Fic: i-80 west, part two (Brittany/Santana, R)
Title: i-80 west, part two
Characters: Brittany/Santana
Length: 5k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before going to college.
A/N: Super thanks, as always, to JJ for the flawless beta and punchy cheerleading. I really couldn't write this fic without her.
Brittany wakes up while Santana is still asleep, curled into Brittany’s chest and snoring softly. She waits for her eyes to adjust to the dark and brushes a little of the hair away from Santana’s forehead, skimming her fingers against her brow, fingertips barely brushing the skin so she doesn’t wake her.
She likes watching Santana sleep, likes the way her whole body relaxes and her hands reach for her clumsily, fumbling after her in the dark. She likes how if she rolls or moves, Santana always comes with her, so they’re never more than a few inches apart and there’s always some part of them touching across what little space exists between them.
She watches Santana’s eyes flutter as her fingertips move feather light against Santana’s skin, watches Santana’s brow twitch like she can feel Brittany’s touch, and Santana nudges her head closer, like she’s seeking more contact, quieting for a moment before her breath catches in her throat again.
Santana insists she doesn’t snore, and Brittany lets her believe that even though she makes these cute little snoring sounds when she’s really happy or comfortable, like whenever she’s wrapped up in Brittany’s arms, which is kind of like 90% of the time, now. Sometimes, Brittany thinks she wouldn’t tell Santana anyway because it’s a secret thing that she gets all to herself and no one else gets to see.
Brittany likes the things only she gets to see; like Santana’s goofy smile whenever Brittany makes her laugh or the way she looks right before Brittany touches her sometimes, like it’s the only thing she needs in the world; the way she shivers and gasps when Brittany finally presses her fingers or her tongue between her legs and arches up into the touch.
That one’s probably her favourite, to be honest.
Santana shifts against her a little, feet twitching in her sleep and bumping against Brittany’s under the covers, and then she starts snoring again, a little louder than before. Brittany grins into the darkness and presses a kiss to Santana’s forehead before she eases her arms out from around her and gets out of bed slowly, stretching herself up to her full height and feeling her joints pop. She presses the button on her cell phone so she can check the time, and Santana mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, away from the light of the screen.
“Sorry, baby,” Brittany murmurs quietly, reaching for the discarded pajama pants on the floor and pulling them up her legs.. “I’ll be back in a second.”
“Where y’going?” Santana’s voice is thick with sleep and partially muffled by the way she still has her face pressed down into the pillow, little bit of a whine in her voice at the loss of contact.
“Water,” Brittany replies softly, but Santana is already asleep.
Brittany watches her for a moment, torn between getting back into bed and getting a drink, because Santana isn’t snoring now, and that’s wrong, somehow. She stands there a moment longer, shifting from side to side, and then swallows against the scratchiness in her throat and tip toes to the door.
+
Brittany pulls a clean glass out of the dishwasher, watching the way it sparkles in the light, and then turns the tap on and lets the water run until it’s so cold it numbs her fingers. She hides a yawn behind her hand as the glass fills, then gulps down half of it in one go, feeling the cool water slide all the way down her throat. She shivers a little, and sips the rest more slowly, a little bit worried in case her insides freeze or something.
Santana would probably be pissed if she let herself freeze.
“Britt?” Her mom blinks sleepily at her from the doorway, pulling her from her half-formed thoughts. “Where’s Santana?”
“Asleep,” Brittany replies quickly, turning to look at her. “I needed a glass of water.”
“Okay,” her mom hovers in the doorway for a second, chewing on her bottom lip the way she does when she’s puzzling something out, eyes fixed on Brittany in a way that makes her want to crawl back into bed next to Santana and never come out. It looks like she’s trying to make her mind up about something, and Brittany sips her water and watches silently, waiting for her to speak.
There’s something about the way her mom looks at her that makes her unsure if she wants to hear what she has to say.
She blinks and sips her water, waiting.
After another long moment her mom steps into the room and comes to stand next to her, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind Brittany’s ear and offer her a shaky smile. “I can’t believe you’re going to college in three months.”
“Mom,” Brittany sighs, relaxing almost at once. She really wants to roll her eyes because this is at least the four thousandth time they’ve had this conversation in the last two months, and really, her mom needs to stop worrying. “Not this again. I’ll be fine. I’m eighteen, and I’ll be with Santana, so.”
Her mom looks at her silently for a minute, nodding a little, and then her mouth opens like she’s about to say something. She doesn’t though, just closes it again, jaw tightening, then glances away.
“Mom?” Brittany says again, feeling her nervousness return. She sets her glass down on the counter and reaches for her hand, “What?”
“I know you think relationships last forever, Britt, but it’s okay if you two grow apart at college. Sometimes people do,” her mom’s eyes are soft, and she looks almost apologetic, like she really doesn’t want to say what she’s saying. “Sometimes high school sweethearts break up at college, and it isn’t the end of the world. I just want you to know that, okay?”
Brittany’s fairly sure it would be the end of the world actually, but it’s not ever going to happen anyway so she isn’t entirely sure why her mom is saying it might with such resignation in her voice. It’s like, they fought so hard for years just to be together, doesn’t her mom think they’d fight even harder not to lose each other?
Not that they even could lose each other. Santana has a map with three different routes from Stanford to Berkeley marked on it, just in case.
“Mom, you don’t even have to worry about that,” she says, taking in her mom’s anxious expression while she waits for her to say something. “Santana and I are good, okay?”
“I know, and you know I love Santana just like I love you but I’m just saying if something happens-“
“It won’t, though,” Brittany interjects quickly, then carries on before her mom can say anything else. “You know the only thing I’ve ever wanted since I was, like, thirteen? To be with Santana. You know the only thing she ever wanted?” She pauses, and smiles shyly, “The same. So we’ll be together at college, and then we’ll be together when we get our first jobs, and buy our first house, and when they change the laws so we can be together like everyone else.” She takes a breath, and tries to ignore the tears in her mom’s eyes. “So you don’t have to worry about that, okay? You don’t have to worry about that at all.”
