Fic: Firsts (Brittany/Santana, R/NC-17)
Title: Firsts
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: 3x10 Yes/No
Rating: R/NC-17
Wordcount: 5k ish.
Summary: In English, Brittany passes her a note on a tiny screwed up ball of paper and when Santana finally has it open all it says is, this is the first note I passed you since I’ve been your girlfriend.
A/N: Set some time after 3x04. The continuity of my one-shots are all over the place but this basically fits in between Little Things (You Do Together) and Never Mind I’ll Find, and references Summer which comes before both of them. They’re not all really canon compliant anymore I guess, but what the hell, you can read them in order if you want to.
They get almost all the way to Brittany’s house before Santana glances over at her and just sort of blurts out, “This is the first time you’ve been in my car since you’ve been my girlfriend,” with a little bit of wonder in her voice.
Brittany just turns to look at her, and Santana’s glad to be able to keep her eyes fixed on the road, both hands gripping the wheel tightly as she turns onto Brittany’s block.
“It’s the first time I’ve been in your car since you realized I was your girlfriend,” Brittany says softly, in this shy little voice that makes Santana smile. “But the real first time was the last week of summer. Remember?”
It takes her a minute but Santana gets there, “When we went to Breadstix and you ordered spaghetti. With the meatballs.” She grins at the memory then scrunches her nose up in confusion. “Wait, you’ve been my girlfriend since then?”
Brittany just laughs and rolls her eyes but her voice is a little tight when she says, “And people think I’m the dumb one.”
“I think you’re the smartest person I ever met,” Santana says earnestly, killing the engine and turning to look at her as they pull up outside Brittany’s house.
“Well, duh.” Brittany shakes her head again, but Santana can see the hint of doubt in her eyes and feels her heart contract sharply in her chest. She hates that it bothers Brittany what other people think of her, especially when no-one knows Brittany like she does and sees how smart she is every single day.
“Hey,” Santana says quickly, reaching across the console to tangle their fingers together. She waits until Brittany’s looking at her before she tilts her head a little and says, “This is the first time I held your hand since you’ve been my girlfriend.”
“But in the restaurant-“ Brittany says quickly, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“-Not under a napkin,” Santana adds quickly, watching Brittany duck her head and smile shyly, hair falling around her like a curtain. She reaches her free hand across to trace Brittany’s cheekbone and runs her thumb over her lips until Brittany looks up again, eyes softer now, and shining in the dim light from the porch. Santana leans across the space between them slowly, eyes fixed on Brittany and the way she runs her tongue over her bottom lip and her breath quickens in anticipation. They kiss slowly, Santana sucking Brittany’s bottom lip between both of hers and brushing her tongue against it, until Brittany sucks it into her mouth and her hand comes up to tangle into Santana’s hair.
It feels new, somehow, and Santana can feel her skin tingling everywhere it meets Brittany’s: her forehead, her fingertips, her lips. It’s like all those stupid clichés people write about in love songs that Santana had always rolled her eyes at and scoffed at before, the kind of songs that she sings softly into Brittany’s ear like lullabies now just before they fall asleep.
It’s the kind of song she thinks maybe she could write now, if Brittany asked her to.
Brittany’s the first to break the kiss, but she keeps her hand in Santana’s hair and stays close, so that when she opens her eyes to find Santana’s all Santana can see is clear blue.
“That was the first time I’ve kissed you since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Santana murmurs, breathing still a little bit shallow and hitching in her throat on some of the words.
Brittany huffs out a laugh and strokes her fingers against the back of Santana’s neck, under her ponytail. “You’re not going to stop with this are you?”
“I like having firsts with you,” Santana whispers softly after a second, closing her eyes to keep from having to see the look on Brittany’s face, which is so tender it actually kind of makes her hurt a little.
“Me too,” Brittany leans forward to brush their lips together again and Santana shivers a little at the feel of it, still all soft and tingly. “I like having seconds too.” She kisses her again, a little harder this time, “And thirds.” Brittany’s hand slides round to her jaw to urge her closer, “And fourths…”
Santana forgets to keep count.
