fic: wait, they don't love you like i love you
Title: wait, they don’t love you like I love you
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 5k
Summary: “You’re Santana Lopez,” Holly whispers, smirking a little, “and from what I hear around here, you’re not one to back down from a fight.”
Spoilers: 2x15- Sexy
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: Credit for the central idea goes to zerodetorres, thanks to dealan311 for helping me deal with life per usual.
It takes her thirteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and four seconds, to work up the courage to talk to Brittany - to say words she hadn’t dared say aloud before. Her stomach is in knots the entire time, her heart thuds loudly with each step that brings her closer to Brittany’s locker, and she barely gets out the soft, “Hi,” without choking.
It takes less than five minutes for everything she worked for to crumple.
Santana sees the decision on Brittany’s face before Brittany probably makes it, and it hits her in the gut like a punch. She already feels raw, and exposed, her eyes watching every passerby, every lingering person in the hallway. There are hot tears running down her face, but she can’t bring herself to wipe them away. It’s like touching them will make them feel all the more real.
Anger isn’t a new emotion to Santana. No, anger is more like a close friend than anything else, and it’s easy to fall right back into it, comfortable even. All those walls she tore down shoot right back up, and when Brittany tries to touch her, it’s just too much. Auto-pilot kicks in, and self-preservation pushes Brittany away, turns her feet away, and moves her down the hallway.
Jaw clenched, she fights her tears, not wanting more to fall than already have. She doesn’t really watch where she’s going; she just knows she needs to keep moving. She’s turned three corners, made it to the hallway that hosts the faculty lounge, when she runs into Ms. Holliday.
“Wow,” Holly says, eyebrows raised as she takes a good look at Santana. “What happened to you, girlie?”
Santana takes a shaky breath, and shakes her head, attempting a smile. She’s done with this sharing and caring business. She tried it, it didn’t work, she’s done with it. “Nothing,” she answers, blinking against the tears pooling in her eyes.
The door to the faculty lounge slams open, and Santana feels herself flinch. Holly must see it happen, glancing quickly to the passing teacher, before wrapping an arm around Santana’s neck, and pushing them forward. “Let’s go take a walk to my office.”
“I’m fine,” Santana argues, but she doesn’t push her away. Something about the arm on her shoulders feels comfortable, and safe, and suddenly she doesn’t think she’s strong enough to be the old Santana any more.
“I know,” Holly says, bumping her hip into Santana lightly. “We’re just gonna hang out for a little bit, cool?”
Santana shrugs. Getting out of the hallway right now sounds good. “Cool,” she murmurs.
When they finally get to the health classroom, Holly sits her down in a chair, before leaning against the edge of her desk in front of Santana. She crosses her arms, and looks at Santana expectantly. “All right, lay it on me.”
Looking around, Santana debates whether or not she really wants to relieve the last few minutes, but the words start to come out anyway, and before she knows it, she’s told the whole story in a fast tumble.
“Okay, whoa, back up.” Holly puts her hand up, palm forward, and arches an eyebrow at Santana. “So she didn’t reject you.”
“Yes, she did,” Santana counters, stomach tightening at the memory.
“What did she say, exactly?”
Santana shoots her a look because, hello, they just went over this, but she answers anyway. “She said that she can’t break up with Artie.”
“But she also said she loves you too,” Holly adds, eyes intent on Santana.
“What does that matter if she doesn’t want to be with me?” Heat pricks the backs of her eyes, and she has to bite her bottom lip to keep calm.
Holly shakes her head. “Okay, either you’re telling this story wrong, or you weren’t paying attention the first time around.”
“What?”
“From the way you told it, it sounds to me like she does want to be with you. It’s just a little matter of a boyfriend in the way,” Holly laughs a little, shrugging a shoulder up. “Happens to the best of us.”
“If she wanted to be with me,” Santana explains, bitterness dripping like venom off her tone, “she’d break up with him and do it.”
Holly stares at her seriously. “You know her better than I do, but do you really think that’d be so easy for her? To hurt someone like that, I mean.”
Santana wants to keep arguing, to say that yes, it should be easy if she loves me, but her mouth just drops open wordlessly.
Holly smiles knowingly. “Look, you and me?” She gestures between them, eyes wide and serious. “Total heart-breakers. Hurting people like that is in our makeup. Doesn’t seem to be that way for your girl here.”
Silently accepting Holly’s words for truth, Santana just clenches her jaw, eyes tracing the lines in the floor under her feet for a long moment before speaking. “Still doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe not,” Holly agrees, standing up from the desk. “But it seems to me like you have some choices to make. Either grow some cojones and fight for her, or tuck tail and run.”
Santana’s brow furrows incredulously. “Fight for her? Fight for her? What the hell have I been doing? I sang that stupid song in front of glee, I talked about all these ridiculous feelings. What else am I supposed to be doing?”
“She’s your best friend, right?”
Santana nods, but the word friend makes her stomach twist violently. She has to take a deep breath against the sudden pain. “Yeah.”
“You’ll figure something out.”
“She’s made up her mind,” Santana argues.
Holly steps closer, leans over, and puts a hand on Santana’s shoulder, looking her in the eye. “If anyone could change it, it’d be you, don’t you think?”
The idea of opening herself up to hope again is daunting. She feels like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping around her, and nothing but darkness below. She wants to step away to safety, to hug the ground and remain unmoving, but the more she thinks about it, the more her toes creep up to the ledge.
“I don’t know,” she says softly, but there’s a fluttering feeling in her chest that she can’t stamp down.
“You’re Santana Lopez,” Holly whispers, smirking a little, “and from what I hear around here, you’re not one to back down from a fight.”
Stepping back, Holly gives her one last smile, winking as she says, “Don’t start now.”
--
“You want to go out this Friday?” Sam asks her, hands in his pocket as he leans up next to her locker.
It’s like she forgot that she has a boyfriend, because it takes her a second to figure out why the hell he’d ask her that. She looks up at him, all blond hair and big mouth, and her stomach sinks. The words lucky enough that you’re still single suddenly shoot across her consciousness.
“I can’t,” she answers. His face twists in confusion, but Santana’s so sick of playing these games. Being with Sam feels so much more wrong than it ever did before, and she’s just ready for it to be over.
She tries desperately to ignore the small part of her that thinks that doing this, breaking things off with Sam, will bring Brittany back. She knows it won’t, but hope is a powerful thing.
Sam just shrugs. “Saturday then?”
Sighing, Santana tries to restrain herself from being bitchy, like she normally would be. “I can’t. Indefinitely,” she explains.
