Two Times Brittany Didn't Think, and One Time She Did (2/3): Ballads
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: R
Words: ~2,500/~7000
Summary: Three vignettes spanning the years of Brittany and Santana's relationship: 2/3 Ballads.
Disclaimer: Songs used: Get It On - T. Rex; Head Over Feet - Alanis Morissette
Part One
The colours of the magazine blurred together, the words going unread as Santana flicked a page aimlessly, deep in thought. She rolled her eyes at herself and bit back an irritated sigh, not wanting to disturb Brittany from her game of dot to dot with the freckles on her arm. It was ridiculous, she was having to give herself a pep talk just to bring up a simple question. She was used to saying what she wanted whenever she wanted, especially when she was with her best friend, but this question kind of meant a lot to her. It wasn't just because she was intensely curious, although that may have contributed; Brittany couldn't keep a secret to save her life but she'd been remarkably tight-lipped this past week and it had driven Santana a little crazy. But damn it, she'd picked the perfect ballad and though she'd been goddamn terrified of doing it in front of the entire glee club she'd been determined, and the relief of not having to go through with it grated at her uncomfortably. Santana Lopez never pussied out of anything once she set her mind to it. It was like, a law or something. She’d spent forever picking the right song, agonising over whether or not to do this right, and making sure that it wasn’t strictly a ballad because going along with Mr Schuester’s rules gave her hives. Some stupid lameass be-nice-to-the-pregnant-chick bonding was not going to be allowed to get in the way of her plans. Santana lowered her magazine, the blonde head lying on her shoulder raising in response to her sharp inhalation. “So what was your ballad?”
Brittany grinned and bounded up from the bed with an excited, “Want me to sing it you?”
“Well…sure, B,” Santana said, giggling as Brittany bounced on her toes before closing her eyes and starting to move her hips to the music in her head.
Santana’s eyes focused on her swaying skirt, and for a split second she literally - and she’d always thought that this was just a disgustingly corny myth so it was more than a little embarrassing - couldn’t remember how to inhale.
“Well you’re dirty and sweet…” Santana’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide and dear God was she glad they hadn’t had the opportunity to do this in glee because she knew this song and it was not PG-rated. Brittany’s hands spread themselves up toned thighs, lifting her already short skirt higher, and she ducked her torso so that her entire body rippled. “Clad in black don’t look back and I love you…you’re dirty and sweet, oh yeah.” Santana’s mouth went dry; she tried to clear her throat to interrupt but three of those words had rendered her incapable of movement. “Well you're slim and you're weak, you've got the teeth of the hydra upon you, you're dirty sweet and you're my girl.” Santana felt the truth of those words hit her square in the gut as Brittany’s blue eyes twinkled at her, her lashes dropping coquettishly. If there was one thing in the world that Brittany was good at, it was making Santana want her more than she'd ever want anything else.
It wasn’t exactly musical, this song, but Brittany’s dancing was more than making up for it. Her shoulders arched and the electric guitar in the movement set up a matching pulse in Santana's body, and she crossed her legs against it. “Get it on, bang the gong, get it on.” A whimper ached behind lips pressed tight together, and Brittany flashed white teeth at her. That song had never made this much sense before. “Get it on, bang the gong, get it on. Well you’re…”
“Brittany!” Santana choked out, her voice pitched far too high, as Brittany’s movements brought her closer to the bed she was sitting on. “Britt,” she tried again, lowering her voice, and Brittany stopped, her hands falling to her sides.
“Yeah?” Brittany asked, pouting. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”
“You were…” Santana cleared her throat. “Really gonna sing this in glee club? In front of everyone?”
“There was going to be less stripping involved,” Brittany told her matter-of-factly, and Santana blinked. “Told you I hadn’t gotten to the good part yet.”
“B…this…didn’t you like, think? That maybe you shouldn’t be singing about wanting to fuck me in front of glee club? And Mr. Schuester?”
“Oh,” Brittany said, her face falling. “Sorry, S, it’s just kind of our song. It reminds me of you.”
Santana scrubbed her face with her hands and sighed. “Don’t be sorry, B, it’s…uh, sweet. But it’s supposed to be…I mean, a ballad isn’t…”
“It’s s’posed to be about feelings, I thought?” Brittany asked. “I feel like I want to have sex with you. A lot.”