+
home + safe now xxx (this is the 1st time i txt u since u’ve been my gf :))
(10.13pm)
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san ilu but go to sleep xxx
(10.13pm)
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cant ur not here xxx
(10.14pm)
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:( xxxxx
(10.14pm)
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:( xxx
(10.14pm)
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+
Santana’s last class before lunch runs late and by the time she gets to the cafeteria, Brittany’s already sitting at a table with Mike and Tina with two lunches on the tray in front of her. Brittany grins when she sees her coming and waves a little, pulling her backpack off the bench next to her and pushing it under the table.
“Hey,” Brittany says happily as Santana slides onto the bench next to her, nudging her with her hip a little just because. “Tuna or chicken?”
“You pick,” Santana says, then fixes her eyes on the bowl of fries in the middle of the tray, “As long as we get to share those.”
Brittany grins and nods, sliding her a diet coke and a straw as Santana’s hand snakes out to grab some fries.
Mike and Tina start talking about West Side Story, obviously resuming a conversation they’d just been having, and Santana kind of half tunes out because the chicken salad is actually good for once and, well, fries, so. Plus, Brittany’s foot is pressing into hers under the table, and Santana’s embarrassed to admit that makes it hard to think, sometimes.
She watches Brittany pause with her fork halfway to her mouth and then burst out laughing at something Mike said, and feels her mouth curl into a smile of its own accord. Brittany glances at her out of the corner of her eyes, and then her grin widens and she hooks her foot around Santana’s under the table and sandwiches it between both of hers, and makes it much harder to pay attention.
Santana thinks she agrees to go over to Tina’s the next day after school with Brittany to practice America, but she’s not entirely sure, and she also maybe calls Artie’s decision to have the Jets be in the number awesome and not weird, but it’s kind of hard to keep track with the way Brittany is somehow managing to lean into her side under the pretence of reaching for fries.
When the bell rings at the end of lunch, Brittany loops her arm through Santana’s and pulls her off towards their History class, and just before they get there Santana glances around to make sure no-one’s close enough to hear and whispers, “The first time you bought me lunch since you’ve been my girlfriend.”
“First time I played footsie with my girlfriend at lunch,” Brittany shoots back with a smirk as they take their seats together, and Santana has to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggle.
They’re ten minutes into the class when Santana feels Brittany’s foot brush hers under the table and has to fight hard not to jerk back in her seat so no-one notices.
“First time I played footsie with my girlfriend in History class,” Brittany murmurs into her ear when she has to lean over to share her textbook.
And something about the way she says ‘History class’ makes Santana frantically start to count exactly how many classes they have together.
+
In English, Brittany passes her a note on a tiny screwed up ball of paper and when Santana finally has it open all it says is, this is the first note I passed you since I’ve been your girlfriend.
+
They’re the first ones there for Troubletones practice, and Brittany pulls her over to the piano so she can pick at the keys while they wait for the others to arrive.
Santana leans on the piano and watches her, laughing at the super serious look on her face as she concentrates on playing some tune Tina taught her that Santana half recognizes. It’s slow and stilted as her hands move to find the chords, remembered more from the shapes than the names of the notes, and Santana watches Brittany grimace as she plays a major chord instead of a minor one, and then move her fingers up and down the keys one at a time until the sound turns sad.
“It’s that We Are Young song, listen.” Brittany starts again, hitting the first chord a little harder than strictly necessary. “Give me a second I just need to get my story straight, my-“ She finds the next chord with a second’s hesitation and carries on, “Friends are late for practice so I guess I’m gonna have to wait.” Santana laughs at the change of lyrics, pooling her hands on her arms and grinning as she watches.
“My lover, she’s looking at me, from just across the bar, um, piano,” Brittany laughs a little and messes up the next chord, and then she slumps back on the stool and shakes her head. “Okay so maybe I need to practice more.”
“I think you pretty much got it,” Santana says, trying to make her face look serious.
“Yeah?” Brittany’s still grinning, and pokes her finger against a couple of the keys again quietly.