Sam straightens immediately, and stares at her. “What?”
“I’m breaking up with you.” Distantly, she wishes she could will the words from Brittany’s mouth.
Eyes wide, Sam sputters a little. “Why?”
They’re gathering the attention of some of the lingering students in the hallway, but unlike a similar scene days before, Santana isn’t afraid to be overheard. In fact, she kind of wants this gossip to spread around.
“I need to be single for a while,” she answers. She shoots him a half-smile, lifting her shoulders up and down a little. “Sorry.”
She leaves him behind by her locker, smirking at all the open-mouthed stares she gets as she walks down the hallway. She knows it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change Brittany’s mind or make Santana feel any better, but at least she finally feels like she’s moving forward instead of standing still.
--
She doesn’t take Ms. Holliday’s advice immediately. It’s not even that she thinks it’s bad advice, it’s just...her heart can’t take that kind of exposure again so soon. It hurt too much the first time. She tried, she failed, and now it’s time regroup and lick her wounds.
It even works for a few days. There’s this dull ache in her chest almost constantly, but she manages to make it through school, make it through seeing Brittany without breaking down. It’s really the only way she can survive anyway. Their lockers are next to each other, they carpool nearly everyday, and she can’t escape seeing her in glee club.
She decides, after a few days of terrible pain coiling in her gut, that in order to gather her strength again, she can’t be around Brittany as much. She can’t be around anyone really. Sam just sulks in the corner, all Brittany does is smile at Artie, and Artie just sits there and looks like the cat that ate the damn canary.
All she needs is some time. If she can just lie low and avoid everyone for a few days, Brittany especially, she might be able to recover, be able to function again without this heavy weight sitting on her shoulders. Time, she hopes, will heal all wounds.
Avoiding Brittany is easier than she expects it to be, but then again, Santana knows Brittany better than anyone. She makes sure it isn’t easy for her to see Brittany or Artie in glee, she goes to her locker earlier than normal to avoid running into her, and she fakes a story about her car breaking down to get out of carpool.
Everyone, for the most part, leaves her alone. It’s her reputation that keeps most people away, and a part of her is grateful for it. She’s used to it too; keeping people at arm’s length is nothing new to her. The only notable difference is Brittany’s absence, something she’s entirely unused to.
It’s for the best, she knows as much, but she can’t ignore how much it makes the hurt worse.
--
Maybe she slips up on purpose, maybe not. All she knows is that she’s accidentally late to her locker one day, and she feels Brittany coming down the hallway long before she sees her.
“Hey,” Brittany greets softly, looking at Santana with a wounded expression as she slides up next to her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Yeah,” Santana whispers, staring at the books inside her locker.
Brittany shifts slightly, and Santana sees her reach out a little, before retracting her hand and keeping it her side. Her heart twists, but Brittany speaks up again before Santana can walk away. “Can we talk?”
Santana almost laughs at the memory the question invokes, but the sound gets caught in her throat, and all she ends up doing is shaking her head. “Let’s not.”
“Santana,” Brittany sighs, and she really hates the way her name sounds, all breathy and full of disappointment.
“I gotta go,” Santana says quickly, sparing a glance at Brittany, but regretting it nearly immediately. Brittany’s face is wounded, and her eyes are this dark blue that usually precedes crying. Santana should have known nothing good would come of her feelings. She should have seen this coming miles away. She should have stopped this whole thing months ago and saved them both all the pain. “I gotta go,” she says again, shutting her locker.
Brittany reaches out for her again, just as Santana is shifting to move away, and her palm closes around Santana’s forearm for just a second. Inhaling sharply, she pulls away immediately and stops for a second. They stare at each other, and Santana hates the tug she feels in her chest, pulling her towards Brittany.
Swallowing, she moves her gaze from Brittany, blinks against tears, and walks away.
--
She only gets as far as the back exit of the school near the loading docks. It’s empty at this time of day, and she breathes a sigh of relief at the sight. Trying to get her breathing under control, she makes it to the edge of the dock before sitting down, doubling over, and cradling her face in her hands.
“S’wrong with you?” The voice startles her, jerking her head up to find Puck leaning up against some dumpsters to her left. He’s chewing on some sunflower seeds, aviators perched on his nose to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Nothing,” Santana answers, crossing her arms around herself, and looking back to the pavement in front of her.
Puck spits shells out onto the ground before speaking again, fingers rummaging back into his bag of seeds to pull more out. “Doesn’t look that way.”
“That’s because you’re a blind idiot,” Santana snaps.
“Hey, whoa,” Puck laughs. “The bitch is back, eh?”
“Shut up, blubber lover.”
“Watch your mouth,” Puck warns, voice low and lacking the laughter of earlier.
“Whatever,” she mumbles.
He sits down next to her, tilting his open bag towards her and offering her some of his sunflower seeds. She waves them off.
“That song you did with Britt the other day was pretty cool,” he comments after a few moments of silence.
“It was stupid,” Santana counters.
Puck laughs, spitting shells out again. “It was totally badass. Doing that in front of the whole club like that.”
“Didn’t make a difference,” Santana grumbles.
Puck sighs, chewing on his snack. “You know Lauren is the first girl I’ve ever had to try with.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Ugh, spare me.”
“She’s the first girl that hasn’t just fallen for me,” Puck emphasizes, ignoring her disgusted look. “It’s hard trying to figure out what she wants from me, and how to give it to her. I mean I haven’t even been past second base. Girl is like a steel fortress.”
“Seriously, I might vomit here.”
“All I’m saying is that, you shouldn’t quit trying. It’s tough, but it’ll be worth it.”
“Why is everyone under the impression that I didn’t try?
“Our Brittany always was a few screws loose,” Puck says, shrugging. “Sometimes you gotta hammer it into her head until she actually gets it, you know what I’m saying?”
“Don’t talk to me about her like you know her better than me,” Santana says, glaring at him.
“Well, babe, if you know her so well, then convincing her shouldn’t really be that hard.”
“That’s not the point.”
Puck throws his empty bag towards the dumpsters, chafing his hands together afterwards and standing. “Kinda think maybe it is.”
He leaves Santana alone after that, disappearing back into the school. She doesn’t do anything but sit there, staring out across the back parking lot for long minutes.
Then, with a deep breath, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and sends her best friend a message.
--
Brittany’s already at the meeting place when Santana gets there, pushing the chain of an empty swing back and forth.
“Hey,” Santana greets, walking up to her and waving a little. She grabs the swing next to Brittany and takes a seat on it, looking back up at her friend.