Oh dear sweet Jesus, as if anyone could ever say no to that. And by the tilt to her head and the smirk on her lips, Brittany knew that.
“Can I keep going now?” Brittany asked, after Santana had tried and failed to respond to that several times. Santana mentally rolled her eyes at herself as she nodded twice in quick succession, but Brittany’s grin and proud little wiggle made her forget to be embarrassed.
“Well you're windy and wild, you've got the blues in your shoes and your stockings.” As Brittany’s finger skated up the side of her thigh teasingly before hooking under her own shirt, all pretence at annoyance faded away. It was Brittany and yes, if she’d done this in glee it would’ve been a total disaster, but even then Santana wasn’t sure she’d have been able to maintain her irritation in the face of that blinding smile. Brittany was dancing, and when Brittany danced she enjoyed herself, and when Brittany enjoyed herself everything was right in Santana’s world. The simplicity and force of that truth made Santana’s chest ache even as Brittany’s shirt landed on her lap. “You're windy and wild, oh yeah, you're built like a car, you've got a hub cap diamond star halo, you're dirty sweet and you're my girl.” Santana was transfixed, and Brittany’s smile gentled and sweetened, swaying closer until she was dancing in between Santana’s legs. Santana’s hands rested on the thick air inches away from her hips, and Brittany unclasped her bra and let it fall to join the shirt on Santana’s lap. Santana’s face slipped upwards into a smile she knew was too goofy but damn it, she didn’t care, because Brittany was dancing (and alright, it didn’t hurt that her breasts were swaying close to her face either). “Sing along now,” Brittany whispered, teeth grazing the curve of her ear and Santana shivered so bodily she swallowed the first syllable of the line.
“You're dirty and sweet, clad in black, don't look back.” Brown eyes snapped to blue and Brittany’s head tilted to the side, her lips closing over the next words and Santana knew, in this moment, that Brittany had been just as scared to do this as she had, because suddenly it was obvious that those words weren’t just a part of the song. Brittany stilled as Santana missed the first beat, the music leaving her body. Santana’s hands tightened until they were grasping her hips, holding her steady in between her legs and leaning in until her lips were pressed against Brittany’s. Brittany stayed frozen, her eyes closed against the rejection and her lips unyielding.
“And I love you,” Santana said, the music leaving her voice. Her words weren’t steady, and her voice was low, but Brittany’s eyes blinked open and there was a new sparkle of joy there that let Santana know she’d made something right. “You're dirty and sweet, oh yeah,” Santana sang, and Brittany laughed, her breath catching as they continued, together, “you dance when you walk so let's dance, take a chance, understand me. You're dirty sweet and you're my girl.” Santana tapped Brittany on the nose, and Brittany smiled wide, taking off her panties and dropping them beside Santana’s hand, leaving herself clad in only a small red skirt.
“Get it on, bang the gong,” Brittany sang, giggling as Santana wordlessly stared at her, her mouth lip-syncing the words but no sound escaping. “Get it on, get it on...” She leant back in towards Santana, straddling her waist and whispering the last words of the song with a thrust of her hips that sent an aching quiver spiralling outwards from the heat pressing against her. “Take me!”
And okay, so Santana wasn’t usually one to take orders, but it was Brittany, and Brittany was dancing, so damn it if it wasn’t okay, maybe just this one time.
*
One nap, two breaks for water, and three hours later, Brittany lay wrapped up in Santana’s arms. Santana’s breathing was heavy with sleep, but a thought was burning curiosity into Brittany’s brain and she couldn’t lie still.
“B…” Santana groaned, as a particularly wild wriggle pressed an elbow into her abdomen. “Really. Jesus. I thought I’d gotten rid of your energy. You sure as hell got rid of mine.”
“I just…I want to know what your song was.”
“Alannis Morrissete, Head over Feet, can we go to sleep now?” Santana asked.
“Okay,” Brittany said quietly. She stayed perfectly still, but it was Brittany and she was never perfectly still, and that woke Santana up more firmly than the movement had.
“B…” Santana sighed, pressing a quick kiss behind Brittany’s ear. “What is it?”
