Fic: First Kisses
Puck/Santana
Brittany/Santana
He's eleven the first time he kisses a girl. So is she.
He’s eleven the first time he kisses a girl. Fifth grade has just ended, and of course he’s told all the guys he’s already kissed three girls-Santana, Brittany, and Quinn-and all the guys are too afraid of Santana and Quinn to ask for corroboration (and too afraid of Santana to ask Brittany), so he gets to look like the stud, no problem. But on one of the first nights of summer vacation, he’s hiding in the tree fort because he and Matt shaved their hair into mohawks that day, and Matt’s mom had thrown a fit, so he was certain his mom would too.
“Noah Puckerman!” she calls, as it begins to get dark. “I know you’re up in that tree! It’s time for dinner!”
“I already ate!” he lies, and his mother sighs but heads back inside to feed his sister.
Just after the streetlights come on-when he’s feeling hungry enough to risk his mother’s wrath at his new haircut-a dark head pops up in the fort’s entrance. “Here you are, doofus,” Santana greets him, pulling herself inside. “Did you really give yourself a mohawk?” she asks eagerly.
“How did you know?” he demands, putting both hands on his head, as if that will stop her from seeing it.
“We heard Matt’s mom yelling at him all afternoon,” she laughs. “It ended up making Britt cry, so I walked her home. Lemme see,” she insists, grabbing his hands. “Wow. You definitely need someone to clean that up for you,” she appraises, and he wrenches out of her grasp.
“Eff off,” he scowls.
“It could look cool,” she says slyly, and he can’t help it; he perks up a little. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll fix it with my dad’s clippers.”
“Okay,” he agrees, as she sits on the floor of the fort. “Dang, San, you’re dirty,” he notices. “And your shirt’s ripped!”
She shrugs. “It’s summer. Britt and I were playing football with my cousins.”
“Your dad didn’t yell at you?”
“Not yet,” she grins, and he laughs. “Matt says you told him I kissed you,” she says suddenly, and he gulps, wishing he were anywhere but trapped in this little box.
“Well, I…”
She shakes her head. “You’re an idiot, Noah.”
“It’s Puck,” he reminds her for the millionth time.
“Right. Like I’m ever going to call you Puck,” she laughs. Then she grabs his shirt and pulls him closer. “You really wanna kiss a girl?” she asks, and he can’t quite tell if he’s offering.
“Well. Yeah,” he says honestly, but then he screws his eyes shut and prepares for her to punch him.
Just when he’s about to open his eyes, because it’s been long enough that he’s sure she won’t really hit him, he feels lips pressed against his-warm and dry and soft-and his eyes fly open in surprise. But before he can decide if he likes it or not, Santana pulls away, rocking back on her heels and smirking at him. “There. Now you don’t have to lie. Noah.”
“I hate you,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No you don’t. I’m a good kisser,” she says.
“Oh, who else have you kissed?” he demands, and suddenly she blushes.
He’s known her all his life, and he’s never once seen her blush. He has no idea what to say. Or where to look. Or what to do with his hands.
“None of your business,” she mumbles, and she heads for the ladder.
“Okay,” he says, still confused.
“Come over after breakfast, okay?” she says, before she starts to climb down. “I’ll fix your hair.”
“Okay,” he says again, nodding slowly.
He watches through the small window as she runs across the yard, back toward her house, and the only thing he can think about is who she could have kissed.
***
She’s eleven the first time she kisses a girl. It’s their first night of summer vacation, and she and Brittany have spent the afternoon and most of the evening running wild with siblings and cousins, but have finally been sent to bed. They’re lying side by side in Brittany’s bed, whispering about all the dumb things Santana’s cousins did earlier in the day, when suddenly Brittany asks her if she’s kissed anyone.
“What? No,” she says without thinking, but she rolls over onto her back and stairs up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Brittany’s ceiling.
She’d put them up there when they were eight, because Brittany still got scared of the dark. For a while, she’s quiet, smiling to herself when she finds the S and the B she’d hidden. “San,” Brittany prompts her, and she sighs.
“Why are you worried about kissing?” she asks, looking at her friend again.
Brittany shrugs. “Carla was talking about it. She said she’d kissed four boys by the time she started middle school.”
“Carla’s a liar,” Santana snorts. “She’s never kissed anyone yet.”
“Really?” Brittany asks, giggling a little.
Santana nods. “I don’t know why she told you that.”
“Well, she was telling her friends. I just heard her.”
“Oh.” She watches Brittany’s blue eyes, and there’s something different about them. “Do you want to kiss a boy?” she asks, frowning, but Brittany shakes her head, so she relaxes.
She thinks the conversation is over, and she even begins to fall asleep, but Brittany calls her name again. “What’s up?” she yawns, rolling over, and before she can even think, Brittany’s lips are pressed against her own.
They’re warm and soft-softer than Santana would have thought-and just as she tries to kiss back, Brittany pulls away. At first, all she can do is blink, but then she smiles slowly, and Brittany grins at her. “Didn’t you just say you didn’t want to kiss anyone?” Santana asks, suddenly shy, and Brittany laughs, carefully touching Santana’s cheek.
“No, silly. I said I didn’t want to kiss a boy.”
Santana laughs and ducks her head, but when Brittany tugs her closer, she doesn’t resist, and they eventually fall asleep tangled together.