“Hi,” Brittany replies. “I was glad you texted me. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“No,” Santana says, putting her hand up to stop Brittany. “Me first. There’s some stuff I want to show you.”
“But, it’s kind of important,” Brittany argues.
“Just let me go first,” Santana says softly, heart beating fast. “Please?”
Brittany nods slowly. “Okay.” Her eyes roam the playground skeptically, before landing back on Santana. “What are we doing here?”
Santana pushes her foot against the gravel lightly, pushing he swing back, and shrugs. “This is where we met,” she answers, focusing on the toe of her sneaker. “Seemed right to start here.”
When she looks up, Brittany’s brow is furrowed. “It is?”
Santana laughs a little. “Yeah,” she breathes, looking up at blue skies. “We were five.”
“Oh yeah,” Brittany draws out, whipping her head around as she seems to remember.
“I don’t remember a lot about it,” Santana continues, “except that you were wearing this pink shirt with a unicorn on it, and your hair was in pigtails.”
Running her fingers over the chain of the swing next to Santana, Brittany smiles down at her. “Yeah?”
Santana nods. “You walked right up to me, grabbed my hand, and demanded I come on the swings with you.”
“I remember,” Brittany breathes. “I told you we were going to be really good friends.”
Santana keeps nodding, chuckling a little. “You were my first friend.”
“Mine too,” Brittany says softly.
Taking a deep breath, Santana stands up, clenching her fist in and out, before extending her hand towards Brittany. “Take a walk with me?”
Blue eyes flicker down to Santana’s hand, and back up before smiling. Her palm slides against Santana’s until their fingers are intertwined. “Of course.”
--
Their next stop isn’t far from school. There’s this abandoned field not too far away, with a small wooded area they used to play in when they were kids. It felt adventurous when they were younger to run around in what felt like a forest. Deep into it, off the path already paved there, is a small wooden structure, still standing after all these years.
“Our fort?” Brittany’s smiling a little, eyes wide and bright. “What happened here?”
Santana nods. “The first time you kissed me. I mean really kissed me.”
Brow contracting, Brittany glances at the worn down structure that was once a well-loved childhood haunt. “No, that was-”
“My bedroom,” Santana interjects with a chuckle, “Yeah, you kissed me there too, but when we were eleven, we met here after you came back from dance camp...”
Realization flashes over Brittany’s face. She laughs a little. “I was really happy to see you,” she comments. “Two weeks was a long time.”
“An eternity,” Santana murmurs, smiling. “You kissed me straight on the lips and didn’t think anything of it.”
Brittany shrugs. “I was happy to see you,” she repeats.
“It’s the first time I had ever been kissed,” Santana explains, laughing. “First time I had ever been kissed, and it was you.”
“It’s a good memory though,” Brittany says softly, her fingers running over the wooden boards in front of them.
“The best,” Santana confirms. “You were my first kiss, and I never really wanted to kiss anybody but you.”
Brittany turns towards her. “But you did.”
Santana swallows, hurt curling in her chest. “And so did you.”
The moment is heavy again, like it felt in the hallway days before, and Santana’s having trouble breathing correctly. Brittany’s eyes look sad and full of all the regret Santana feels deep in her bones.
“Let’s go,” Santana says, tugging her away. “One more place.”
--
The last location is Santana’s room, and the minute they walk in Brittany speaks before Santana can even get a word out.
“The first place we made out!” Brittany exclaims, standing up straight. “The first place we had sex.”
Santana smiles softly at Brittany’s eager expression. “Yeah,” she says, looking around at the dark walls. She fingers the edge of her sheets, looking down at a bed that holds more memory than Santana can really deal with it. “My bedroom.”
With one last look at Brittany, Santana blows out a low breath before turning towards her closet. Opening it, she bends over and starts to search for the last thing she wants to show her best friend.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something,” Santana mumbles, pushing boxes and clothing aside until she finds what she’s searching for. It’s a small cigar box, tucked away and forgotten in the corner of her closet.
When she stands back up, she hands the box over to Brittany who holds it in her hands looking a little confused. “What is it?”
“Open it,” Santana instructs.
Brittany obeys, tipping the top of the box open to reveal a slew of small trinkets and pieces of paper. Santana smiles a little, but she can feel her knees shake with worry. She steps forward, and blows out a low breath, reaching towards the box to pull out the first object.
“The first movie we ever saw together,” Santana says, showing her the worn stub. She puts the small slip of paper back and pulls out the next thing. “The head of that Barbie doll you thought would come alive at night, so I killed it for you.”
Brittany recoils. “Why would you keep that?”
Santana laughs, but doesn’t answer. She puts the doll head back, and pulls out the next item: a small bottle cap. “The first time we TP’d someone’s house,” Santana explains. “You made me walk with you back to the gas station to get a soda.”
Brittany reaches out to grab the small object, turning it over in her hands. Santana just reaches in for the next thing. “Cheerios initiation,” she says, holding up a feather.
Brittany laughs when she sees it. “Quinn was so mad.”
“I know,” Santana replies conspiratorially.
The next thing in Santana’s hands is a small slip of paper with Brittany’s named scrawled across it in black ink. “I was excited to do that duet with you.”
Brittany pulls the scrap of paper towards her, and smiles, eyes roaming over her own name. “Me too.”
“I’m sorry I got so confused the second time,” Santana whispers. Brittany looks up at her with sad eyes.
There are more items in the box, but Santana’s feeling impatient, and anxious, so she moves them around to find a small plastic ball with a red top. She pops it open, turns it over in her palm until a small ring falls out.
Brittany stares at it, the skin around her eyes crinkled in confusion. “I don’t recognize that,” she says.
“I know,” Santana replies, pursing her lips as she stares at it. “I bought this for you when we were fifteen.”
Blue eyes widen in wonder. “What?”
“It was your birthday,” Santana says, “and your mom threw you that party. It was two days after we...”
“Had sex for the first time,” Brittany whispers.
“Yeah.”
“You never gave it to me.”
Swallowing, Santana picks the ring up off her palm, and holds it out towards Brittany. “I meant to, but when I got to the party and tried to find you, you were...”
“Making out with Adam Turner,” Brittany says softly, eyes wide with memory, jaw dropped slightly.
Santana just nods, grabbing Brittany’s hand to slide the ring on her finger.
“You slept with Puck that night,” Brittany says, eyes glancing up from the ring sharply to connect with Santana’s.
Santana laughs, but it sounds emptier than she means it to. “I did.”