“I just…I sang you mine.” There was something raw and open in her voice, and Santana took in a sharp breath. That was fair. Brittany had laid herself open for rejection and…
“Alright, alright,” Santana said, closing her eyes and grasping for the words. Brittany settled, her head pressing Santana down against the mattress in a way that really wasn’t conducive to singing. Luckily, the song was quite a simple one to sing, if you discounted the words. She opened her eyes and found Brittany’s in close proximity, staring at her unblinkingly. The darkness covered her blush, but Brittany was near enough to feel it and she touched a soft hand to her hip in answer.
“I had no choice,” Santana started, glad for the darkness and the suddenness of the request because although she may never have pussied out of anything before, if she ever were to, this would be the thing that made it happen. “But to hear you. You stated your case time and again. I thought about it.” Her voice felt strained and there was a quiver in it that Santana didn’t like, but Brittany pressed her cheek into Santana’s shoulder and it steadied her. “You treat me like I'm a princess. I'm not used to liking that. You ask how my day was.” Brittany’s hair brushed Santana’s arm as she cocked her head, and Santana could have traced the path of the small, confused frown she knew would be on her face as she tried to figure out what she was suggesting. “You've already won me over in spite of me, and don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet. Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are.” Santana felt the ghost of Brittany’s breath on her face pause and the grasp of her hands tighten the material of her shirt, and there was a definite waver to her next words. “I couldn't help it; it's all your fault. Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole. You're so much braver than I gave you credit for. That's…that’s not lip service…” Santana’s voice cracked, and she closed her eyes, nudging at Brittany’s hand with her cheek, needing the contact. Brittany’s hand was shaking as she spread it out over Santana’s cheek, and it was only with Brittany’s open palm on her face that Santana felt the dampness and realised she was crying. “You are the bearer of unconditional things. You held your breath and the door for me, thanks for your patience.”
Brittany made a small, high pitched noise in the back of her throat and scooted her whole body so that it was pressed tight against Santana’s front, so that every breath that rattled in Santana’s chest echoed in hers.
“You're the best listener that I've ever met. You're my best friend, best friend with benefits.” Brittany’s giggle was wet with tears, and Santana’s next line was soft and low and made Brittany choke. “What took me so long? I've never felt this healthy before; I've never wanted something rational. I am aware now.” Santana felt a tremor surge through Brittany's body and she repeated the line, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth, her fingers soft in her hair. “I am aware now.” Brittany’s hands tightened painfully in Santana’s clothes, and her breath caught in her lungs and broke into a sob. Santana had been about to sing the last chorus, but Brittany was crying and she couldn’t hold her close enough.
“B…B, stop...please, I can’t…B, you know I can’t do anything when you cry, please, don’t,” Santana said, desperately gathering her closer and making small circles on her back, biting her lip against the tears that threatened to appear in sympathy.
“I thought I was going too far with the…and then you…and you usually distract me with sex but that wasn’t…”
“Shh…” Santana tried to soothe her, kissing her hair and the wet tracks on her cheeks. “Please, B, stop crying, I can’t deal.”
Brittany’s laugh tangled with a sob in her throat, but her hands loosened their hold and her breathing steadied. Her head stayed firmly in Santana’s chest, and Santana just kept rubbing her back awkwardly. “You were really going to…stand up? In glee? And sing that? To me?”
“Well…yeah,” Santana said, closing her eyes against the thought. Singing it to Brittany had been bad enough - singing that, being that honest, in front of glee? The idea alone made her dinner flip over uncomfortably. “It would’ve been totally badass with the guitar part.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Brittany said, and Santana’s eyes flew back open to find Brittany regarding her seriously. “You’d have hated every second of it.”
“Well…yeah,” Santana said, in a voice that made it obvious that what she meant by that was duh. “But…God, B, fuck those losers. You’re the important one.”
Brittany burrowed her head back into Santana’s chest, and Santana stroked her hair until her breathing had stopped shaking in her lungs. She brought her head out to kiss her, sweet and gentle. “You’re perfect.”
“B…you know me way better than that.” Santana's laugh was lighter than her words, and her fingers beat a nervous rhythm against warm, bare skin.
Brittany’s hand trailed up her arm, folding the hairs the wrong way and then smoothing them back again. “You’re my perfect.”
Her voice was soft and full of the type of conviction that Santana could barely wrap her mind around, so she wrapped those words around her mind instead and held on to them, with hope as fervent as a prayer.