Her mom pulls her into a hug, wrapping her arms around her and holding on tightly, the moment stretching until Brittany laughs a little, “Mom, I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry,” her mom finally lets her go, then holds her at arms’ length for a minute, eyes settling on her face. The smile on her mom’s face is happy-sad, and Brittany just shakes her head because she’s being ridiculous the same way Santana is ridiculous sometimes, and then some of the sadness falls from her mom’s lips. “You should go back to bed. You’ve had a long day.”
Brittany nods and moves her glass to the sink, “‘Night mom.”
+
Santana’s still asleep, or at least Brittany thinks she is when she strips her pj pants off and climbs back into bed, carefully so as not to wake her. She slides an arm under Santana’s neck and finds Santana’s hand under the pillow, then presses herself against her back, her other hand settling on Santana’s hip under the covers. Santana always says that she only lets Brittany be the big spoon because she’s taller and it makes the most sense, but Brittany knows that’s only half true because Santana always snuggles backwards into her body until there’s no space between them, and hums happily before she falls asleep. Brittany doesn’t mind so much; being taller is kind of fun when she gets to bury her face in Santana’s hair and rest her lips against the bump at the top of Santana’s spine every night.
(Being taller is kind of fun other times too, like when she gets to lift Santana up until her legs are around Brittany’s waist, and she can walk them over to the bed all without having to stop kissing Santana, especially when she drops Santana down onto the bed and then Santana pulls her down on top of her.)
She thinks she’s managed to get back into bed without waking Santana up, but Santana almost immediately rolls over in the circle of her arms and snuggles her face into Brittany’s chest, one hand clutching at the front of Brittany’s shirt and the other sliding around her back to pull her closer. “Where’d you go?” Her voice is low and sleepy, but she gazes up at her with wide open eyes, forehead creased into a little bit of a frown, and Brittany kisses the squishy space between her eyebrows, just because.
“Went to get a drink,” Brittany tightens her grip around Santana. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Woke up and you were gone,” Santana pouts a little, voice clearer now, and threads a hand into Brittany’s hair behind her ear, fingers rubbing softly against her skin.
“Sorry baby. ‘M here now, go back to sleep.” Brittany presses another kiss to her forehead, and rubs circles into the top of her spine comfortingly.
Santana bumps her head against Brittany’s chin until Brittany looks down at her, and then she says, “Not sleepy,” with a little bit of a smirk that makes Brittany bite her lip in response and glance down at her through her lashes.
“Yeah?”
Santana nods, eyes dark and lidded, and rolls her hips against Brittany’s a little, “Yeah.”
Brittany grins and slides a hand down to rest low on Santana’s back, pulling her a little closer against her until they’re pressed together, so close Brittany can feel Santana’s chest rising and falling every time she breathes. Her breath comes quicker now than a moment before, and Brittany watches the way Santana’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip quickly, eyes drawn there as if by magic, so that Brittany can’t look away, wishing it was her tongue instead of Santana’s.
She swallows and glances away and up to find Santana’s eyes and the smirk still on her face, and then she huffs out a strangled laugh and whispers, “You’re mean,” without really meaning it.
Santana’s smirk grows, and the hand in her hair moves until it’s at the back of her head, fingers pressing into her skin until she’s pulling her forward into a kiss. Santana kisses her hard, all lips and tongues and want, and Brittany feels desire bloom low in her belly.
She kisses her back hungrily, open-mouthed and desperate, trying to kiss the smirk from her lips.
Santana rolls them until she’s on top and straddling Brittany’s hips, smirks into the kiss a little when Brittany whimpers, and then pulls Brittany up so that they’re both sitting up, one hand reaching down to stroke against Brittany’s stomach under her shirt, and then higher until she’s palming her breast, fingers brushing against the nipple. Brittany shivers a little and moans into Santana’s mouth, back arching up into the touch, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of the way Santana touches her, the way her fingers know every sweet spot that makes her sigh and roll her hips, finding them unerringly like magnets are pulling them there.
Her hands find Santana’s hipbones and pull, until Santana’s pressed against her with no space between their bodies, impossible close and wonderfully soft in her arms, and then she slides her hand lower, until her fingers brush against the thin material of her underwear.
Santana always kisses her like she’s surprised she can, offering her mouth to Brittany like she isn’t sure it’s what Brittany wants. Brittany kisses her like she never wants to stop, putting everything Santana’s never been good at hearing into the way their lips press together, their tongues brushing as they breathe each other in.
Santana gasps into the kiss, eyes opening a little in surprise, and Brittany hopes this will be the time she finally hears what she has to say.
They keep kissing until their lips are swollen, until all they can taste is each other on their tongues, until Santana pulls back long enough for her grin to turn wicked, and then she’s tugging at the bottom of Brittany’s sleep shirt, pulling until Brittany leans back to give her room to get it over her head, before she reaches for her own shirt and does the same.
They just look at each other, grins falling from their faces as their expressions turn more serious, Santana still straddling Brittany’s hips, breathing hard like they both can’t quite catch their breath. After a second, Brittany swallows and brushes the back of her hand against Santana’s cheek, then lower, over her collarbone and down until she finds the soft curve of her breast. Santana exhales shakily at the feel of it and bites her lip, rolling her hips a little to bring herself closer, eyes dark and unreadable.
They’re both only wearing panties now, because they learnt long ago that sleeping in any more clothes than that was kind of pointless, and Brittany ducks her head until her mouth is replacing her hand, sucking a nipple into her mouth, hands flat against Santana’s back to hold her steady. Santana whimpers and rolls her hips, grinding down on Brittany’s thigh, and Brittany sucks harder, watching the way Santana shivers, feeling the way Santana’s hands tighten in her hair.
