You're just over two weeks into your magical Bahamian honeymoon, and it's midday as you sit at the bar, twisting the string of your bikini top as you wait for the bartender to finish making two mojitos. Straight in your line of vision is Santana, your wife of nineteen days, sprawled out on a lounge chair, dark hair piled up on top of her head, skin, even darker and more gorgeous than usual from all of your time in the sun, glowing in the bright daylight, engrossed in her book. You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips as you stare at her (you feel like you're always staring at her, honestly, because she takes your breath away) looking so relaxed, looking so natural.
For the better part of your first week in paradise, you'd both partied, and partied hard. Most of your days and nights were soaked in alcohol, including a night where she'd climbed up on the table in the resort's dance club, announced to the room that her new wife was the hottest person in the whole room (and your insides burned, the way they always do when she compliments you) and then jumped down into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist, and letting you spin her around until someone handed you both more tequila shots, and you'd carried her just like that back to your bed to have your way with her, with your wife, who you are sure is the hottest person on the whole planet. You're young, you're newlyweds, and you're so damn in love with each other, that sometimes, neither of you has the willpower to fight screaming it to anyone who will listen, and you're sure that ninety-percent of the staff knows your last name, and that the word you're both most likely to say is wife.
But, after the first week you did tone down the partying- though you did not tone down the dancing and the sex, those two things are as natural to you both as breathing, and you've fallen into this glorious domesticity. You spend the daylight hours going for long walks hand in hand on the beach, alternating the planning of surprise dinner plans, taking sunset cruises, kicking the asses of whatever other young couple you can find at pool volleyball, high-fiving, before making them buy you drinks, and sometimes, just lying in your respective lounge chairs, sipping tropical drinks and having your own quiet time, hands clasped together as your read, or listen to music, or check out apartment listings in New York. It's everything you've imagined in your life with Santana, honestly, and each and every morning, you wake up, tangled in sheets and naked limbs, and you thank whatever higher being that there is for letting you be so lucky that you got to marry your very best friend. The bartender nods to you as he places your drinks down, and you salute him, something that's become a tradition between the two of you, before lifting the glasses, and heading back to where Santana lies.
"Thanks, babe." She looks over her big sunglasses, and she grins at you, she grins at you for something as simple as getting a drink from the bar, and you understand that feeling so fully. You grin at her all the time too, it's just what the love bubbling inside of you makes your face do. "I hope Pierre didn't skimp on the rum this time."
"Well, if he did, at least we're not paying." You laugh, and hand her the drink to sip, watching her nod her approval and sitting down on the end of her lounger.
"Sue really wanted to get into our good graces." Santana shakes her head, though you both know this trip was barely a blip on Santana's radar of why she forgave Sue for years and years of hurtful things.
"Well I appreciate that she remained accurate with honeymoon tradition and sent us away for a month. Although I'm pretty sure I don't believe the first month of marriage is the sweetest, we're always going to be pretty sweet." You tell her, and she looks at you with those soft adorable eyes of hers, biting her lip before kissing you.
"Agreed. One-hundred percent. So, what's the plan for the rest of the day?"
"I was hoping we could go to the Straw Market a little later. Do some shopping, have dinner somewhere other than in this resort." You shrug, because you do love it in your paradise hotel, you really do, but in Greece, one of your favorite parts had been seeing all the local stuff, and you've yet to do that on this trip. Her fingers trail absently along the outside of your thigh, and she smiles at you, nodding.
"That sounds perfect, actually." She smiles, just as the iPad she'd stashed on the table beside her beings to ring. Reaching to pick it up, you roll your eyes a little at the picture of your parents that appears on screen. "They miss you, babe."
"Hardly possible." You swipe across the screen, making a face.
"Brittany! Yeasty!" Your mom grins, waving from her kitchen table in Lima. "Hope we didn't interrupt anything!"
"Just-"
"No, of course not, hi, mom!" Santana waves just as enthusiastically as your mom had, and though your mother's excessive calling drives you nuts, you would be lying if you said you didn't think Santana's added enthusiasm toward her and your dad, now that you're married, is the cutest thing ever. "Just sitting by the pool, figuring out what we're going to do with the rest of the day."
"Well, on my honeymoon-"
"No, mom, no." You shake your head, and Santana finds your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. She loves your parents, she's happy to appease them, but she loves you more, and she knows that you're still bothered by what your mother revealed to you about the early days of her marriage, so she won't encourage her to keep talking. "Don't want to talk about it."
"Whit, is that Brittany?" You hear your father, and he grabs the iPad from her, holding it too close to his face. "Britt, who's that there with you?"
"Hi, dad." You try not to laugh at his joke and encourage him, but Santana thinks he's hilarious, and you can't help but laugh at her laughter.
