fic: (we've got) time on our side - glee, brittany/santana, pg
Title: (We've Got) Time On Our Side
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Length: ~900
Timeline: 2x07, The Substitute
Summary: There are things Santana still has left to figure out.
Santana’s body is pressed firmly against Brittany’s, and her hand is halfway up Brittany’s Cheerios top, her lips quick and steady against Brittany’s neck, when Brittany stops her.
“San, wait, I can’t,” she mumbles, shifting her head against her own pillow.
Santana pushes herself onto her elbows and frowns. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’m dating Artie,” Brittany says quietly, eyes darkening in conflict.
Santana frowns. “What’s your point?”
“That means I’m not supposed to cheat on him,” Brittany says quietly. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“This isn’t cheating,” Santana counters. She sighs. “Britt, this is what we always do.”
Brittany shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I can’t anymore.”
Santana lifts herself up to a sitting position and glares down at Brittany. She isn’t even really angry so much as hurt, because Brittany rejecting her is new. New and wholly unpleasant. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to ignore the twinge in her chest.
“What’s so different this time?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Brittany repeats, her breath suddenly coming out shallow.
“He’s an asshole, Britt. And he treats you like a child.”
Brittany’s eyes flash. “You treat me like I’m never going to be as good as Puck.”
“Brittany, that’s not-”
“You don’t want to be my girlfriend,” Brittany continues miserably. “You don’t want to be anybody’s girlfriend, and that’s fine. But I want to be someone’s girlfriend, and that means I have to stop kissing you.”
Santana rises from the bed and smoothes her skirt back into place. The instinct to flee is strong in her bones, but instead, she walks over to Brittany’s desk, pulls out the chair, and takes a seat. She crosses her legs and realizes they’re shaking.
“You can do better than Artie, Britt.”
Brittany pushes herself up until she’s leaning her weight on her elbows. “It’s okay,” she says. “Artie doesn’t love me.”
Santana frowns. “Then why the hell are you dating him?”
Brittany doesn’t answer that, and Santana watches her stare up at her ceiling, peppered with star-shaped glow-in-the-dark stickers that Santana had helped her apply when they were both younger. When life was easier and they could lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling together without wanting something that one of them was unprepared - and too afraid - to give.
“I don’t know how to date you,” Santana admits quietly.
Brittany’s eyes snap to hers, and there’s a depth there that Santana doesn’t immediately know how to handle. She looks away, out the window, where a light brush of snow has started falling.
“Don’t ever think you’re not as good as Puck,” she continues. “That’s just-” She shakes her head and blinks against unexpected tears. “There’s no comparison.”
Brittany sits up on her bed and crosses her legs in front of her. “That’s not what you said.”
“Yeah well, we don’t always say what we mean.”
Brittany shrugs. “I do.”
Santana purses her lips. “And I don’t.”
Brittany climbs off her bed and walks over to her desk. She hops on, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Brittany’s ankle brushes Santana’s knee.
“Maybe you should try,” she suggests. “It’s easy. Just don’t think about what you’re saying and say it.”
Santana looks up at Brittany, and she lets her eyes skim Brittany’s features. Santana feels small, suddenly, and she desperately wants Brittany’s certainty about what it means to be honest, to be real and true and all that feel-good crap nobody who wants to survive in this cutthroat world is supposed to retain past the age of eight. But Brittany’s authenticity, her faith in the good, it suits her. It makes Santana crave something stronger than herself.
Santana swallows against the lump in her throat. “What if I say the wrong thing?”
“You won’t.” Brittany smiles encouragingly. “San, you won’t.”
Santana licks her lips. “I’m afraid of everything I feel,” she begins, the words tasting bitter against her tongue. “I’m trapped between doing what makes me happy and doing what keeps me safe from other people’s shit. I think-I think sometimes I don’t even know the difference.” She glances briefly at Brittany. “I miss waking up next to you. And not just after sex. It’s never been about the sex,” she finishes quietly.
Brittany slides off her desk and onto Santana’s lap, her arms circling Santana’s neck in a way that feels so familiar. Brittany’s forehead falls against Santana’s, and neither moves for a long time, until Santana’s leg starts to fall asleep, and she makes Brittany shift her weight onto the seat of the chair, between Santana’s legs. Brittany leans back against Santana, her head falling against Santana’s shoulder, and a pair of tan arms snake around Brittany’s waist.
“I don’t know how to date you,” Santana tries again, a hint of desperation sneaking into her voice. She needs Brittany to understand what she means.
Brittany’s hand finds Santana’s, and she holds on. “I know. It’s okay.” She pauses thoughtfully. “But will you figure it out?”
“Yeah, I promise.” Santana closes her eyes as she presses her face against Brittany’s hair, her nose bumping Brittany’s temple. “Can we be friends again?”
Brittany’s laugh is short and quick. “Silly,” she murmurs. “When did we ever stop?”
Santana imprints a smile against Brittany’s cheek as she tightens her grip around her, feeling the other girl’s warmth seep into her skin.