It’s all laid out now, her last hand, and Santana feels her chest empty with the thought. She takes a deep breath, and manages a smile at Brittany. “Artie will never know you the way I know you,” she whispers. “He can never love you like I’ve loved you. Like I love you.”
“Santana,” Brittany sighs, and it’s like she’s back in the hallway again, stripped of all her defenses. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so vulnerable in front of Brittany before. It takes considerable effort not to run away.
She interrupts her before it can get any worse. “I’m not telling you to break up with him,” she clarifies. It’s a lie, really, because yeah, if this isn’t a huge argument for why Artie should be out of the picture, she doesn’t know what is, but more than anything she just wants Brittany to get it.
“I’m just telling you that,” she pauses, swallows against tears threatening to fall, “that I love you. That I’ve loved you for a long time, and long after he’s gone, and I’m not, I’ll still love you. When you figure that out, you let me know. I’m, uh,” she has to look down and take another deep breath, willing the words to come out, “I’m not giving up on us.”
It takes Brittany exactly five seconds to stand up, walk towards Santana, thread fingers through dark hair, and press their lips together with all the intensity Santana feels pooling in the bottom of her stomach.
It feels better than the thousands of kisses they’ve exchanged before. Teeth tug on Santana’s bottom lip, and fingers clench against her scalp. Warmth shoots through her entire body when Brittany’s tongue sweeps past her lips, and her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of it all.
“Artie broke up with me,” Brittany tells her softly, in between kisses. Santana jerks backwards, holding Brittany by her biceps.
“What?”
Brittany worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and looks at Santana with sad eyes. “Artie broke up with me. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”
Santana’s jaw drops. “Why?”
“I told him what you said to me,” Brittany explains, shrugging a little. “And he asked me if I loved you.”
“Britt,” Santana breathes.
“He said he couldn’t be with someone that’s in love with someone else too.”
“I’m sorry,” Santana lies.
Brittany laughs a little. “No you’re not.”
Struggling not to smile, Santana just shrugs. “I don’t know what to say.”
Brittany shakes her head, blue eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “For what I said in the hallway, for not choosing you.”
Her heart clenches at the memory, and her smiles fades away, but she shakes her head, sliding her hand down Brittany’s arm to tangle their fingers together. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Brittany denies, choking on the words. “It’s not okay.”
Santana doesn’t really want to dwell on things that happened before because the memory is still too vivid, and if she’s hearing everything correctly, it doesn’t matter anymore. Brittany’s here, in Santana’s bedroom, and she isn’t with Artie anymore. A softly spoken I’m so yours resounds in the back of Santana’s head.
“Come on,” Santana whispers, tugging Brittany by her shirt towards the bed. “Someone told me once that it’s better with feelings.”
A watery smile spreads over Brittany’s, before kissing Santana firmly. “I love you,” she says softly against Santana’s mouth.
Tears well up, but Santana doesn’t fight them. Her back hits the mattress when Brittany pushes her down, and she can’t do anything but smile around a whispered, “Thanks.”
Usually, this is about the time that Santana rolls them both over and buries her face into Brittany’s neck. She could do it all by muscle memory alone. Where Brittany’s hands go, where Santana’s hands go, it almost never changes.
But it has to change, Santana thinks. It has to change now. So, instead of rolling them over, Santana just lies there and lets Brittany press on top of her, hip to hip. Smiling a little, Santana refuses to look anywhere but straight into the sky blue eyes above her.
She’s crying again, but she only notices because Brittany’s finger reaches out to swipe across her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch.
“No more crying,” Brittany whispers, but Santana can hear the tears in Brittany’s voice. “It’s going to be okay now, it’s going to be okay. I promise it’s going to be okay.”
It does nothing to stop Santana from crying, because Brittany ghosts kisses across Santana’s cheeks, repeating the words over and over into the skin there, and emotion hits her like a freight train, overwhelming her.
It’s long moments of Brittany’s reassurance and Santana’s tears, before she can collect herself. Nodding slowly, with a soft, “I know, I know,” Santana grips Brittany’s hips and smiles up at her.
Brittany looks down at her, worry crinkling her brow. “You okay?”
Santana nods again, even though it’s a lie. With every touch, every kiss, every soft spoken word, Santana moves closer and closer to the edge, and all she sees below is darkness. But she’s come so far to just turn back now, and if she was going to leap for anyone it would be for Brittany. She’s done with being afraid.
“I will be,” she says softly.
The corners of Brittany’s mouth tug upward a little bit. “I love you,” she says again.
Warmth coils in her stomach, and Santana feels the breath leave her. She’s imagined this moment a thousand different ways, but nothing ever really prepared her for it.
Before she can repeat the sentiment, Brittany’s mouth is against her own, and all Santana can focus on is the way she feels, anchored to the bed by the strong body on top of hers.
It’s strange to do something Santana’s done a thousand times and have it feel so new and different. She might not have entirely bought that load of crap Brittany fed her earlier about sex and feelings, but she can’t deny it now. Not when Brittany’s fingers are pressing insistently inside her, their eyes locked together, and Santana feels like her whole body is on fire.
When her orgasm hits her, curling her toes, and pulling her eyes back into her skull, Brittany’s mouth is near her ear, murmuring incoherent affection into the skin there. She feels Brittany pressing into her thigh, her murmurs turning to gasps soon after Santana arches her back, and it’s not long before Brittany’s collapsing down with her, breathing heavily.
“You were right,” Santana jokes, chuckling a little.
Brittany rolls off to her side, and smiles at Santana lazily. “Yeah?”
“Totally.” Her eyelids are heavy, so she doesn’t fight the urge to close them. She feels physically drained, not to mention emotionally. Brittany’s body is still warm where it’s touching hers, and all she wants to do is fall asleep for hours.
“Will you buy me a new one someday?”
Her eyes shoot open, and she turns to look at Brittany, confused. She’s got her hand in the air, staring at the ring Santana put on her finger earlier. “A new ring?”
Brittany turns her head on the pillow, dropping her hand down to Santana’s stomach. “Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes serious.
It hits Santana then, exactly what Brittany means, and it takes a little effort not to instinctively fight the well of hope that springs inside her. “Someday,” Santana answers.
Scratching her nails over Santana’s abs, Brittany shifts a little closer. “Promise?”
Santana puts her hand over Brittany’s and twists the ring around, smirking. “Promise.”