“Britt,” Santana moans, voice low and throaty, and Brittany can feel it all through her body, everything in her drawing to attention to and wanting to answer her.
She wonders if other people can say names the same way Santana does, like she’s addressing the very core of you, and calling you into being.
“Britt,” she says again, and Brittany forgets to think.
She comes up to kiss Santana again, grazing her teeth against her bottom lip before pushing her tongue into Santana’s mouth like she owns it, which she kind of does, so. Santana’s moan is swallowed by the kiss, and she presses herself more firmly against Brittany’s thigh now, hips bucking more insistently.
Brittany’s lost in the feel of her, in the way all of her senses are overwhelmed by Santana until she’s all she can see, feel, taste, touch. She brushes her fingers against the soft-sweet skin, inhaling the perfume-shampoo scent of her as she sucks at the hinge of her jaw and feel-hears every little whispered gasp.
“Britty,” Santana’s voice tugs at her, breathy and low, and Brittany leans back a little to look at her, eyes sweeping down her body and then back up to find Santana’s gaze.
“I love you,” Brittany says, just because she wants to, because she still can’t believe, sometimes, that she gets to say it whenever she wants to.
“I love you too,” Santana murmurs, eyes as dark as Brittany’s ever seen them, and then Brittany trails the hand down from Santana’s jaw, between her breasts and over her stomach, until she’s pushing past the band of Santana’s underwear and finding slick heat.
Santana’s eyes shut almost by reflex for a second, and she shudders at the contact, hips pitching her forward until she’s leaning into Brittany and gasping right above her ear, dark hair spilling all around them until it’s all Brittany can see. Brittany holds her up, other hand flat against Santana’s spine as her arm takes the weight, gathering her up and keeping her safe. Her head is tucked into Santana’s shoulder, lips against the curve of her neck, and she sucks on her collarbone lazily, grazing her teeth over it then tonguing the mark she’s left there as Santana gasps again.
It feels like her entire world is narrowed to the movement of her fingers and Santana’s hips, and the way Santana exhales noisily against her skin as the fingers of her right hand flex against Brittany’s back. She doesn’t need the universe to be bigger than this moment, doesn’t need it to be anything but the movement of Santana’s hips and the steadying hand she has pressed against Brittany’s chest, just above her heart.
She wonders absently if Santana can feel the way her heart beats for her, and has always beat for her, for as long as she can remember. She’s pretty sure it’s beating faster than it’s supposed to right now, maybe too fast, and she hopes Santana can feel it the way she can, beating noisily against her ribs like it’s trying to get out.
Santana gasps above her ear again, and when Brittany moves to suck at her pulse point she can feel Santana’s pulse beating erratically, almost too fast and too hard, in a way that kind of makes her worry.
She leans down to quickly press a soft kiss to Santana’s chest, just above her heart.
The hand on her back tenses, fingers digging into the skin, and Brittany nudges at Santana’s head until their foreheads are resting together, Santana gasping into the space between their mouths every time Brittany’s fingers move against her. She can tell Santana is close to falling apart; she can feel it in the way her body tenses and her breathing gets shallower, coming more quickly as her hips lose their rhythm, and she presses her forehead against Santana’s a little harder, trying to find her eyes.
She presses a little harder with her fingers, feels Santana’s thighs tense against hers, and then Santana’s shuddering against her trying to stay silent as she comes undone, fingers gripping her back so hard Brittany thinks they’ll leave a mark. Santana doesn’t look away, and Brittany moves her hand up to tangle into her hair at the back of her head, holding her steady and keeping her close, foreheads so close that they’re breathing the same air, Brittany’s fingers moving slowly, drawing the last of Santana’s orgasm from her.
Brittany leans up to brush her lips against Santana’s chin, nudges her with her nose until Santana kisses her back softly and smiles into the kiss, lazy and sated.
Santana presses another kiss to her lips and hums happily as Brittany’s fingers slow, moving to draw lazy wet circles against Santana’s hipbone instead. Santana sinks down a little, arms looping around Brittany’s shoulders loosely as she curls into her chest, kissing her neck as she rests her head against Brittany’s shoulder and waits for her breathing to even out.
Brittany presses her lips against Santana’s pulse point gently, counting the beats between breaths and waiting for her pulse to regain its rhythm.
Brittany loves the way Santana always stays close now, fingers stroking absently against Brittany’s back as her head turns so she can find Brittany’s eyes and smile shyly, her face still a little bit flushed, her breathing still a little bit shallow. She threads her hand into Santana’s hair and holds her close, the thumb of her other hand still rubbing at her hip, and Santana sighs into her, lips brushing at the underside of her jaw softly.
Santana's mouth is hot against her neck, and Brittany tilts her head back, letting Santana kiss up to her ear and back down to her collarbone, toes curling against the sheets at the feel of it. It takes everything in her not to move, and she pushes one arm behind her to steady herself, hand fisting blindly in the bed covers as she quivers like a taut bowstring, Santana drawing her back against her mouth.
(The first time Santana had kissed her neck when they were fifteen, Brittany had jerked so hard at the feel of it that she nearly headbutted Santana and knocked her out cold; Santana had stared at her in amazement before smirking and leaning in to kiss her again, but Brittany had never gotten good at keeping still.)
She can feel Santana’s lips stretch into a lazy smile against her skin, and Santana moves to suck on her pulse point until Brittany’s sure she’s going to leave a mark and forces her arms to work enough to pull her off.
“My mom,” she protests, embarrassed at how ragged her voice sounds.
“Wear your hair down,” Santana suggests with a grin, sitting back and watching her with hooded eyes, one hand in Brittany’s hair, the other sliding against her breast until Brittany squirms and squeezes her legs together.