"So what's up? Did one of you get the other pregnant yet?" You cover your face with your hands, and she continues to laugh. You're used to this- or at least you should be since they've made jokes about grandchildren every single time they call.
"Not for a couple years, dad." She grins at him, and though you're both excited for that day to come, you're glad she's the one who keeps telling them it's not happening any time soon. "We're going to enjoy being newlyweds for awhile, and figure ourselves out first."
"Well you know, Pierce is totally a unicycle name."
"Stop tryna make them call their baby Pierce Lopez-Pierce." Your mom calls, snatching the iPad back from him. "And it's unisex, not unicycle."
"Mom, dad, as great as discussing baby names with you is, Santana and I are actually in the middle of something right now. Can we call you tomorrow?"
"What are you in the middle of?" She asks waggling her eyebrows and making you groan.
"Our honeymoon. We love you, bye." You tap the end call button before they say another word, fully aware that a goodbye could take an hour when it comes to them, and Santana leans over and pecks your lips.
"You're cute."
"You encourage them."
"They're excited for us, I'm excited for us, we have a lot in common."
"And you call me cute." You feel your heart swell just looking at her, just listening to how earnestly she speaks. "I love you a lot."
"I love you a lot too. Now, hows about we go back to our room, and I'll show you just how much, before we have to get ready to leave?"
"You'll get no arguments from me. You look pretty delicious in that new bathing suit." You smirk, running your pointer over the white fabric of her top, taking in the stark contrast to her sun-glowing skin, speaking out loud what you've been thinking since she'd put it on this morning, somehow looking even sexier in it than she did naked.
"I figured you'd think so, that's why I bought it."
"Best wife ever."
"Competition's tough on that one, Brittany Lopez-Pierce." She laughs, kissing you again, because she can, kissing you again, because you both want to do it as much as possible, for the rest of your lives.
Finishing your drinks and tossing all of your crap into your beach bag, you wrap your arm around her waist and head back to your room, an obscenely gorgeous two-room suite overlooking the beach. It doesn't take long before you end up in the jacuzzi tub together, and you change your mind again, as you decide that as gorgeous as it looks on her body, Santana's white bikini definitely looks better on the floor, and her boobs definitely look even better when only your hands cover them. You're in a playful mood, both of you, even when you have her seated on the edge the tub, and your body is half out of the water, your head between her legs, her moans echoing off the stone walls of the bathroom. It's probably your favorite thing about the two of you, the way you just thoroughly enjoy each other's company, no matter what you're doing, the way you can switch from playful and giddy to hot and heavy, and right back. Santana runs the shower when you're finished, and the water drains out of the tub as she takes you up against the wall, sucking hard on your neck and making you whine with sheer delight. With both of you sort of on shaky legs, you wash each other's hair, getting the salt and sand from your earlier swim in the ocean, far from where anyone else could hear you whispering your love to each other. She climbs out first when you're done, handing you a towel and one of those awesome hotel robes that you've insisted you cannot go home without buying, and you smile, just because you're sure you'll never, ever stop smiling at her in all her sweet, beautiful glory.
You're both quiet as you get ready separately, a routine you'd sort of fallen into on your first vacation together, taking that time to be alone in your own heads and decompress before heading out for the night. It was good for you, you figured, to have time alone, even when you were together, and while you blow dry your hair, and you smile to yourself again at how lucky you are. It always takes you both awhile to get ready, but that's okay, it's not about rushing, it's about relaxing and enjoying yourselves. After you pull on a long skirt and a white t-shirt, dressing up casual, because you're not sure where you'll end up for dinner, you move from the bedroom through the living area to find Santana sitting out on the open balcony. In her crocheted dress and heels, a big hat on sunglasses covering her, she looks adorably touristy, and also, kind of famous, like she's positive you'll both be someday, even if it's just from Queso Por Dos. You stand there for a minute, just taking all of Santana in, watching her watch the ocean lap the shore below, until she finally realizes your presence and turns her head slowly toward you
"Enjoying the view?"
"Duh." You smirk a little, raising an eyebrow. "The beach is gorgeous."
"I think the beach would say the same about you, babe."
"C'mon, Jackie O." You laugh, extending your hand to help her up, and shivering as she presses a gentle kiss to the dark mark she'd left on your neck. "Let's go buy some straw."
Walking down to the water taxi terminal, Santana hooks her arm through yours, and you share a smile, thinking of all the ways you tend to walk alongside one another while remaining close. You'd both done a lot of research about how you'd be treated as a same sex couple out side of the resort once you'd opened the envelope from Sue- something you were both really cautious about, considering you were naturally touchy- and you know she was holding you like that, rather than taking your hand intentionally. But you're okay with it, and you know she's okay with it, something that may not have been true a few years ago, because as much as it sucks that some people don't get the most important things, what anyone else thinks doesn't change that you're in love, you're married, and you're on your honeymoon, and nothing can put a damper on that.