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: R
Words: ~2,500/~7000
Summary: Three vignettes spanning the years of Brittany and Santana's relationship: 2/3 Ballads.
Disclaimer: Songs used: Get It On - T. Rex; Head Over Feet - Alanis Morissette
Part One
The colours of the magazine blurred together, the words going unread as Santana flicked a page aimlessly, deep in thought. She rolled her eyes at herself and bit back an irritated sigh, not wanting to disturb Brittany from her game of dot to dot with the freckles on her arm. It was ridiculous, she was having to give herself a pep talk just to bring up a simple question. She was used to saying what she wanted whenever she wanted, especially when she was with her best friend, but this question kind of meant a lot to her. It wasn't just because she was intensely curious, although that may have contributed; Brittany couldn't keep a secret to save her life but she'd been remarkably tight-lipped this past week and it had driven Santana a little crazy. But damn it, she'd picked the perfect ballad and though she'd been goddamn terrified of doing it in front of the entire glee club she'd been determined, and the relief of not having to go through with it grated at her uncomfortably. Santana Lopez never pussied out of anything once she set her mind to it. It was like, a law or something. She’d spent forever picking the right song, agonising over whether or not to do this right, and making sure that it wasn’t strictly a ballad because going along with Mr Schuester’s rules gave her hives. Some stupid lameass be-nice-to-the-pregnant-chick bonding was not going to be allowed to get in the way of her plans. Santana lowered her magazine, the blonde head lying on her shoulder raising in response to her sharp inhalation. “So what was your ballad?”
Brittany grinned and bounded up from the bed with an excited, “Want me to sing it you?”
“Well…sure, B,” Santana said, giggling as Brittany bounced on her toes before closing her eyes and starting to move her hips to the music in her head.
Santana’s eyes focused on her swaying skirt, and for a split second she literally - and she’d always thought that this was just a disgustingly corny myth so it was more than a little embarrassing - couldn’t remember how to inhale.
“Well you’re dirty and sweet…” Santana’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide and dear God was she glad they hadn’t had the opportunity to do this in glee because she knew this song and it was not PG-rated. Brittany’s hands spread themselves up toned thighs, lifting her already short skirt higher, and she ducked her torso so that her entire body rippled. “Clad in black don’t look back and I love you…you’re dirty and sweet, oh yeah.” Santana’s mouth went dry; she tried to clear her throat to interrupt but three of those words had rendered her incapable of movement. “Well you're slim and you're weak, you've got the teeth of the hydra upon you, you're dirty sweet and you're my girl.” Santana felt the truth of those words hit her square in the gut as Brittany’s blue eyes twinkled at her, her lashes dropping coquettishly. If there was one thing in the world that Brittany was good at, it was making Santana want her more than she'd ever want anything else.
It wasn’t exactly musical, this song, but Brittany’s dancing was more than making up for it. Her shoulders arched and the electric guitar in the movement set up a matching pulse in Santana's body, and she crossed her legs against it. “Get it on, bang the gong, get it on.” A whimper ached behind lips pressed tight together, and Brittany flashed white teeth at her. That song had never made this much sense before. “Get it on, bang the gong, get it on. Well you’re…”
“Brittany!” Santana choked out, her voice pitched far too high, as Brittany’s movements brought her closer to the bed she was sitting on. “Britt,” she tried again, lowering her voice, and Brittany stopped, her hands falling to her sides.
“Yeah?” Brittany asked, pouting. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”
“You were…” Santana cleared her throat. “Really gonna sing this in glee club? In front of everyone?”
“There was going to be less stripping involved,” Brittany told her matter-of-factly, and Santana blinked. “Told you I hadn’t gotten to the good part yet.”
“B…this…didn’t you like, think? That maybe you shouldn’t be singing about wanting to fuck me in front of glee club? And Mr. Schuester?”
“Oh,” Brittany said, her face falling. “Sorry, S, it’s just kind of our song. It reminds me of you.”
Santana scrubbed her face with her hands and sighed. “Don’t be sorry, B, it’s…uh, sweet. But it’s supposed to be…I mean, a ballad isn’t…”
“It’s s’posed to be about feelings, I thought?” Brittany asked. “I feel like I want to have sex with you. A lot.”