Brittany opens her mouth to protest but Santana cuts her off with a kiss, using her entire body to push her down into the mattress and then shifting until she’s between Brittany’s legs, pressing her weight into her. Santana kisses her slowly, tongue brushing against hers surely, until Brittany’s left breathless and dizzy, clouded by desire, arching up against Santana every time their lips meet.
It feels like forever until Santana is kissing a trail down her body, mapping out the curves and contours with her hands and mouth, finding her breasts, her stomach, the hollow between her hips. Brittany quivers with anticipation, hand sliding down to the back of Santana’s head to urge her onwards, and Santana glances up, just once, before tugging her underwear down her legs and dragging her tongue through her, just where Brittany needs it most. Brittany lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding, and cants her hips up, seeking more contact.
Out of all the things that changed the summer before, this was the best because it was the one thing that was completely new. It had remained some sort of invisible line Santana was unwilling to cross, because straight girls didn’t go down on their best friends no matter how much they may have wanted to, and the feel of Santana between her legs, tongue warm and soft and wet against her, always makes Brittany’s stomach flip flop in a way that has nothing to do with orgasms. It always reminds her of that first time the summer before, how hesitant Santana had been, suddenly unsure of herself in a way she never was in bed with Brittany, and how she’d touched her there so softly, lips and tongue barely brushing against her, slow and tentative.
There’s no hesitation now. Santana laps her tongue against Brittany, aware of all the places that make Brittany shudder, exactly where to press her tongue to make her gasp and buck her hips, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sheets. She rolls her hips again and feels Santana chuckle, bucks a little more at the way Santana’s lips vibrate when she does so, and Santana brings her arm up across Brittany’s stomach to try and hold her down.
Brittany tries to stop herself moving, curling her toes and clenching her thighs, hand fisted in the sheets tightly, but it doesn’t really help, and then Santana slides two fingers into her and Brittany’s lost, hips rising to meet every thrust as Santana sucks at her and tries to hold on. She comes murmuring Santana’s name like it’s the only word she knows, Santana’s tongue flicking against her lazily in time with her aftershocks, fingers buried inside of her and curling just so, until Brittany shudders again and cries out, thighs clenching around Santana’s head as she gasps, “San, please.”
Santana pulls her head back with a laugh, and brushes her fingers against Brittany’s stomach with the arm she still has draped across her as Brittany sucks air into her lungs, feeling her whole body go limp as her heartbeat returns to normal. She nuzzles into Brittany’s thigh, rests her head there and gazes up at Brittany adoringly, in a way that makes Brittany smile shyly and tug her hand through Santana’s hair, fingers tracing a line behind her ear and down her neck.
“You’re so beautiful, Britt-Britt,” Santana murmurs, voice full of wonder, brushing her lips against the soft skin on the inside of her thigh again.
“Come here,” Brittany whispers, fingers sliding down to grab her and tugging, until Santana’s moving up her body and kissing her, fitting their bodies together again.
They’re different kisses now, close-mouthed and sweet, and Brittany hums into them, tasting herself on Santana’s lips, different and familiar all at once.
“I love you,” Santana mumbles against her lips softly, almost like it’s a secret, and Brittany kisses her harder, using the hand on her jaw to pull her closer.
She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of hearing those words from Santana; the magical sound of them, the way Santana’s eyes soften when she says them, the way a smile always tugs at the corners of her mouth.
She kisses her harder, hands curling into her hair, and decides to show her just how much she likes to hear them.
+
“Britt,” Santana murmurs later, half on top of Brittany and half next to her, chin resting on Brittany’s chest. She brushes some hair away from Brittany’s face and rests her fingers on her jaw, waiting for her eyes to open and regain their focus.
“Mmm?” Brittany smiles at how close Santana is, before moving forward a little to bump their noses together. Santana grins and slides her hand down Brittany’s arm lightly until Brittany shivers and shifts, using the leg she has hooked over Santana’s hip to urge her closer.
She can feel Santana everywhere, like she’s being wrapped up in her. It feels like her skin is humming; oversensitive and tingling wherever it brushes against Santana’s, like Santana has marked every inch of her with her hands and mouth, and now she’s calling her back to her, skin seeking skin. She touches her fingers to the dark mark on Santana’s collarbone, then moves them to brush against a similar one on her shoulder, and Santana laughs, low and throaty, before brushing her fingertips against Brittany’s neck and walking them up to her ear.
“We’ll wear our hair down,” Santana says softly, “It’ll be our secret.”
“Okay,” Brittany murmurs in return, rolling onto her side and pulling Santana with her. She presses herself closer, leg sliding between both of Santana’s until Santana squeezes her thighs together and exhales noisily, shaking her head a little as her eyes flutter closed.
“Britt,” she mumbles, so quiet Brittany almost doesn’t hear it.
Brittany brushes her lips to Santana’s nose softly, rubs little circles into Santana’s spine, until Santana relaxes in her arms again.
She can still feel the phantom weight of Santana’s lips on hers, can still taste Santana on her tongue, and Santana finds her eyes and smiles again, arm sliding down to the small of her back, holding her close. “It’s getting light out,” Santana whispers, something like wonder in her voice, eyes flicking towards the window.
“Do you want to get up?” Brittany asks, trying to hide a yawn in Santana’s hair and failing.
“Not really,” Santana replies shyly, leaning up a little to kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin, “Do you?”
“Never,” Brittany replies honestly, nuzzling into her with a sigh.
Just before she falls asleep she hears Santana whisper, “I wish-I wish we could stay here forever, Britt,” quietly like she almost doesn’t want to say it out loud, in case drawing attention to it breaks it somehow.
Santana thinks that a lot, Brittany’s noticed, like if she names something it’ll lose its magic, but magic things never lose their power; that’s kind of why they’re magic in the first place.
“We will,” Brittany whispers thickly, just before sleep claims her, fingers tightening in Santana’s hair. “We will.”