Santana’s just wondering what the chances are of everyone finally turning up and catching them if she leans down to kiss Brittany when the door opens and Mercedes walks in, chatting to two of the Cheerios Santana had bullied into joining, Shelby following behind with Sugar. Brittany climbs off the piano stool immediately and comes to stand next to Santana so Shelby can take her place, brushing her fingers against Santana’s back as she walks past and Santana has to fight hard not to shiver.
“First time you sang me a song since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Santana says to her under the cover of the noise from Shelby picking out arpeggios on the piano and telling them to match the notes.
“You don’t have to tell me every time, you know,” Brittany replies as Mercedes joins in with the piano, a little louder than strictly necessary just to cover the sounds Sugar is making.
“Yeah I do,” Santana says, just before she joins in.
+
When they get to Brittany’s after school there’s no one else home, just a message from each of her parents on the machine in the kitchen saying that they’d both be working late and that Brittany’s sister had gone to stay with a friend until they could pick her up.
“First time we’ve been home alone since you were my girlfriend,” Santana says without thinking, and there’s almost a little bit of panic in her voice though she isn’t entirely sure why.
Brittany glances at her, and Santana thinks she sees confusion on her face for just a second but what she says is, “We could order pizza later if you want to.”
“O-Okay,” Santana stutters. She has no idea what’s wrong with her, why she’s suddenly tripping over her own feet and getting her words caught in the back of her throat. She’s been home alone with Brittany a million times in her life, but this time it just feels so different, like the kitchen is filled with water and she’s floating and light headed and struggling to breathe. Brittany takes her hand and it’s like she finally breaks the surface and manages to suck in a lungful of air, and then Brittany’s tugging her up the stairs towards her room saying something about homework and algebra and Spanish and Santana feels it all go again.
She plants her feet in the doorway and stands there nervously, twisting her hands against each other as Brittany drops her backpack and kicks off her shoes so she can scramble onto her bed. She notices Santana and smiles, suddenly unsure, and tilts her head like Santana’s a puzzle she’s trying to work out, “What’s wrong?”
“The first time I’ve been in your room since I was your girlfriend,” Santana says quietly, shifting her weight a little from side to side. She looks at Brittany helplessly, hoping she’ll understand what she’s really trying to say even though she doesn’t really know what that is.
Brittany just looks sort of confused now, eyebrows scrunched together quizzically, “Do you-I don’t understand, did you not want to come in?”
“No, I…” Santana trails off and twists her fingers against each other again before dropping her hands to her sides and exhaling noisily.
“San,” Brittany says softly, eyes fixed on her face, “Come here.”
Santana just shakes her head jerkily, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.
“San…” Brittany crosses the room in three quick strides and comes to stand in front of her, peeling her arms from around her middle and taking her hands in both of hers. “What’s wrong?”
Santana just shakes her head again and bites her lip. Brittany’s thumbs rub comforting circles into the back of her hands, and she stays silent, just waiting for Santana to find her words. “I don’t know,” Santana mumbles eventually, into the silence.
Brittany raises a hand to Santana’s cheek and uses it to lift her chin a little until all Santana can see is the blue of Brittany’s eyes, although ‘blue’ isn’t really the right way to describe all the different colours she sees there.
She makes a mental note to count them all, when she has the time.
“It’s okay,” Brittany murmurs, pads of her fingers tracing Santana’s jaw softly as she moves closer to press their lips together. The kiss is slow and soft, and Santana feels herself melt into it, melt into Brittany so that their hands are squashed between them, still grasping at each other tightly.
Brittany breaks the kiss to ghost her lips against Santana’s neck and up to her ear and whisper, “The first time we’ve made love since we were girlfriends,” soft and sweet, in a way that makes Santana whimper into her mouth, and of course Brittany manages to find what’s wrong even before Santana knows it herself.
Brittany presses one more kiss behind her ear and then pulls away to look at Santana, eyes searching for hers, “Is that-are you okay?”