Brittany/Santana
He's eleven the first time he kisses a girl. So is she.
He’s eleven the first time he kisses a girl. Fifth grade has just ended, and of course he’s told all the guys he’s already kissed three girls-Santana, Brittany, and Quinn-and all the guys are too afraid of Santana and Quinn to ask for corroboration (and too afraid of Santana to ask Brittany), so he gets to look like the stud, no problem. But on one of the first nights of summer vacation, he’s hiding in the tree fort because he and Matt shaved their hair into mohawks that day, and Matt’s mom had thrown a fit, so he was certain his mom would too.
“Noah Puckerman!” she calls, as it begins to get dark. “I know you’re up in that tree! It’s time for dinner!”
“I already ate!” he lies, and his mother sighs but heads back inside to feed his sister.
Just after the streetlights come on-when he’s feeling hungry enough to risk his mother’s wrath at his new haircut-a dark head pops up in the fort’s entrance. “Here you are, doofus,” Santana greets him, pulling herself inside. “Did you really give yourself a mohawk?” she asks eagerly.
“How did you know?” he demands, putting both hands on his head, as if that will stop her from seeing it.
“We heard Matt’s mom yelling at him all afternoon,” she laughs. “It ended up making Britt cry, so I walked her home. Lemme see,” she insists, grabbing his hands. “Wow. You definitely need someone to clean that up for you,” she appraises, and he wrenches out of her grasp.
“Eff off,” he scowls.
“It could look cool,” she says slyly, and he can’t help it; he perks up a little. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll fix it with my dad’s clippers.”
“Okay,” he agrees, as she sits on the floor of the fort. “Dang, San, you’re dirty,” he notices. “And your shirt’s ripped!”
She shrugs. “It’s summer. Britt and I were playing football with my cousins.”
“Your dad didn’t yell at you?”
“Not yet,” she grins, and he laughs. “Matt says you told him I kissed you,” she says suddenly, and he gulps, wishing he were anywhere but trapped in this little box.
“Well, I…”
She shakes her head. “You’re an idiot, Noah.”
“It’s Puck,” he reminds her for the millionth time.
“Right. Like I’m ever going to call you Puck,” she laughs. Then she grabs his shirt and pulls him closer. “You really wanna kiss a girl?” she asks, and he can’t quite tell if he’s offering.
“Well. Yeah,” he says honestly, but then he screws his eyes shut and prepares for her to punch him.
Just when he’s about to open his eyes, because it’s been long enough that he’s sure she won’t really hit him, he feels lips pressed against his-warm and dry and soft-and his eyes fly open in surprise. But before he can decide if he likes it or not, Santana pulls away, rocking back on her heels and smirking at him. “There. Now you don’t have to lie. Noah.”
“I hate you,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No you don’t. I’m a good kisser,” she says.
“Oh, who else have you kissed?” he demands, and suddenly she blushes.
He’s known her all his life, and he’s never once seen her blush. He has no idea what to say. Or where to look. Or what to do with his hands.
“None of your business,” she mumbles, and she heads for the ladder.
“Okay,” he says, still confused.
“Come over after breakfast, okay?” she says, before she starts to climb down. “I’ll fix your hair.”
“Okay,” he says again, nodding slowly.
He watches through the small window as she runs across the yard, back toward her house, and the only thing he can think about is who she could have kissed.
***
She’s eleven the first time she kisses a girl. It’s their first night of summer vacation, and she and Brittany have spent the afternoon and most of the evening running wild with siblings and cousins, but have finally been sent to bed. They’re lying side by side in Brittany’s bed, whispering about all the dumb things Santana’s cousins did earlier in the day, when suddenly Brittany asks her if she’s kissed anyone.
“What? No,” she says without thinking, but she rolls over onto her back and stairs up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Brittany’s ceiling.
She’d put them up there when they were eight, because Brittany still got scared of the dark. For a while, she’s quiet, smiling to herself when she finds the S and the B she’d hidden. “San,” Brittany prompts her, and she sighs.
“Why are you worried about kissing?” she asks, looking at her friend again.
Brittany shrugs. “Carla was talking about it. She said she’d kissed four boys by the time she started middle school.”
“Carla’s a liar,” Santana snorts. “She’s never kissed anyone yet.”
“Really?” Brittany asks, giggling a little.
Santana nods. “I don’t know why she told you that.”
“Well, she was telling her friends. I just heard her.”
“Oh.” She watches Brittany’s blue eyes, and there’s something different about them. “Do you want to kiss a boy?” she asks, frowning, but Brittany shakes her head, so she relaxes.
She thinks the conversation is over, and she even begins to fall asleep, but Brittany calls her name again. “What’s up?” she yawns, rolling over, and before she can even think, Brittany’s lips are pressed against her own.
They’re warm and soft-softer than Santana would have thought-and just as she tries to kiss back, Brittany pulls away. At first, all she can do is blink, but then she smiles slowly, and Brittany grins at her. “Didn’t you just say you didn’t want to kiss anyone?” Santana asks, suddenly shy, and Brittany laughs, carefully touching Santana’s cheek.
“No, silly. I said I didn’t want to kiss a boy.”
Santana laughs and ducks her head, but when Brittany tugs her closer, she doesn’t resist, and they eventually fall asleep tangled together.