Part Three
Characters: Brittany/Santana
Length: 5k
Rating: R
Summary: Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before going to college.
A/N: Super thanks, as always, to JJ for the flawless beta and punchy cheerleading. I really couldn't write this fic without her.
Brittany wakes up while Santana is still asleep, curled into Brittany’s chest and snoring softly. She waits for her eyes to adjust to the dark and brushes a little of the hair away from Santana’s forehead, skimming her fingers against her brow, fingertips barely brushing the skin so she doesn’t wake her.
She likes watching Santana sleep, likes the way her whole body relaxes and her hands reach for her clumsily, fumbling after her in the dark. She likes how if she rolls or moves, Santana always comes with her, so they’re never more than a few inches apart and there’s always some part of them touching across what little space exists between them.
She watches Santana’s eyes flutter as her fingertips move feather light against Santana’s skin, watches Santana’s brow twitch like she can feel Brittany’s touch, and Santana nudges her head closer, like she’s seeking more contact, quieting for a moment before her breath catches in her throat again.
Santana insists she doesn’t snore, and Brittany lets her believe that even though she makes these cute little snoring sounds when she’s really happy or comfortable, like whenever she’s wrapped up in Brittany’s arms, which is kind of like 90% of the time, now. Sometimes, Brittany thinks she wouldn’t tell Santana anyway because it’s a secret thing that she gets all to herself and no one else gets to see.
Brittany likes the things only she gets to see; like Santana’s goofy smile whenever Brittany makes her laugh or the way she looks right before Brittany touches her sometimes, like it’s the only thing she needs in the world; the way she shivers and gasps when Brittany finally presses her fingers or her tongue between her legs and arches up into the touch.
That one’s probably her favourite, to be honest.
Santana shifts against her a little, feet twitching in her sleep and bumping against Brittany’s under the covers, and then she starts snoring again, a little louder than before. Brittany grins into the darkness and presses a kiss to Santana’s forehead before she eases her arms out from around her and gets out of bed slowly, stretching herself up to her full height and feeling her joints pop. She presses the button on her cell phone so she can check the time, and Santana mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, away from the light of the screen.
“Sorry, baby,” Brittany murmurs quietly, reaching for the discarded pajama pants on the floor and pulling them up her legs.. “I’ll be back in a second.”
“Where y’going?” Santana’s voice is thick with sleep and partially muffled by the way she still has her face pressed down into the pillow, little bit of a whine in her voice at the loss of contact.
“Water,” Brittany replies softly, but Santana is already asleep.
Brittany watches her for a moment, torn between getting back into bed and getting a drink, because Santana isn’t snoring now, and that’s wrong, somehow. She stands there a moment longer, shifting from side to side, and then swallows against the scratchiness in her throat and tip toes to the door.
+
Brittany pulls a clean glass out of the dishwasher, watching the way it sparkles in the light, and then turns the tap on and lets the water run until it’s so cold it numbs her fingers. She hides a yawn behind her hand as the glass fills, then gulps down half of it in one go, feeling the cool water slide all the way down her throat. She shivers a little, and sips the rest more slowly, a little bit worried in case her insides freeze or something.
Santana would probably be pissed if she let herself freeze.
“Britt?” Her mom blinks sleepily at her from the doorway, pulling her from her half-formed thoughts. “Where’s Santana?”
“Asleep,” Brittany replies quickly, turning to look at her. “I needed a glass of water.”
“Okay,” her mom hovers in the doorway for a second, chewing on her bottom lip the way she does when she’s puzzling something out, eyes fixed on Brittany in a way that makes her want to crawl back into bed next to Santana and never come out. It looks like she’s trying to make her mind up about something, and Brittany sips her water and watches silently, waiting for her to speak.
There’s something about the way her mom looks at her that makes her unsure if she wants to hear what she has to say.
She blinks and sips her water, waiting.
After another long moment her mom steps into the room and comes to stand next to her, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind Brittany’s ear and offer her a shaky smile. “I can’t believe you’re going to college in three months.”
“Mom,” Brittany sighs, relaxing almost at once. She really wants to roll her eyes because this is at least the four thousandth time they’ve had this conversation in the last two months, and really, her mom needs to stop worrying. “Not this again. I’ll be fine. I’m eighteen, and I’ll be with Santana, so.”
Her mom looks at her silently for a minute, nodding a little, and then her mouth opens like she’s about to say something. She doesn’t though, just closes it again, jaw tightening, then glances away.
“Mom?” Brittany says again, feeling her nervousness return. She sets her glass down on the counter and reaches for her hand, “What?”
“I know you think relationships last forever, Britt, but it’s okay if you two grow apart at college. Sometimes people do,” her mom’s eyes are soft, and she looks almost apologetic, like she really doesn’t want to say what she’s saying. “Sometimes high school sweethearts break up at college, and it isn’t the end of the world. I just want you to know that, okay?”
Brittany’s fairly sure it would be the end of the world actually, but it’s not ever going to happen anyway so she isn’t entirely sure why her mom is saying it might with such resignation in her voice. It’s like, they fought so hard for years just to be together, doesn’t her mom think they’d fight even harder not to lose each other?
Not that they even could lose each other. Santana has a map with three different routes from Stanford to Berkeley marked on it, just in case.
“Mom, you don’t even have to worry about that,” she says, taking in her mom’s anxious expression while she waits for her to say something. “Santana and I are good, okay?”
“I know, and you know I love Santana just like I love you but I’m just saying if something happens-“
“It won’t, though,” Brittany interjects quickly, then carries on before her mom can say anything else. “You know the only thing I’ve ever wanted since I was, like, thirteen? To be with Santana. You know the only thing she ever wanted?” She pauses, and smiles shyly, “The same. So we’ll be together at college, and then we’ll be together when we get our first jobs, and buy our first house, and when they change the laws so we can be together like everyone else.” She takes a breath, and tries to ignore the tears in her mom’s eyes. “So you don’t have to worry about that, okay? You don’t have to worry about that at all.”