Brittany falls asleep with her forehead pressed into Santana’s shoulder and their hands still entwined. Santana puts her lips against blond hair, whispers a soft I love you, and for the first time feels no fear as the words leave her lips.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 5k
Summary: “You’re Santana Lopez,” Holly whispers, smirking a little, “and from what I hear around here, you’re not one to back down from a fight.”
Spoilers: 2x15- Sexy
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: Credit for the central idea goes to zerodetorres, thanks to dealan311 for helping me deal with life per usual.
It takes her thirteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and four seconds, to work up the courage to talk to Brittany - to say words she hadn’t dared say aloud before. Her stomach is in knots the entire time, her heart thuds loudly with each step that brings her closer to Brittany’s locker, and she barely gets out the soft, “Hi,” without choking.
It takes less than five minutes for everything she worked for to crumple.
Santana sees the decision on Brittany’s face before Brittany probably makes it, and it hits her in the gut like a punch. She already feels raw, and exposed, her eyes watching every passerby, every lingering person in the hallway. There are hot tears running down her face, but she can’t bring herself to wipe them away. It’s like touching them will make them feel all the more real.
Anger isn’t a new emotion to Santana. No, anger is more like a close friend than anything else, and it’s easy to fall right back into it, comfortable even. All those walls she tore down shoot right back up, and when Brittany tries to touch her, it’s just too much. Auto-pilot kicks in, and self-preservation pushes Brittany away, turns her feet away, and moves her down the hallway.
Jaw clenched, she fights her tears, not wanting more to fall than already have. She doesn’t really watch where she’s going; she just knows she needs to keep moving. She’s turned three corners, made it to the hallway that hosts the faculty lounge, when she runs into Ms. Holliday.
“Wow,” Holly says, eyebrows raised as she takes a good look at Santana. “What happened to you, girlie?”
Santana takes a shaky breath, and shakes her head, attempting a smile. She’s done with this sharing and caring business. She tried it, it didn’t work, she’s done with it. “Nothing,” she answers, blinking against the tears pooling in her eyes.
The door to the faculty lounge slams open, and Santana feels herself flinch. Holly must see it happen, glancing quickly to the passing teacher, before wrapping an arm around Santana’s neck, and pushing them forward. “Let’s go take a walk to my office.”
“I’m fine,” Santana argues, but she doesn’t push her away. Something about the arm on her shoulders feels comfortable, and safe, and suddenly she doesn’t think she’s strong enough to be the old Santana any more.
“I know,” Holly says, bumping her hip into Santana lightly. “We’re just gonna hang out for a little bit, cool?”
Santana shrugs. Getting out of the hallway right now sounds good. “Cool,” she murmurs.
When they finally get to the health classroom, Holly sits her down in a chair, before leaning against the edge of her desk in front of Santana. She crosses her arms, and looks at Santana expectantly. “All right, lay it on me.”
Looking around, Santana debates whether or not she really wants to relieve the last few minutes, but the words start to come out anyway, and before she knows it, she’s told the whole story in a fast tumble.
“Okay, whoa, back up.” Holly puts her hand up, palm forward, and arches an eyebrow at Santana. “So she didn’t reject you.”
“Yes, she did,” Santana counters, stomach tightening at the memory.
“What did she say, exactly?”
Santana shoots her a look because, hello, they just went over this, but she answers anyway. “She said that she can’t break up with Artie.”
“But she also said she loves you too,” Holly adds, eyes intent on Santana.
“What does that matter if she doesn’t want to be with me?” Heat pricks the backs of her eyes, and she has to bite her bottom lip to keep calm.
Holly shakes her head. “Okay, either you’re telling this story wrong, or you weren’t paying attention the first time around.”
“What?”
“From the way you told it, it sounds to me like she does want to be with you. It’s just a little matter of a boyfriend in the way,” Holly laughs a little, shrugging a shoulder up. “Happens to the best of us.”
“If she wanted to be with me,” Santana explains, bitterness dripping like venom off her tone, “she’d break up with him and do it.”
Holly stares at her seriously. “You know her better than I do, but do you really think that’d be so easy for her? To hurt someone like that, I mean.”
Santana wants to keep arguing, to say that yes, it should be easy if she loves me, but her mouth just drops open wordlessly.
Holly smiles knowingly. “Look, you and me?” She gestures between them, eyes wide and serious. “Total heart-breakers. Hurting people like that is in our makeup. Doesn’t seem to be that way for your girl here.”
Silently accepting Holly’s words for truth, Santana just clenches her jaw, eyes tracing the lines in the floor under her feet for a long moment before speaking. “Still doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe not,” Holly agrees, standing up from the desk. “But it seems to me like you have some choices to make. Either grow some cojones and fight for her, or tuck tail and run.”
Santana’s brow furrows incredulously. “Fight for her? Fight for her? What the hell have I been doing? I sang that stupid song in front of glee, I talked about all these ridiculous feelings. What else am I supposed to be doing?”
“She’s your best friend, right?”
Santana nods, but the word friend makes her stomach twist violently. She has to take a deep breath against the sudden pain. “Yeah.”
“You’ll figure something out.”
“She’s made up her mind,” Santana argues.
Holly steps closer, leans over, and puts a hand on Santana’s shoulder, looking her in the eye. “If anyone could change it, it’d be you, don’t you think?”
The idea of opening herself up to hope again is daunting. She feels like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping around her, and nothing but darkness below. She wants to step away to safety, to hug the ground and remain unmoving, but the more she thinks about it, the more her toes creep up to the ledge.
“I don’t know,” she says softly, but there’s a fluttering feeling in her chest that she can’t stamp down.
“You’re Santana Lopez,” Holly whispers, smirking a little, “and from what I hear around here, you’re not one to back down from a fight.”
Stepping back, Holly gives her one last smile, winking as she says, “Don’t start now.”
--
“You want to go out this Friday?” Sam asks her, hands in his pocket as he leans up next to her locker.
It’s like she forgot that she has a boyfriend, because it takes her a second to figure out why the hell he’d ask her that. She looks up at him, all blond hair and big mouth, and her stomach sinks. The words lucky enough that you’re still single suddenly shoot across her consciousness.
“I can’t,” she answers. His face twists in confusion, but Santana’s so sick of playing these games. Being with Sam feels so much more wrong than it ever did before, and she’s just ready for it to be over.
She tries desperately to ignore the small part of her that thinks that doing this, breaking things off with Sam, will bring Brittany back. She knows it won’t, but hope is a powerful thing.
Sam just shrugs. “Saturday then?”
Sighing, Santana tries to restrain herself from being bitchy, like she normally would be. “I can’t. Indefinitely,” she explains.