Oh dear sweet Jesus, as if anyone could ever say no to that. And by the tilt to her head and the smirk on her lips, Brittany knew that.
“Can I keep going now?” Brittany asked, after Santana had tried and failed to respond to that several times. Santana mentally rolled her eyes at herself as she nodded twice in quick succession, but Brittany’s grin and proud little wiggle made her forget to be embarrassed.
“Well you're windy and wild, you've got the blues in your shoes and your stockings.” As Brittany’s finger skated up the side of her thigh teasingly before hooking under her own shirt, all pretence at annoyance faded away. It was Brittany and yes, if she’d done this in glee it would’ve been a total disaster, but even then Santana wasn’t sure she’d have been able to maintain her irritation in the face of that blinding smile. Brittany was dancing, and when Brittany danced she enjoyed herself, and when Brittany enjoyed herself everything was right in Santana’s world. The simplicity and force of that truth made Santana’s chest ache even as Brittany’s shirt landed on her lap. “You're windy and wild, oh yeah, you're built like a car, you've got a hub cap diamond star halo, you're dirty sweet and you're my girl.” Santana was transfixed, and Brittany’s smile gentled and sweetened, swaying closer until she was dancing in between Santana’s legs. Santana’s hands rested on the thick air inches away from her hips, and Brittany unclasped her bra and let it fall to join the shirt on Santana’s lap. Santana’s face slipped upwards into a smile she knew was too goofy but damn it, she didn’t care, because Brittany was dancing (and alright, it didn’t hurt that her breasts were swaying close to her face either). “Sing along now,” Brittany whispered, teeth grazing the curve of her ear and Santana shivered so bodily she swallowed the first syllable of the line.
“You're dirty and sweet, clad in black, don't look back.” Brown eyes snapped to blue and Brittany’s head tilted to the side, her lips closing over the next words and Santana knew, in this moment, that Brittany had been just as scared to do this as she had, because suddenly it was obvious that those words weren’t just a part of the song. Brittany stilled as Santana missed the first beat, the music leaving her body. Santana’s hands tightened until they were grasping her hips, holding her steady in between her legs and leaning in until her lips were pressed against Brittany’s. Brittany stayed frozen, her eyes closed against the rejection and her lips unyielding.
“And I love you,” Santana said, the music leaving her voice. Her words weren’t steady, and her voice was low, but Brittany’s eyes blinked open and there was a new sparkle of joy there that let Santana know she’d made something right. “You're dirty and sweet, oh yeah,” Santana sang, and Brittany laughed, her breath catching as they continued, together, “you dance when you walk so let's dance, take a chance, understand me. You're dirty sweet and you're my girl.” Santana tapped Brittany on the nose, and Brittany smiled wide, taking off her panties and dropping them beside Santana’s hand, leaving herself clad in only a small red skirt.
“Get it on, bang the gong,” Brittany sang, giggling as Santana wordlessly stared at her, her mouth lip-syncing the words but no sound escaping. “Get it on, get it on...” She leant back in towards Santana, straddling her waist and whispering the last words of the song with a thrust of her hips that sent an aching quiver spiralling outwards from the heat pressing against her. “Take me!”
And okay, so Santana wasn’t usually one to take orders, but it was Brittany, and Brittany was dancing, so damn it if it wasn’t okay, maybe just this one time.
*
One nap, two breaks for water, and three hours later, Brittany lay wrapped up in Santana’s arms. Santana’s breathing was heavy with sleep, but a thought was burning curiosity into Brittany’s brain and she couldn’t lie still.
“B…” Santana groaned, as a particularly wild wriggle pressed an elbow into her abdomen. “Really. Jesus. I thought I’d gotten rid of your energy. You sure as hell got rid of mine.”
“I just…I want to know what your song was.”
“Alannis Morrissete, Head over Feet, can we go to sleep now?” Santana asked.
“Okay,” Brittany said quietly. She stayed perfectly still, but it was Brittany and she was never perfectly still, and that woke Santana up more firmly than the movement had.
“B…” Santana sighed, pressing a quick kiss behind Brittany’s ear. “What is it?”