Her mom pulls her into a hug, wrapping her arms around her and holding on tightly, the moment stretching until Brittany laughs a little, “Mom, I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry,” her mom finally lets her go, then holds her at arms’ length for a minute, eyes settling on her face. The smile on her mom’s face is happy-sad, and Brittany just shakes her head because she’s being ridiculous the same way Santana is ridiculous sometimes, and then some of the sadness falls from her mom’s lips. “You should go back to bed. You’ve had a long day.”
Brittany nods and moves her glass to the sink, “‘Night mom.”
+
Santana’s still asleep, or at least Brittany thinks she is when she strips her pj pants off and climbs back into bed, carefully so as not to wake her. She slides an arm under Santana’s neck and finds Santana’s hand under the pillow, then presses herself against her back, her other hand settling on Santana’s hip under the covers. Santana always says that she only lets Brittany be the big spoon because she’s taller and it makes the most sense, but Brittany knows that’s only half true because Santana always snuggles backwards into her body until there’s no space between them, and hums happily before she falls asleep. Brittany doesn’t mind so much; being taller is kind of fun when she gets to bury her face in Santana’s hair and rest her lips against the bump at the top of Santana’s spine every night.
(Being taller is kind of fun other times too, like when she gets to lift Santana up until her legs are around Brittany’s waist, and she can walk them over to the bed all without having to stop kissing Santana, especially when she drops Santana down onto the bed and then Santana pulls her down on top of her.)
She thinks she’s managed to get back into bed without waking Santana up, but Santana almost immediately rolls over in the circle of her arms and snuggles her face into Brittany’s chest, one hand clutching at the front of Brittany’s shirt and the other sliding around her back to pull her closer. “Where’d you go?” Her voice is low and sleepy, but she gazes up at her with wide open eyes, forehead creased into a little bit of a frown, and Brittany kisses the squishy space between her eyebrows, just because.
“Went to get a drink,” Brittany tightens her grip around Santana. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Woke up and you were gone,” Santana pouts a little, voice clearer now, and threads a hand into Brittany’s hair behind her ear, fingers rubbing softly against her skin.
“Sorry baby. ‘M here now, go back to sleep.” Brittany presses another kiss to her forehead, and rubs circles into the top of her spine comfortingly.
Santana bumps her head against Brittany’s chin until Brittany looks down at her, and then she says, “Not sleepy,” with a little bit of a smirk that makes Brittany bite her lip in response and glance down at her through her lashes.
“Yeah?”
Santana nods, eyes dark and lidded, and rolls her hips against Brittany’s a little, “Yeah.”
Brittany grins and slides a hand down to rest low on Santana’s back, pulling her a little closer against her until they’re pressed together, so close Brittany can feel Santana’s chest rising and falling every time she breathes. Her breath comes quicker now than a moment before, and Brittany watches the way Santana’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip quickly, eyes drawn there as if by magic, so that Brittany can’t look away, wishing it was her tongue instead of Santana’s.
She swallows and glances away and up to find Santana’s eyes and the smirk still on her face, and then she huffs out a strangled laugh and whispers, “You’re mean,” without really meaning it.
Santana’s smirk grows, and the hand in her hair moves until it’s at the back of her head, fingers pressing into her skin until she’s pulling her forward into a kiss. Santana kisses her hard, all lips and tongues and want, and Brittany feels desire bloom low in her belly.
She kisses her back hungrily, open-mouthed and desperate, trying to kiss the smirk from her lips.
Santana rolls them until she’s on top and straddling Brittany’s hips, smirks into the kiss a little when Brittany whimpers, and then pulls Brittany up so that they’re both sitting up, one hand reaching down to stroke against Brittany’s stomach under her shirt, and then higher until she’s palming her breast, fingers brushing against the nipple. Brittany shivers a little and moans into Santana’s mouth, back arching up into the touch, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of the way Santana touches her, the way her fingers know every sweet spot that makes her sigh and roll her hips, finding them unerringly like magnets are pulling them there.
Her hands find Santana’s hipbones and pull, until Santana’s pressed against her with no space between their bodies, impossible close and wonderfully soft in her arms, and then she slides her hand lower, until her fingers brush against the thin material of her underwear.
Santana always kisses her like she’s surprised she can, offering her mouth to Brittany like she isn’t sure it’s what Brittany wants. Brittany kisses her like she never wants to stop, putting everything Santana’s never been good at hearing into the way their lips press together, their tongues brushing as they breathe each other in.
Santana gasps into the kiss, eyes opening a little in surprise, and Brittany hopes this will be the time she finally hears what she has to say.
They keep kissing until their lips are swollen, until all they can taste is each other on their tongues, until Santana pulls back long enough for her grin to turn wicked, and then she’s tugging at the bottom of Brittany’s sleep shirt, pulling until Brittany leans back to give her room to get it over her head, before she reaches for her own shirt and does the same.
They just look at each other, grins falling from their faces as their expressions turn more serious, Santana still straddling Brittany’s hips, breathing hard like they both can’t quite catch their breath. After a second, Brittany swallows and brushes the back of her hand against Santana’s cheek, then lower, over her collarbone and down until she finds the soft curve of her breast. Santana exhales shakily at the feel of it and bites her lip, rolling her hips a little to bring herself closer, eyes dark and unreadable.
They’re both only wearing panties now, because they learnt long ago that sleeping in any more clothes than that was kind of pointless, and Brittany ducks her head until her mouth is replacing her hand, sucking a nipple into her mouth, hands flat against Santana’s back to hold her steady. Santana whimpers and rolls her hips, grinding down on Brittany’s thigh, and Brittany sucks harder, watching the way Santana shivers, feeling the way Santana’s hands tighten in her hair.