Sam straightens immediately, and stares at her. “What?”
“I’m breaking up with you.” Distantly, she wishes she could will the words from Brittany’s mouth.
Eyes wide, Sam sputters a little. “Why?”
They’re gathering the attention of some of the lingering students in the hallway, but unlike a similar scene days before, Santana isn’t afraid to be overheard. In fact, she kind of wants this gossip to spread around.
“I need to be single for a while,” she answers. She shoots him a half-smile, lifting her shoulders up and down a little. “Sorry.”
She leaves him behind by her locker, smirking at all the open-mouthed stares she gets as she walks down the hallway. She knows it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change Brittany’s mind or make Santana feel any better, but at least she finally feels like she’s moving forward instead of standing still.
--
She doesn’t take Ms. Holliday’s advice immediately. It’s not even that she thinks it’s bad advice, it’s just...her heart can’t take that kind of exposure again so soon. It hurt too much the first time. She tried, she failed, and now it’s time regroup and lick her wounds.
It even works for a few days. There’s this dull ache in her chest almost constantly, but she manages to make it through school, make it through seeing Brittany without breaking down. It’s really the only way she can survive anyway. Their lockers are next to each other, they carpool nearly everyday, and she can’t escape seeing her in glee club.
She decides, after a few days of terrible pain coiling in her gut, that in order to gather her strength again, she can’t be around Brittany as much. She can’t be around anyone really. Sam just sulks in the corner, all Brittany does is smile at Artie, and Artie just sits there and looks like the cat that ate the damn canary.
All she needs is some time. If she can just lie low and avoid everyone for a few days, Brittany especially, she might be able to recover, be able to function again without this heavy weight sitting on her shoulders. Time, she hopes, will heal all wounds.
Avoiding Brittany is easier than she expects it to be, but then again, Santana knows Brittany better than anyone. She makes sure it isn’t easy for her to see Brittany or Artie in glee, she goes to her locker earlier than normal to avoid running into her, and she fakes a story about her car breaking down to get out of carpool.
Everyone, for the most part, leaves her alone. It’s her reputation that keeps most people away, and a part of her is grateful for it. She’s used to it too; keeping people at arm’s length is nothing new to her. The only notable difference is Brittany’s absence, something she’s entirely unused to.
It’s for the best, she knows as much, but she can’t ignore how much it makes the hurt worse.
--
Maybe she slips up on purpose, maybe not. All she knows is that she’s accidentally late to her locker one day, and she feels Brittany coming down the hallway long before she sees her.
“Hey,” Brittany greets softly, looking at Santana with a wounded expression as she slides up next to her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Yeah,” Santana whispers, staring at the books inside her locker.
Brittany shifts slightly, and Santana sees her reach out a little, before retracting her hand and keeping it her side. Her heart twists, but Brittany speaks up again before Santana can walk away. “Can we talk?”
Santana almost laughs at the memory the question invokes, but the sound gets caught in her throat, and all she ends up doing is shaking her head. “Let’s not.”
“Santana,” Brittany sighs, and she really hates the way her name sounds, all breathy and full of disappointment.
“I gotta go,” Santana says quickly, sparing a glance at Brittany, but regretting it nearly immediately. Brittany’s face is wounded, and her eyes are this dark blue that usually precedes crying. Santana should have known nothing good would come of her feelings. She should have seen this coming miles away. She should have stopped this whole thing months ago and saved them both all the pain. “I gotta go,” she says again, shutting her locker.
Brittany reaches out for her again, just as Santana is shifting to move away, and her palm closes around Santana’s forearm for just a second. Inhaling sharply, she pulls away immediately and stops for a second. They stare at each other, and Santana hates the tug she feels in her chest, pulling her towards Brittany.
Swallowing, she moves her gaze from Brittany, blinks against tears, and walks away.
--
She only gets as far as the back exit of the school near the loading docks. It’s empty at this time of day, and she breathes a sigh of relief at the sight. Trying to get her breathing under control, she makes it to the edge of the dock before sitting down, doubling over, and cradling her face in her hands.
“S’wrong with you?” The voice startles her, jerking her head up to find Puck leaning up against some dumpsters to her left. He’s chewing on some sunflower seeds, aviators perched on his nose to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Nothing,” Santana answers, crossing her arms around herself, and looking back to the pavement in front of her.
Puck spits shells out onto the ground before speaking again, fingers rummaging back into his bag of seeds to pull more out. “Doesn’t look that way.”
“That’s because you’re a blind idiot,” Santana snaps.
“Hey, whoa,” Puck laughs. “The bitch is back, eh?”
“Shut up, blubber lover.”
“Watch your mouth,” Puck warns, voice low and lacking the laughter of earlier.
“Whatever,” she mumbles.
He sits down next to her, tilting his open bag towards her and offering her some of his sunflower seeds. She waves them off.
“That song you did with Britt the other day was pretty cool,” he comments after a few moments of silence.
“It was stupid,” Santana counters.
Puck laughs, spitting shells out again. “It was totally badass. Doing that in front of the whole club like that.”
“Didn’t make a difference,” Santana grumbles.
Puck sighs, chewing on his snack. “You know Lauren is the first girl I’ve ever had to try with.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Ugh, spare me.”
“She’s the first girl that hasn’t just fallen for me,” Puck emphasizes, ignoring her disgusted look. “It’s hard trying to figure out what she wants from me, and how to give it to her. I mean I haven’t even been past second base. Girl is like a steel fortress.”
“Seriously, I might vomit here.”
“All I’m saying is that, you shouldn’t quit trying. It’s tough, but it’ll be worth it.”
“Why is everyone under the impression that I didn’t try?
“Our Brittany always was a few screws loose,” Puck says, shrugging. “Sometimes you gotta hammer it into her head until she actually gets it, you know what I’m saying?”
“Don’t talk to me about her like you know her better than me,” Santana says, glaring at him.
“Well, babe, if you know her so well, then convincing her shouldn’t really be that hard.”
“That’s not the point.”
Puck throws his empty bag towards the dumpsters, chafing his hands together afterwards and standing. “Kinda think maybe it is.”
He leaves Santana alone after that, disappearing back into the school. She doesn’t do anything but sit there, staring out across the back parking lot for long minutes.
Then, with a deep breath, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and sends her best friend a message.
--
Brittany’s already at the meeting place when Santana gets there, pushing the chain of an empty swing back and forth.
“Hey,” Santana greets, walking up to her and waving a little. She grabs the swing next to Brittany and takes a seat on it, looking back up at her friend.