“I just…I sang you mine.” There was something raw and open in her voice, and Santana took in a sharp breath. That was fair. Brittany had laid herself open for rejection and…
“Alright, alright,” Santana said, closing her eyes and grasping for the words. Brittany settled, her head pressing Santana down against the mattress in a way that really wasn’t conducive to singing. Luckily, the song was quite a simple one to sing, if you discounted the words. She opened her eyes and found Brittany’s in close proximity, staring at her unblinkingly. The darkness covered her blush, but Brittany was near enough to feel it and she touched a soft hand to her hip in answer.
“I had no choice,” Santana started, glad for the darkness and the suddenness of the request because although she may never have pussied out of anything before, if she ever were to, this would be the thing that made it happen. “But to hear you. You stated your case time and again. I thought about it.” Her voice felt strained and there was a quiver in it that Santana didn’t like, but Brittany pressed her cheek into Santana’s shoulder and it steadied her. “You treat me like I'm a princess. I'm not used to liking that. You ask how my day was.” Brittany’s hair brushed Santana’s arm as she cocked her head, and Santana could have traced the path of the small, confused frown she knew would be on her face as she tried to figure out what she was suggesting. “You've already won me over in spite of me, and don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet. Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are.” Santana felt the ghost of Brittany’s breath on her face pause and the grasp of her hands tighten the material of her shirt, and there was a definite waver to her next words. “I couldn't help it; it's all your fault. Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole. You're so much braver than I gave you credit for. That's…that’s not lip service…” Santana’s voice cracked, and she closed her eyes, nudging at Brittany’s hand with her cheek, needing the contact. Brittany’s hand was shaking as she spread it out over Santana’s cheek, and it was only with Brittany’s open palm on her face that Santana felt the dampness and realised she was crying. “You are the bearer of unconditional things. You held your breath and the door for me, thanks for your patience.”
Brittany made a small, high pitched noise in the back of her throat and scooted her whole body so that it was pressed tight against Santana’s front, so that every breath that rattled in Santana’s chest echoed in hers.
“You're the best listener that I've ever met. You're my best friend, best friend with benefits.” Brittany’s giggle was wet with tears, and Santana’s next line was soft and low and made Brittany choke. “What took me so long? I've never felt this healthy before; I've never wanted something rational. I am aware now.” Santana felt a tremor surge through Brittany's body and she repeated the line, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth, her fingers soft in her hair. “I am aware now.” Brittany’s hands tightened painfully in Santana’s clothes, and her breath caught in her lungs and broke into a sob. Santana had been about to sing the last chorus, but Brittany was crying and she couldn’t hold her close enough.
“B…B, stop...please, I can’t…B, you know I can’t do anything when you cry, please, don’t,” Santana said, desperately gathering her closer and making small circles on her back, biting her lip against the tears that threatened to appear in sympathy.
“I thought I was going too far with the…and then you…and you usually distract me with sex but that wasn’t…”
“Shh…” Santana tried to soothe her, kissing her hair and the wet tracks on her cheeks. “Please, B, stop crying, I can’t deal.”
Brittany’s laugh tangled with a sob in her throat, but her hands loosened their hold and her breathing steadied. Her head stayed firmly in Santana’s chest, and Santana just kept rubbing her back awkwardly. “You were really going to…stand up? In glee? And sing that? To me?”
“Well…yeah,” Santana said, closing her eyes against the thought. Singing it to Brittany had been bad enough - singing that, being that honest, in front of glee? The idea alone made her dinner flip over uncomfortably. “It would’ve been totally badass with the guitar part.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Brittany said, and Santana’s eyes flew back open to find Brittany regarding her seriously. “You’d have hated every second of it.”
“Well…yeah,” Santana said, in a voice that made it obvious that what she meant by that was duh. “But…God, B, fuck those losers. You’re the important one.”
Brittany burrowed her head back into Santana’s chest, and Santana stroked her hair until her breathing had stopped shaking in her lungs. She brought her head out to kiss her, sweet and gentle. “You’re perfect.”
“B…you know me way better than that.” Santana's laugh was lighter than her words, and her fingers beat a nervous rhythm against warm, bare skin.
Brittany’s hand trailed up her arm, folding the hairs the wrong way and then smoothing them back again. “You’re my perfect.”
Her voice was soft and full of the type of conviction that Santana could barely wrap her mind around, so she wrapped those words around her mind instead and held on to them, with hope as fervent as a prayer.