They’d only slept together twice since the lockers, once after Songbird and once at the end of summer, because Santana has this nagging voice in the back of her head telling her that she doesn’t deserve Brittany, and that she can’t lead Brittany on any more than she’d already spent the last two years doing, but when Brittany looks at her she hears the voice finally fall silent.
“I love you,” Santana whispers reverently, fingers tightening around Brittany’s, her voice coming out quieter than she intended in the stillness of Brittany’s room.
“First time you’ve said you love me since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Brittany smiles one of her true Brittany-smiles, her whole face lighting up with happiness, and then Santana can’t help herself so she pushes herself up onto her tip toes and closes the gap between them.
They kiss long and slow, tongues brushing against each other softly, reveling in the feeling and how something so familiar can feel so new. Brittany kisses her like she’s going to die if she doesn’t, like she’s drowning and Santana is her air, and Santana loses herself in the feel of it, of Brittany all around her, one hand at her waist and the other on the back of her neck, urging her closer.
“Should we-should we get into bed?” Brittany asks between kisses. She doesn’t think Brittany has ever asked her that before, certainly not before when they were pretending that all they cared about was getting off and not each other, and she sounds so hesitant and sweet that it makes Santana ache for her.
She breaks the kiss but stays close, foreheads and noses squashed together as they breathe into each other’s mouths. “Yes,” Santana whispers, “Give me your hand.”
Brittany slides her fingers down until they’re in the gaps between Santana’s, fitting just like they were made for them, and Santana smiles shyly as she leads her over to the bed and sits down on the edge, drawing Brittany down next to her. They just look at each other for a moment, and then Santana reaches over to pull the band out of Brittany’s hair and runs her fingers through so it falls around her face.
“You’re so beautiful, Britt.”
Brittany ducks her head, hiding behind her hair, and then she gets off the bed to kneel at Santana’s feet and pulls her sneakers off, one at a time. Her hand lingers on the back of Santana’s calf, sliding up until it’s at the back of her knee, and she glances up at Santana through her lashes, “I love you.”
“First time you’ve said you love me since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Santana replies, echoing her earlier words back to her, and then she reaches down to pull Brittany back up, and kisses her, hard, until Brittany presses her backwards into the mattress.
+
Brittany kisses her for what feels like forever, like she’s trying to memorize every bit of skin she’s missed for the last few months, only stopping to pull Santana’s Cheerios top off and brush her fingers against the skin of Santana’s stomach as she breathes out heavily, eyes drinking in Santana on her back in her bra and Cheerios skirt, hair messy against the pillow, like she’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
She kisses a trail down her neck to the hollow of her throat and back up the other side, fingers curling around Santana’s face like a promise that she’ll be back.
Santana melts into the touches, whimpering lightly when Brittany drags her teeth across her collarbone and then presses a kiss to it and sucks until Santana’s hands tighten in Brittany’s hair, and she feels Brittany’s lips stretch into a lazy smile against her skin.
Santana loves how Brittany keeps looking up to find her eyes and smiling, how she watches her expression and every little move she makes as she trails fingers and lips and her tongue over Santana’s skin, gauging the reactions. It’s like they’re discovering each other all over again, and Santana feels like she’s finally come home, like she’s seeing Brittany for the first time, safe and warm and sure and hers, the only person she wants to see for the rest of her life.
“What are you thinking?” Brittany asks softly, fingers stroking at her shoulders as she takes in the look on Santana’s face.
Santana looks away, jaw suddenly tight against unshed tears, “I’m sorry it hasn’t always been like this-“ she takes a breath to go on but Brittany shakes her head and presses their lips together quickly so she can’t.
“The first time you’ve apologized since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Brittany chokes out quickly, in a way that really means don’t, the specter of summer conversations hanging unspoken between them.
Santana presses her lips together and nods, wondering what she ever did to deserve this beautiful, perfect, patient girl.
“Come here,” Santana says, voice thick with everything she wants to say but can’t ever find the words to, hands threading into Brittany’s hair and pulling until they’re kissing again, until Brittany’s fitting her hips over Santana’s and rocking into her, reaching for Santana’s hand against the mattress and tangling their fingers as they press their foreheads together and kiss clumsily, tongues curling around each other in time with Brittany’s movements.