“Hi,” Brittany replies. “I was glad you texted me. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“No,” Santana says, putting her hand up to stop Brittany. “Me first. There’s some stuff I want to show you.”
“But, it’s kind of important,” Brittany argues.
“Just let me go first,” Santana says softly, heart beating fast. “Please?”
Brittany nods slowly. “Okay.” Her eyes roam the playground skeptically, before landing back on Santana. “What are we doing here?”
Santana pushes her foot against the gravel lightly, pushing he swing back, and shrugs. “This is where we met,” she answers, focusing on the toe of her sneaker. “Seemed right to start here.”
When she looks up, Brittany’s brow is furrowed. “It is?”
Santana laughs a little. “Yeah,” she breathes, looking up at blue skies. “We were five.”
“Oh yeah,” Brittany draws out, whipping her head around as she seems to remember.
“I don’t remember a lot about it,” Santana continues, “except that you were wearing this pink shirt with a unicorn on it, and your hair was in pigtails.”
Running her fingers over the chain of the swing next to Santana, Brittany smiles down at her. “Yeah?”
Santana nods. “You walked right up to me, grabbed my hand, and demanded I come on the swings with you.”
“I remember,” Brittany breathes. “I told you we were going to be really good friends.”
Santana keeps nodding, chuckling a little. “You were my first friend.”
“Mine too,” Brittany says softly.
Taking a deep breath, Santana stands up, clenching her fist in and out, before extending her hand towards Brittany. “Take a walk with me?”
Blue eyes flicker down to Santana’s hand, and back up before smiling. Her palm slides against Santana’s until their fingers are intertwined. “Of course.”
--
Their next stop isn’t far from school. There’s this abandoned field not too far away, with a small wooded area they used to play in when they were kids. It felt adventurous when they were younger to run around in what felt like a forest. Deep into it, off the path already paved there, is a small wooden structure, still standing after all these years.
“Our fort?” Brittany’s smiling a little, eyes wide and bright. “What happened here?”
Santana nods. “The first time you kissed me. I mean really kissed me.”
Brow contracting, Brittany glances at the worn down structure that was once a well-loved childhood haunt. “No, that was-”
“My bedroom,” Santana interjects with a chuckle, “Yeah, you kissed me there too, but when we were eleven, we met here after you came back from dance camp...”
Realization flashes over Brittany’s face. She laughs a little. “I was really happy to see you,” she comments. “Two weeks was a long time.”
“An eternity,” Santana murmurs, smiling. “You kissed me straight on the lips and didn’t think anything of it.”
Brittany shrugs. “I was happy to see you,” she repeats.
“It’s the first time I had ever been kissed,” Santana explains, laughing. “First time I had ever been kissed, and it was you.”
“It’s a good memory though,” Brittany says softly, her fingers running over the wooden boards in front of them.
“The best,” Santana confirms. “You were my first kiss, and I never really wanted to kiss anybody but you.”
Brittany turns towards her. “But you did.”
Santana swallows, hurt curling in her chest. “And so did you.”
The moment is heavy again, like it felt in the hallway days before, and Santana’s having trouble breathing correctly. Brittany’s eyes look sad and full of all the regret Santana feels deep in her bones.
“Let’s go,” Santana says, tugging her away. “One more place.”
--
The last location is Santana’s room, and the minute they walk in Brittany speaks before Santana can even get a word out.
“The first place we made out!” Brittany exclaims, standing up straight. “The first place we had sex.”
Santana smiles softly at Brittany’s eager expression. “Yeah,” she says, looking around at the dark walls. She fingers the edge of her sheets, looking down at a bed that holds more memory than Santana can really deal with it. “My bedroom.”
With one last look at Brittany, Santana blows out a low breath before turning towards her closet. Opening it, she bends over and starts to search for the last thing she wants to show her best friend.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something,” Santana mumbles, pushing boxes and clothing aside until she finds what she’s searching for. It’s a small cigar box, tucked away and forgotten in the corner of her closet.
When she stands back up, she hands the box over to Brittany who holds it in her hands looking a little confused. “What is it?”
“Open it,” Santana instructs.
Brittany obeys, tipping the top of the box open to reveal a slew of small trinkets and pieces of paper. Santana smiles a little, but she can feel her knees shake with worry. She steps forward, and blows out a low breath, reaching towards the box to pull out the first object.
“The first movie we ever saw together,” Santana says, showing her the worn stub. She puts the small slip of paper back and pulls out the next thing. “The head of that Barbie doll you thought would come alive at night, so I killed it for you.”
Brittany recoils. “Why would you keep that?”
Santana laughs, but doesn’t answer. She puts the doll head back, and pulls out the next item: a small bottle cap. “The first time we TP’d someone’s house,” Santana explains. “You made me walk with you back to the gas station to get a soda.”
Brittany reaches out to grab the small object, turning it over in her hands. Santana just reaches in for the next thing. “Cheerios initiation,” she says, holding up a feather.
Brittany laughs when she sees it. “Quinn was so mad.”
“I know,” Santana replies conspiratorially.
The next thing in Santana’s hands is a small slip of paper with Brittany’s named scrawled across it in black ink. “I was excited to do that duet with you.”
Brittany pulls the scrap of paper towards her, and smiles, eyes roaming over her own name. “Me too.”
“I’m sorry I got so confused the second time,” Santana whispers. Brittany looks up at her with sad eyes.
There are more items in the box, but Santana’s feeling impatient, and anxious, so she moves them around to find a small plastic ball with a red top. She pops it open, turns it over in her palm until a small ring falls out.
Brittany stares at it, the skin around her eyes crinkled in confusion. “I don’t recognize that,” she says.
“I know,” Santana replies, pursing her lips as she stares at it. “I bought this for you when we were fifteen.”
Blue eyes widen in wonder. “What?”
“It was your birthday,” Santana says, “and your mom threw you that party. It was two days after we...”
“Had sex for the first time,” Brittany whispers.
“Yeah.”
“You never gave it to me.”
Swallowing, Santana picks the ring up off her palm, and holds it out towards Brittany. “I meant to, but when I got to the party and tried to find you, you were...”
“Making out with Adam Turner,” Brittany says softly, eyes wide with memory, jaw dropped slightly.
Santana just nods, grabbing Brittany’s hand to slide the ring on her finger.
“You slept with Puck that night,” Brittany says, eyes glancing up from the ring sharply to connect with Santana’s.
Santana laughs, but it sounds emptier than she means it to. “I did.”