“Britt,” Santana moans, voice low and throaty, and Brittany can feel it all through her body, everything in her drawing to attention to and wanting to answer her.
She wonders if other people can say names the same way Santana does, like she’s addressing the very core of you, and calling you into being.
“Britt,” she says again, and Brittany forgets to think.
She comes up to kiss Santana again, grazing her teeth against her bottom lip before pushing her tongue into Santana’s mouth like she owns it, which she kind of does, so. Santana’s moan is swallowed by the kiss, and she presses herself more firmly against Brittany’s thigh now, hips bucking more insistently.
Brittany’s lost in the feel of her, in the way all of her senses are overwhelmed by Santana until she’s all she can see, feel, taste, touch. She brushes her fingers against the soft-sweet skin, inhaling the perfume-shampoo scent of her as she sucks at the hinge of her jaw and feel-hears every little whispered gasp.
“Britty,” Santana’s voice tugs at her, breathy and low, and Brittany leans back a little to look at her, eyes sweeping down her body and then back up to find Santana’s gaze.
“I love you,” Brittany says, just because she wants to, because she still can’t believe, sometimes, that she gets to say it whenever she wants to.
“I love you too,” Santana murmurs, eyes as dark as Brittany’s ever seen them, and then Brittany trails the hand down from Santana’s jaw, between her breasts and over her stomach, until she’s pushing past the band of Santana’s underwear and finding slick heat.
Santana’s eyes shut almost by reflex for a second, and she shudders at the contact, hips pitching her forward until she’s leaning into Brittany and gasping right above her ear, dark hair spilling all around them until it’s all Brittany can see. Brittany holds her up, other hand flat against Santana’s spine as her arm takes the weight, gathering her up and keeping her safe. Her head is tucked into Santana’s shoulder, lips against the curve of her neck, and she sucks on her collarbone lazily, grazing her teeth over it then tonguing the mark she’s left there as Santana gasps again.
It feels like her entire world is narrowed to the movement of her fingers and Santana’s hips, and the way Santana exhales noisily against her skin as the fingers of her right hand flex against Brittany’s back. She doesn’t need the universe to be bigger than this moment, doesn’t need it to be anything but the movement of Santana’s hips and the steadying hand she has pressed against Brittany’s chest, just above her heart.
She wonders absently if Santana can feel the way her heart beats for her, and has always beat for her, for as long as she can remember. She’s pretty sure it’s beating faster than it’s supposed to right now, maybe too fast, and she hopes Santana can feel it the way she can, beating noisily against her ribs like it’s trying to get out.
Santana gasps above her ear again, and when Brittany moves to suck at her pulse point she can feel Santana’s pulse beating erratically, almost too fast and too hard, in a way that kind of makes her worry.
She leans down to quickly press a soft kiss to Santana’s chest, just above her heart.
The hand on her back tenses, fingers digging into the skin, and Brittany nudges at Santana’s head until their foreheads are resting together, Santana gasping into the space between their mouths every time Brittany’s fingers move against her. She can tell Santana is close to falling apart; she can feel it in the way her body tenses and her breathing gets shallower, coming more quickly as her hips lose their rhythm, and she presses her forehead against Santana’s a little harder, trying to find her eyes.
She presses a little harder with her fingers, feels Santana’s thighs tense against hers, and then Santana’s shuddering against her trying to stay silent as she comes undone, fingers gripping her back so hard Brittany thinks they’ll leave a mark. Santana doesn’t look away, and Brittany moves her hand up to tangle into her hair at the back of her head, holding her steady and keeping her close, foreheads so close that they’re breathing the same air, Brittany’s fingers moving slowly, drawing the last of Santana’s orgasm from her.
Brittany leans up to brush her lips against Santana’s chin, nudges her with her nose until Santana kisses her back softly and smiles into the kiss, lazy and sated.
Santana presses another kiss to her lips and hums happily as Brittany’s fingers slow, moving to draw lazy wet circles against Santana’s hipbone instead. Santana sinks down a little, arms looping around Brittany’s shoulders loosely as she curls into her chest, kissing her neck as she rests her head against Brittany’s shoulder and waits for her breathing to even out.
Brittany presses her lips against Santana’s pulse point gently, counting the beats between breaths and waiting for her pulse to regain its rhythm.
Brittany loves the way Santana always stays close now, fingers stroking absently against Brittany’s back as her head turns so she can find Brittany’s eyes and smile shyly, her face still a little bit flushed, her breathing still a little bit shallow. She threads her hand into Santana’s hair and holds her close, the thumb of her other hand still rubbing at her hip, and Santana sighs into her, lips brushing at the underside of her jaw softly.
Santana's mouth is hot against her neck, and Brittany tilts her head back, letting Santana kiss up to her ear and back down to her collarbone, toes curling against the sheets at the feel of it. It takes everything in her not to move, and she pushes one arm behind her to steady herself, hand fisting blindly in the bed covers as she quivers like a taut bowstring, Santana drawing her back against her mouth.
(The first time Santana had kissed her neck when they were fifteen, Brittany had jerked so hard at the feel of it that she nearly headbutted Santana and knocked her out cold; Santana had stared at her in amazement before smirking and leaning in to kiss her again, but Brittany had never gotten good at keeping still.)
She can feel Santana’s lips stretch into a lazy smile against her skin, and Santana moves to suck on her pulse point until Brittany’s sure she’s going to leave a mark and forces her arms to work enough to pull her off.
“My mom,” she protests, embarrassed at how ragged her voice sounds.
“Wear your hair down,” Santana suggests with a grin, sitting back and watching her with hooded eyes, one hand in Brittany’s hair, the other sliding against her breast until Brittany squirms and squeezes her legs together.