Santana gives in to the feel of it; hearing Brittany’s breath hitch in her throat and the little gasps she makes as their hips move together, almost but not quite what they both want.
“Britt,” Santana moans at the same time Brittany says, “I need-“ and then Brittany’s fingers are tracing a path down between their bodies and finding slick heat. She doesn’t move her fingers, just presses exactly where Santana needs them, letting the rocking of their hips do the rest.
“I want-“ Santana gasps, eyes almost rolling back in her head at the feel of it just because it’s been so long, and how Brittany always knows exactly what to do to make her fall apart beneath her.
“What?” Brittany murmurs against her lips, moving her fingers in a circle and then pressing a little harder when Santana gasps and bucks her hips. “This?”
“No, this,” Santana says, forcing her hand down between their bodies until she feels Brittany’s underwear. She pushes past the fabric with difficulty, wrist having to bend a little more than is comfortable to get around Brittany’s arm - her mind is still working enough for her to fleetingly wish that she was right handed - and then she feels the wetness between Brittany’s legs and feels Brittany shudder on top of her, and she forgets about the pain in her wrist.
Brittany’s shaking now, hips bucking into Santana more erratically, and Santana can feel her own stomach tightening as her orgasm approaches. Any other time she’d be embarrassed at how little time it’s taken, but it doesn’t matter because she knows all of Brittany’s tells, the way she’s alternating between biting her own lip and sucking at Santana’s, the little gasps and the moans low in her throat, the way one of her hands is tightening in Santana’s hair, and knows she’s not far away herself.
Santana doesn’t realize she has her eyes squeezed closed until Brittany nudges her with her nose and whispers, “Look at me,” and then she opens them to find Brittany looking thoroughly disheveled above her, hips still working as she bites her swollen lip, cheeks flushed and pink.
She looks so beautiful that Santana can’t believe she spent so long trying not to see her.
“I want you to see,” Brittany murmurs, eyes dark and fixed on Santana’s face, “When I, when I-“ Her words are choked off by a moan as she bucks harder against Santana’s hand.
“I’m going to-“
“I know,” Brittany gasps quickly, “Me too.”
Santana slides her free hand down to the base of Brittany’s spine and tries to pull her closer, tries to use her hips to press her fingers against her harder. She doesn’t take her eyes off Brittany’s face, so she can see what every movement of her hips does to Brittany, sees the waves of emotion in her eyes, her own love and longing and pleasure reflected back at her so that Santana wonders why she never saw it before.
She wonders if she’d seen it sophomore year, how much things would have been different.
“Santana,” Brittany’s voice catches on her name, her eyes wide and franticly holding on to Santana’s gaze. Santana has time to think how they’re a darker blue than usual, and then Brittany’s hips thrust once more before she’s shuddering and gasping and falling apart, and Santana feels her stomach tighten again before she follows, staring into Brittany’s eyes and whispering her name like it’s the only word she knows.
+
She feels like she’s not really attached to her body, just happy and sleepy and sated in a way she’s never really been before, with a very naked Brittany half on top of her and pressed into her side.
It’s late, much later than Santana had really intended to stay, but she doesn’t want to leave and go back to the world outside of Brittany’s bed, where it’s still a secret and she can’t reach for Brittany’s hand every time she wants to.
The fact that that’s her fault doesn’t exist here either, and she pushes it away, pulling Brittany closer and kissing the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder.
“You have to go home,” Brittany says into the quiet of the room, fingers playing with a strand of Santana’s hair before brushing it out of the way to look up at her.
“Don’t wanna,” Santana replies softly, face falling into a little bit of a pout so that Brittany giggles. “I’ll wait til your parents get home, Britt-Britt, so you’re not on your own.”
Brittany laughs again and then grins, “My hero.”
“Shut up,” Santana laughs and pushes her away a little, “You like it.”
“Yeah,” Brittany bites her lip and lifts her head a little to find her eyes again, “Yeah I really do.”
