? Or Isabel? Or”-
“No,” says Santana, laughing. “God, you’re something else, Brittany.” But then her eyebrows knit together suspiciously. “Wait - do you mean Isabel Hallett? From our second-period Spanish class?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, that I actually do mind. She’s a total bitch to me.”
Brittany shrugs. “Okay. I’ll stop. But the others? You don’t mind?”
“No. And you don’t either?”
Brittany reaches a hand down and squeezes Santana’s ass. “No, silly. Having sex is fun and all, but it only really means something to me when it's with you. And you feel the same way. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well… I think that’s all anybody can ask of anybody.”
Santana reaches a hand up to cup Brittany’s face tenderly. Her eyes are sparkling in the firelight. “Brittany,” she says, and her voice is rich with feeling. “Has anyone ever told you - that you can be really smart, sometimes?”
A sharp, tense silence follows that statement. “Are you - making fun of me, Santana?”
Santana locks eyes with Brittany. “No. I mean it, babe.”
Brittany nods slowly. “Okay. Then - no. No one has ever told me that.”
“Well, I’m telling you now.” Santana kisses Brittany then, soft and slow and wanting. She twines her arms around Brittany’s neck, and the girls melt into each other, their hands beginning to explore in earnest the familiar-but-much-beloved territory of each other’s bodies.
Santana breaks the embrace abruptly and draws her face back, her lips slightly fuller and her cheeks flushed to a dusky rose.
“Hey, Brit - I know this is, like, a super lame thing to say, but I kinda think I … like, love you? A little?” She tenses her shoulders defensively, as if bracing herself, and then shakes her head as if to clear it. “God, you know what? No. I - that was - I don’t know what that was. I’m sorry. It’s weird, right? I mean, it’s weird that”-
“So do I.”
Santana freezes. It almost doesn’t look as though she’s breathing.
The look of distrust and bewilderment on her face is almost too much for Puck. How is it possible that Santana - Santana - a girl he’s fought with, laughed with, schemed with and sung with and danced with and fucking slept with too many times to count...
How is it possible that he has no fucking clue who she is? The girl he’s looking at now is a stranger.
“Fuck, Brittany,” she breathes, her voice shaking slightly. “You can’t say that shit to me, okay?”
Brittany shrugs, her eyes wide and guileless. “Why not? It’s true.”
Santana swallows heavily. “No. Brit - you’re the kind of person that - I mean, it’s easy to love you. Like, I’m pretty sure everyone who knows you loves you. I’m different. I’m - a total bitch. And I get that, okay? It’s not like I”-
“Not to me,” says Brittany softly. “You aren’t a bitch to me, Santana. You help me when I get confused and you don’t laugh at me. Even when I act stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Brittany. Listen to me, babe - you’re not. You just see things differently than most people. It’s like you’re living in a dream-world even when you’re awake.” She smoothes back a stray lock of hair from Brittany’s forehead. “We should all be so lucky to live there.”
Puck thinks he hears Brittany’s breath catch softly, and he feels an unexpected shiver zip up his spine.
Santana laughs suddenly, almost to herself. “God, I’m such a fucking girl tonight.”
Brittany gazes steadily up at Santana, her eyes sweeping over the dark-haired girl’s face. “You always say that like it’s a bad thing. Girls are nice. I mean - you like me, right? And I’m a girl.”
Santana’s face reddens slightly. “Yeah, it’s just - I don’t know. Most girls don’t like me.”
Brittany shrugs. “Well, duh. That’s because you steal their boyfriends and say mean things about them.”
What happens next happens very quickly. Santana lets out a low hiss and pushes herself off of Brittany, starting to swing her legs over to the side of the couch - but Brittany’s too quick for her. She grips Santana’s arms tightly, pulling her back down. Once Santana is pressed against her, she shifts her weight abruptly, flipping them over until their positions are reversed and Brittany is hovering over Santana, who is pinned beneath her.
“Brit - what the hell - ?”
“I didn’t say anything bad, Santana - don’t get mad. I just think if you tried to be nicer, things might work out better for you. Like, you might be surprised.”
“Brit”-
“Santana, it’s okay to act like a girl.” Brittany half-pleads. “And it’s okay to like a girl. It’s okay to like me.”
“I know that, okay? I know that," snaps Santana.
“So then act like it.”
Santana - her eyes dark and wide, her face flushed, and her chest heaving - lunges upward suddenly, capturing Brittany’s mouth with her own. Brittany lets out a low moan, grinding her pelvis down and snaking a hand between their bodies to palm Santana’s breasts.
“Fuck, Brit”-
“Yes…” groans out Brittany. “Santana - Santana, wait! How - how much longer do you think it will be before Santa Claus gets here?”
The entire time she’d speaking, Brittany’s hands had trailed slowly down the length of Santana’s body, until her fingers stop - hovering just above the waistband of her flannel pajama pants.
“Oh - fuck,” says Santana, panting heavily - “It’s gonna be - awhile. He’s still in, um - Africa. Just trust me, okay? We’ve got plenty of time.”
Reassured, Brittany’s hand dips below the elastic of Santana’s pants - the dark-haired girl groans loudly - and then Santana’s right hand disappears beneath the hem of Brittany’s nightshirt.