Brittany opens her mouth to protest but Santana cuts her off with a kiss, using her entire body to push her down into the mattress and then shifting until she’s between Brittany’s legs, pressing her weight into her. Santana kisses her slowly, tongue brushing against hers surely, until Brittany’s left breathless and dizzy, clouded by desire, arching up against Santana every time their lips meet.
It feels like forever until Santana is kissing a trail down her body, mapping out the curves and contours with her hands and mouth, finding her breasts, her stomach, the hollow between her hips. Brittany quivers with anticipation, hand sliding down to the back of Santana’s head to urge her onwards, and Santana glances up, just once, before tugging her underwear down her legs and dragging her tongue through her, just where Brittany needs it most. Brittany lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding, and cants her hips up, seeking more contact.
Out of all the things that changed the summer before, this was the best because it was the one thing that was completely new. It had remained some sort of invisible line Santana was unwilling to cross, because straight girls didn’t go down on their best friends no matter how much they may have wanted to, and the feel of Santana between her legs, tongue warm and soft and wet against her, always makes Brittany’s stomach flip flop in a way that has nothing to do with orgasms. It always reminds her of that first time the summer before, how hesitant Santana had been, suddenly unsure of herself in a way she never was in bed with Brittany, and how she’d touched her there so softly, lips and tongue barely brushing against her, slow and tentative.
There’s no hesitation now. Santana laps her tongue against Brittany, aware of all the places that make Brittany shudder, exactly where to press her tongue to make her gasp and buck her hips, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sheets. She rolls her hips again and feels Santana chuckle, bucks a little more at the way Santana’s lips vibrate when she does so, and Santana brings her arm up across Brittany’s stomach to try and hold her down.
Brittany tries to stop herself moving, curling her toes and clenching her thighs, hand fisted in the sheets tightly, but it doesn’t really help, and then Santana slides two fingers into her and Brittany’s lost, hips rising to meet every thrust as Santana sucks at her and tries to hold on. She comes murmuring Santana’s name like it’s the only word she knows, Santana’s tongue flicking against her lazily in time with her aftershocks, fingers buried inside of her and curling just so, until Brittany shudders again and cries out, thighs clenching around Santana’s head as she gasps, “San, please.”
Santana pulls her head back with a laugh, and brushes her fingers against Brittany’s stomach with the arm she still has draped across her as Brittany sucks air into her lungs, feeling her whole body go limp as her heartbeat returns to normal. She nuzzles into Brittany’s thigh, rests her head there and gazes up at Brittany adoringly, in a way that makes Brittany smile shyly and tug her hand through Santana’s hair, fingers tracing a line behind her ear and down her neck.
“You’re so beautiful, Britt-Britt,” Santana murmurs, voice full of wonder, brushing her lips against the soft skin on the inside of her thigh again.
“Come here,” Brittany whispers, fingers sliding down to grab her and tugging, until Santana’s moving up her body and kissing her, fitting their bodies together again.
They’re different kisses now, close-mouthed and sweet, and Brittany hums into them, tasting herself on Santana’s lips, different and familiar all at once.
“I love you,” Santana mumbles against her lips softly, almost like it’s a secret, and Brittany kisses her harder, using the hand on her jaw to pull her closer.
She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of hearing those words from Santana; the magical sound of them, the way Santana’s eyes soften when she says them, the way a smile always tugs at the corners of her mouth.
She kisses her harder, hands curling into her hair, and decides to show her just how much she likes to hear them.
+
“Britt,” Santana murmurs later, half on top of Brittany and half next to her, chin resting on Brittany’s chest. She brushes some hair away from Brittany’s face and rests her fingers on her jaw, waiting for her eyes to open and regain their focus.
“Mmm?” Brittany smiles at how close Santana is, before moving forward a little to bump their noses together. Santana grins and slides her hand down Brittany’s arm lightly until Brittany shivers and shifts, using the leg she has hooked over Santana’s hip to urge her closer.
She can feel Santana everywhere, like she’s being wrapped up in her. It feels like her skin is humming; oversensitive and tingling wherever it brushes against Santana’s, like Santana has marked every inch of her with her hands and mouth, and now she’s calling her back to her, skin seeking skin. She touches her fingers to the dark mark on Santana’s collarbone, then moves them to brush against a similar one on her shoulder, and Santana laughs, low and throaty, before brushing her fingertips against Brittany’s neck and walking them up to her ear.
“We’ll wear our hair down,” Santana says softly, “It’ll be our secret.”
“Okay,” Brittany murmurs in return, rolling onto her side and pulling Santana with her. She presses herself closer, leg sliding between both of Santana’s until Santana squeezes her thighs together and exhales noisily, shaking her head a little as her eyes flutter closed.
“Britt,” she mumbles, so quiet Brittany almost doesn’t hear it.
Brittany brushes her lips to Santana’s nose softly, rubs little circles into Santana’s spine, until Santana relaxes in her arms again.
She can still feel the phantom weight of Santana’s lips on hers, can still taste Santana on her tongue, and Santana finds her eyes and smiles again, arm sliding down to the small of her back, holding her close. “It’s getting light out,” Santana whispers, something like wonder in her voice, eyes flicking towards the window.
“Do you want to get up?” Brittany asks, trying to hide a yawn in Santana’s hair and failing.
“Not really,” Santana replies shyly, leaning up a little to kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin, “Do you?”
“Never,” Brittany replies honestly, nuzzling into her with a sigh.
Just before she falls asleep she hears Santana whisper, “I wish-I wish we could stay here forever, Britt,” quietly like she almost doesn’t want to say it out loud, in case drawing attention to it breaks it somehow.
Santana thinks that a lot, Brittany’s noticed, like if she names something it’ll lose its magic, but magic things never lose their power; that’s kind of why they’re magic in the first place.
“We will,” Brittany whispers thickly, just before sleep claims her, fingers tightening in Santana’s hair. “We will.”
Part Three