Santana leans into her again, lips finding hers softly, closemouthed and sweet. After a moment, Brittany’s hand comes up to thread into her hair and urge her closer, until the kiss deepens, all tongues and lips and teeth.
Brittany’s hand is just moving down to cup her breast, her thumb dragging over the rapidly hardening nipple, when they hear the front door slam shut from downstairs, and then they pull apart quickly and burst out laughing as Brittany’s mom shouts after them up the stairs.
“First time we’ve been almost caught by my mom since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Brittany gets out between her laughter, rummaging in her drawers for some sweatpants while Santana tries to work out which Cheerios uniform is hers.
+
Some quirk of scheduling means they don’t really see other the next day until Cheerios practice, even missing each other at lunch because Brittany has to go see Figgins about the election while Santana has to go try on costumes for the play.
Santana’s the first one by her locker, putting her things inside before practice starts, and when she closes the door Brittany is further down the row, towel slung around her neck as she pulls her water bottle from inside.
Santana just watches her, feeling warmth pool in her stomach and spreading through her body, like she’s coming alive. Brittany must feel her eyes on her because she lifts her head and finds her watching, mouth quirking into a grin as their eyes meet.
They might as well be the only two people in the locker room, looking at each other with shy smiles like they’re sharing a secret, and Santana can feel the answering smile on her own face. Brittany is the first to look away, chewing on her water bottle as she swallows a mouthful, eyes sliding to the side as she smiles to herself and throws the towel into her locker before she twirls on the spot and walks away.
Santana beams after her as she goes, not even moving her eyes down to check her out as she walks away because all she can think is I am so hopelessly in love with you and how the hell did I get so lucky.
She stands there blinking for a second before shaking her head a little to clear it, feet carrying her after Brittany without her even having to think about it.
“Hey,” she says when she catches her up, just before they get onto the field, and Brittany grins at her again.
Brittany loops her arm through Santana’s as they walk, and Santana feels her fingers itch with the need to take Brittany’s hand. She swallows hard instead.
“First Cheerios practice since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Brittany says happily, skipping a little as she walks.
Santana tries to keep the smile off her face, just because some of the team are trailing after them and she’s supposed to be the hard bitch who pushes them all to do better, not the softie mooning over her girlfriend, but it doesn’t really work, and fuck it, she can always make them do wind sprints until they forget the fact that she’s smiling like an idiot.
“First time I’ve been happy,” Santana whispers softly, reaching over to brush her fingers against Brittany’s quickly, before dropping them so no-one notices.
“First time you’ve said something ridiculous that makes me want to kiss you since you’ve been my girlfriend,” Brittany replies breathlessly, words coming out in a little bit of a jumble, like they’re tripping over each other on their way out of her mouth.
She looks so earnest and a little bit that desperate that it makes Santana wish she could just move forward and wrap her arms around Brittany’s neck and pull her into a kiss, but she can’t, not yet, not here, so she just breathes in and out shakily and holds Brittany’s gaze, until Brittany huffs out a laugh and takes a couple of deliberate steps away like she might want to kiss her less if she could only put some distance between them.
She might not be able to let Brittany kiss her out here, not yet, but they’ll have their other firsts, like their first kiss in glee club, and their first dance at senior prom. It doesn’t really matter that they don’t have this, it doesn’t, because Brittany is smiling at her from the other side of a group of Cheerios and wiggling her fingers in a wave before spinning around to stretch her muscles out while Santana watches, eyes following the contours of her body like they’re being drawn there by invisible forces, until she swallows and has to look away.
+
In the locker room after practice, they both take their time getting changed until they’re the only ones left, and Santana waits for Brittany to slam her locker shut and hike her gym bag higher onto her shoulder before shutting her own locker and intercepting her on the way to the door.
She doesn’t say anything, just reaches for Brittany’s hand and slides her fingers into the gaps until Brittany’s smiling at her and asking, “First time you’ve held my hand in the locker room since you’ve been my girlfriend?”
She looks like she’s already getting ready to pull away and it breaks Santana’s heart a little so she shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “First time I’ve held your hand,” she says, and then pulls her out into the hallway.