It’s all laid out now, her last hand, and Santana feels her chest empty with the thought. She takes a deep breath, and manages a smile at Brittany. “Artie will never know you the way I know you,” she whispers. “He can never love you like I’ve loved you. Like I love you.”
“Santana,” Brittany sighs, and it’s like she’s back in the hallway again, stripped of all her defenses. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so vulnerable in front of Brittany before. It takes considerable effort not to run away.
She interrupts her before it can get any worse. “I’m not telling you to break up with him,” she clarifies. It’s a lie, really, because yeah, if this isn’t a huge argument for why Artie should be out of the picture, she doesn’t know what is, but more than anything she just wants Brittany to get it.
“I’m just telling you that,” she pauses, swallows against tears threatening to fall, “that I love you. That I’ve loved you for a long time, and long after he’s gone, and I’m not, I’ll still love you. When you figure that out, you let me know. I’m, uh,” she has to look down and take another deep breath, willing the words to come out, “I’m not giving up on us.”
It takes Brittany exactly five seconds to stand up, walk towards Santana, thread fingers through dark hair, and press their lips together with all the intensity Santana feels pooling in the bottom of her stomach.
It feels better than the thousands of kisses they’ve exchanged before. Teeth tug on Santana’s bottom lip, and fingers clench against her scalp. Warmth shoots through her entire body when Brittany’s tongue sweeps past her lips, and her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of it all.
“Artie broke up with me,” Brittany tells her softly, in between kisses. Santana jerks backwards, holding Brittany by her biceps.
“What?”
Brittany worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and looks at Santana with sad eyes. “Artie broke up with me. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”
Santana’s jaw drops. “Why?”
“I told him what you said to me,” Brittany explains, shrugging a little. “And he asked me if I loved you.”
“Britt,” Santana breathes.
“He said he couldn’t be with someone that’s in love with someone else too.”
“I’m sorry,” Santana lies.
Brittany laughs a little. “No you’re not.”
Struggling not to smile, Santana just shrugs. “I don’t know what to say.”
Brittany shakes her head, blue eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “For what I said in the hallway, for not choosing you.”
Her heart clenches at the memory, and her smiles fades away, but she shakes her head, sliding her hand down Brittany’s arm to tangle their fingers together. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Brittany denies, choking on the words. “It’s not okay.”
Santana doesn’t really want to dwell on things that happened before because the memory is still too vivid, and if she’s hearing everything correctly, it doesn’t matter anymore. Brittany’s here, in Santana’s bedroom, and she isn’t with Artie anymore. A softly spoken I’m so yours resounds in the back of Santana’s head.
“Come on,” Santana whispers, tugging Brittany by her shirt towards the bed. “Someone told me once that it’s better with feelings.”
A watery smile spreads over Brittany’s, before kissing Santana firmly. “I love you,” she says softly against Santana’s mouth.
Tears well up, but Santana doesn’t fight them. Her back hits the mattress when Brittany pushes her down, and she can’t do anything but smile around a whispered, “Thanks.”
Usually, this is about the time that Santana rolls them both over and buries her face into Brittany’s neck. She could do it all by muscle memory alone. Where Brittany’s hands go, where Santana’s hands go, it almost never changes.
But it has to change, Santana thinks. It has to change now. So, instead of rolling them over, Santana just lies there and lets Brittany press on top of her, hip to hip. Smiling a little, Santana refuses to look anywhere but straight into the sky blue eyes above her.
She’s crying again, but she only notices because Brittany’s finger reaches out to swipe across her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch.
“No more crying,” Brittany whispers, but Santana can hear the tears in Brittany’s voice. “It’s going to be okay now, it’s going to be okay. I promise it’s going to be okay.”
It does nothing to stop Santana from crying, because Brittany ghosts kisses across Santana’s cheeks, repeating the words over and over into the skin there, and emotion hits her like a freight train, overwhelming her.
It’s long moments of Brittany’s reassurance and Santana’s tears, before she can collect herself. Nodding slowly, with a soft, “I know, I know,” Santana grips Brittany’s hips and smiles up at her.
Brittany looks down at her, worry crinkling her brow. “You okay?”
Santana nods again, even though it’s a lie. With every touch, every kiss, every soft spoken word, Santana moves closer and closer to the edge, and all she sees below is darkness. But she’s come so far to just turn back now, and if she was going to leap for anyone it would be for Brittany. She’s done with being afraid.
“I will be,” she says softly.
The corners of Brittany’s mouth tug upward a little bit. “I love you,” she says again.
Warmth coils in her stomach, and Santana feels the breath leave her. She’s imagined this moment a thousand different ways, but nothing ever really prepared her for it.
Before she can repeat the sentiment, Brittany’s mouth is against her own, and all Santana can focus on is the way she feels, anchored to the bed by the strong body on top of hers.
It’s strange to do something Santana’s done a thousand times and have it feel so new and different. She might not have entirely bought that load of crap Brittany fed her earlier about sex and feelings, but she can’t deny it now. Not when Brittany’s fingers are pressing insistently inside her, their eyes locked together, and Santana feels like her whole body is on fire.
When her orgasm hits her, curling her toes, and pulling her eyes back into her skull, Brittany’s mouth is near her ear, murmuring incoherent affection into the skin there. She feels Brittany pressing into her thigh, her murmurs turning to gasps soon after Santana arches her back, and it’s not long before Brittany’s collapsing down with her, breathing heavily.
“You were right,” Santana jokes, chuckling a little.
Brittany rolls off to her side, and smiles at Santana lazily. “Yeah?”
“Totally.” Her eyelids are heavy, so she doesn’t fight the urge to close them. She feels physically drained, not to mention emotionally. Brittany’s body is still warm where it’s touching hers, and all she wants to do is fall asleep for hours.
“Will you buy me a new one someday?”
Her eyes shoot open, and she turns to look at Brittany, confused. She’s got her hand in the air, staring at the ring Santana put on her finger earlier. “A new ring?”
Brittany turns her head on the pillow, dropping her hand down to Santana’s stomach. “Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes serious.
It hits Santana then, exactly what Brittany means, and it takes a little effort not to instinctively fight the well of hope that springs inside her. “Someday,” Santana answers.
Scratching her nails over Santana’s abs, Brittany shifts a little closer. “Promise?”
Santana puts her hand over Brittany’s and twists the ring around, smirking. “Promise.”
Brittany falls asleep with her forehead pressed into Santana’s shoulder and their hands still entwined. Santana puts her lips against blond hair, whispers a soft I love you, and for the first time feels no fear as the words leave her lips.