The movement of Santana’s arm draws Puck’s eye - he’s so turned on that he can’t believe he’s able to remain standing - and then he sees Brittany bite her lip, clearly trying to stifle whatever reaction she’s experiencing.
“No,” gasps out Santana. “No. Brittany - baby - don’t hold back. Let go. It’s just us, okay? It’s just you and me - there’s no one else here” -
Puck feels a sudden, sharp twist of guilt.
Brittany starts to move her hand - the hand inside Santana’s pants - in a slow, firm, circular motion, and as she gets into a rhythm, Santana throws her head back and draws in a sharp breath - and then she begins talking.
Puck flashes back to the last time he’d fucked Santana. He remembers the things she’d said to him: “Fuck me - faster - fuck - harder - don’t even think about getting off before I do, asshole - fuck - you’re such a little bitch, Puckerman - fuck - next time, I’m getting a strap-on and fucking showing you how this is done.”
And the thing is, she hadn’t even meant it. Well, maybe she’d meant the strap-on part, because Santana’s kinky as hell, but the point is that he knows she thinks he’s a total stud in bed. He’d just heard her say so a few minutes ago, but even if he hadn’t, the fact is that Santana Lopez wouldn’t have bothered to keep coming back if she wasn’t pleased with his performance. So he’d figured - you know - that that’s just what gets her hot. Her talking down to him; berating his performance. If he’s honest… he’d thought she was like that with everybody.
But now it seems that - like with fucking everything else in his life - he’d been wrong about that, too.
“Brittany… oh my God, Brittany… please, baby… God, that feels so… Brittany…” Santana arches her back up off the bed. She makes a strange, half-hiccuping noise and - fuck - he thinks he can see tears clinging to her eyelashes, pearlized drops sliding slowly down her cheeks. “Brittany, please … I love you… I love you I love you i love you iloveyou iloveyouiloveyou…”
And that’s enough.
Puck can’t watch this anymore. He just can’t.
His body feels leaden and tired. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’d expected to see tonight, but this hadn’t been it. And he feels like a total jerk for not realizing sooner that this moment - like every other moment he had witnessed tonight -
- was obviously meant to be private.
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Puck sits in his truck for a good long while. He is feeling - God, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. He wants something, but…
In frustration, he scrolls through his cell phone contact list. He dials Finn’s number before he can chicken out. After just three rings, it goes to voicemail.
Sighing, he keeps scrolling through the list. And after staring at a number for a long time, he nods and presses “Send.”
After two rings, the phone picks up.
“Noah?”
Puck smiles. She sounds extremely surprised.
“Hey, Berry,” he says.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
“No, I just - I, uh, I know it’s been a couple weeks, but I just - uh, with everything that happened. I don’t think I ever wished you a Happy Hanukah.”
He can almost see Rachel’s surprised stare. “Oh. A Happy belated Hanukah to you as well. Um, not to be rude - but - are you certain you’re okay?”
“Uh…” He swallows. “It’s actually been kind of a shitty night.”
There are a few seconds of silence. “Do you… do you want me to come over?” He can practically hear the pounding of her heart through the phone.
“Actually, Berry - do you mind if we - uh - can we just talk? You know… have a conversation?”
He hears Rachel swallow. “Yes, Noah,” she says finally. “I don’t have plans. We can talk.”
Two-and-a-half hours and one epic conversation later, they hang up.
And Puck thinks that this Christmas Eve hadn’t really sucked as much as he’d thought it would - much better than going to Xin Hua Restaurant with his Nana and Aunt Bernice, anyway. In fact, if they make him go out to a Chinese restaurant tomorrow - it being Christmas Day and all - he’s totally dragging Rachel along with him.
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Brittany and Santana are lying on Brittany’s couch, naked, wrapped beneath a few layers of knitted afghans. They are kissing each other slowly and softly, enjoying the languid aftermath of sex.
“Santana?” asks Brittany. “If I fall asleep, will you wake me when Santa Claus gets here?”
Santana nods. “I will.”
Five minutes later, the blonde is sound asleep, snoring very softly.
Santana very carefully extracts herself from Brittany’s embrace, pulls an afghan around herself, and walks to the downstairs closet where Brittany’s parents keep the “Presents from Santa.”
The Pierces find it adorable that their daughter still believes in the magic of Christmas, so they had instructed Santana to fill the stockings and lay the presents out under the tree while Brittany is asleep.
She fills the stockings as quietly as possible, carefully arranges the presents under the tree, and climbs back onto the couch with Brittany. It’s lucky that they’re both so petite - or they’d wake up and find themselves on the floor for sure.
She nestles into Brittany’s shoulder, marveling at the warmth of her body, the feel of her steady heartbeat, and the sound of her deep, even breathing.
Brittany stirs slightly as Santana snuggles against her. “Is it - is it Santa?” she mumbles softly. “Is he here?”
Santana presses a chaste kiss to Brittany’s lips. “Go back to sleep, babe. Santa will come soon, Brittany. I promise.”
Brittany falls back to sleep less than a minute later. Santana, feeling more relaxed and content than she has in months, lays her head against her lover’s chest and shuts her eyes tightly.
And as visions of sugarplums dance in her head, sleep overtakes her.
FIN