She’ll figure it out. She has to.
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Length: ~900
Timeline: 2x07, The Substitute
Summary: There are things Santana still has left to figure out.
Santana’s body is pressed firmly against Brittany’s, and her hand is halfway up Brittany’s Cheerios top, her lips quick and steady against Brittany’s neck, when Brittany stops her.
“San, wait, I can’t,” she mumbles, shifting her head against her own pillow.
Santana pushes herself onto her elbows and frowns. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’m dating Artie,” Brittany says quietly, eyes darkening in conflict.
Santana frowns. “What’s your point?”
“That means I’m not supposed to cheat on him,” Brittany says quietly. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“This isn’t cheating,” Santana counters. She sighs. “Britt, this is what we always do.”
Brittany shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I can’t anymore.”
Santana lifts herself up to a sitting position and glares down at Brittany. She isn’t even really angry so much as hurt, because Brittany rejecting her is new. New and wholly unpleasant. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to ignore the twinge in her chest.
“What’s so different this time?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Brittany repeats, her breath suddenly coming out shallow.
“He’s an asshole, Britt. And he treats you like a child.”
Brittany’s eyes flash. “You treat me like I’m never going to be as good as Puck.”
“Brittany, that’s not-”
“You don’t want to be my girlfriend,” Brittany continues miserably. “You don’t want to be anybody’s girlfriend, and that’s fine. But I want to be someone’s girlfriend, and that means I have to stop kissing you.”
Santana rises from the bed and smoothes her skirt back into place. The instinct to flee is strong in her bones, but instead, she walks over to Brittany’s desk, pulls out the chair, and takes a seat. She crosses her legs and realizes they’re shaking.
“You can do better than Artie, Britt.”
Brittany pushes herself up until she’s leaning her weight on her elbows. “It’s okay,” she says. “Artie doesn’t love me.”
Santana frowns. “Then why the hell are you dating him?”
Brittany doesn’t answer that, and Santana watches her stare up at her ceiling, peppered with star-shaped glow-in-the-dark stickers that Santana had helped her apply when they were both younger. When life was easier and they could lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling together without wanting something that one of them was unprepared - and too afraid - to give.
“I don’t know how to date you,” Santana admits quietly.
Brittany’s eyes snap to hers, and there’s a depth there that Santana doesn’t immediately know how to handle. She looks away, out the window, where a light brush of snow has started falling.
“Don’t ever think you’re not as good as Puck,” she continues. “That’s just-” She shakes her head and blinks against unexpected tears. “There’s no comparison.”
Brittany sits up on her bed and crosses her legs in front of her. “That’s not what you said.”
“Yeah well, we don’t always say what we mean.”
Brittany shrugs. “I do.”
Santana purses her lips. “And I don’t.”
Brittany climbs off her bed and walks over to her desk. She hops on, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Brittany’s ankle brushes Santana’s knee.
“Maybe you should try,” she suggests. “It’s easy. Just don’t think about what you’re saying and say it.”
Santana looks up at Brittany, and she lets her eyes skim Brittany’s features. Santana feels small, suddenly, and she desperately wants Brittany’s certainty about what it means to be honest, to be real and true and all that feel-good crap nobody who wants to survive in this cutthroat world is supposed to retain past the age of eight. But Brittany’s authenticity, her faith in the good, it suits her. It makes Santana crave something stronger than herself.
Santana swallows against the lump in her throat. “What if I say the wrong thing?”
“You won’t.” Brittany smiles encouragingly. “San, you won’t.”
Santana licks her lips. “I’m afraid of everything I feel,” she begins, the words tasting bitter against her tongue. “I’m trapped between doing what makes me happy and doing what keeps me safe from other people’s shit. I think-I think sometimes I don’t even know the difference.” She glances briefly at Brittany. “I miss waking up next to you. And not just after sex. It’s never been about the sex,” she finishes quietly.
Brittany slides off her desk and onto Santana’s lap, her arms circling Santana’s neck in a way that feels so familiar. Brittany’s forehead falls against Santana’s, and neither moves for a long time, until Santana’s leg starts to fall asleep, and she makes Brittany shift her weight onto the seat of the chair, between Santana’s legs. Brittany leans back against Santana, her head falling against Santana’s shoulder, and a pair of tan arms snake around Brittany’s waist.
“I don’t know how to date you,” Santana tries again, a hint of desperation sneaking into her voice. She needs Brittany to understand what she means.
Brittany’s hand finds Santana’s, and she holds on. “I know. It’s okay.” She pauses thoughtfully. “But will you figure it out?”
“Yeah, I promise.” Santana closes her eyes as she presses her face against Brittany’s hair, her nose bumping Brittany’s temple. “Can we be friends again?”
Brittany’s laugh is short and quick. “Silly,” she murmurs. “When did we ever stop?”
Santana imprints a smile against Brittany’s cheek as she tightens her grip around her, feeling the other girl’s warmth seep into her skin.
She’ll figure it out. She has to.