Arriving on the other side of the water, you realize this market is absolutely nothing like what you'd expected, and you're kind of unsure why anyone would even think going here would be something exciting. It feels like mostly a huge, sweaty tent full of knockoffs and bags, but Santana urges you inside, knowing that the two of you are usually pretty damn good at finding treasures among a bunch of crap- you did find each other at McKinley, after all. You're surrounded by midwestern tourists in visors and floral shirts (and you can't help but tease Santana a little, asking her if she wants you to buy her one) while you press through the crowd, stopping at different booths to buy straw bags for yours moms and a huge, goofy hat for your father, buying Chiclets from some kids, and searching maybe for something special to buy for each other. It doesn't come for awhile, not until your arms are both full with bags of random stuff- you're sure you probably won't need beach towels in the apartment you'll eventually find in New York, but it seemed like a good idea- and you happen past a collection of pretty silver jewelry, and you stop.
It's totally cheesy, you know, but neither of you care that it's become a tradition to own similar pieces of jewelry that reflect your life journey together. On top of your old friendship bracelets, the ones you're kind of too old to wear now, you've added Greek keys, and Hawaiian hibiscuses, and you think, setting some of the bags down on the ground, whatever you choose now has to be even more special. You touch a few pieces, but mostly you watch Santana, carefully practiced at choosing jewelry, after years of her father buying her expensive things to make up for his absence. It's different now though, far different than it was before she was yours and she still believed that material things were a way to measure love, and watching her, so serious as she looks through the pendants and bracelets looking for the perfect thing, you twist the rings on your left finger and you can't help the butterflies that flutter in your stomach, picturing her choosing your engagement ring.
"Babe, look at these." She looks over at you, her eyes sparkling as she holds up two anklets, each with a tiny sand dollar on a delicate chain. "I know we decided in Lesbos we weren't gonna ever do matchy-matchy jewelry, but it's our honeymoon, and the sand dollar doves…"
"I love them." You come closer to her, subtly grazing the inside of her wrist with your fingers and getting a closer look. A few days earlier, you'd come across a bunch of sand dollars on one of your walks, and though you'd initially shrieked a little when Santana had broken one in half, she'd revealed these magical little doves inside to you, reminding you of your wedding day, and you'd decided you liked sand dollars even more than you'd originally thought. "And look, the pearls are different colors, so, totally not entirely matchy-matchy."
"Fair enough." She laughs. "But we should get them? You didn't see anything else?"
"Nothing I loved, these are perfect, lets buy them."
Santana approaches the woman at the other end of the stall, and takes out her wallet to pay for the jewelry- the wallet that you know contains the card to your new joint bank account, though she's paying now with cash from said account. She's smiling and making pleasant conversation with the woman as she pays, complementing her wares, telling her how beautiful the island is. You could watch her like that for hours, you think, just being her, uninhibited by the old things that made her snap and bite, watch her be the sweetest person you've ever laid eyes on. When she's finished, she tucks the small bag into her purse, and again, she comes back to you, linking her arm with yours, and picking up the bags she'd set down on the floor. You're done, you think, with the market and touristy shopping, you're done with the crowds and the noise of haggling, and with one look, you can tell Santana is too, you can tell she's ready for a dinner, just the two of you.
You walk for a bit, glad to be breathing the open air, rather than that stuffy tent atmosphere, and underneath the bridge that leads back to Paradise Island, you find a strip of little restaurants, each more colorful than the next. You can tell, as Santana surveys them, that she wishes she'd researched beforehand, and part of her considers taking out her phone and doing just that before you choose one, but she stops, looks at you and the shrugs a little, leading you through the first open door. It's boisterous inside, maybe not what either of you had expected, but honestly, you've had night after night of romantic dinners, so there's definitely something to be said for the loud Calypso music and the food passed around on paper plates. You're not sure how authentic it is, or if it's just meant as a novelty to tourists coming off the line of cruise ships docked in the harbor, but with Santana's hand resting on your thigh beneath the table, new bracelets clasped on your ankles, and the jovial waitress offering up rum runners, conch fritters, fresh fish and grits, you have exactly nothing to complain about.
"Good pick." You mumble through a huge mouthful of cheesy grits. "'S delicious."
"I can see that." Santana giggles, squeezing your leg affectionately. "When you swallow, take a break for a sec, this is the perfect place for our daily honeymoon selfie."
"Are you sure Rachel won't be jealous?"
"Um, babe, as questionable as her sexuality is, I'm pretty sure if she was going to be jealous of us, that would have happened a long time ago."
"No." You shake your head, mischievous glint. "I mean because we're dining under a bridge. It's sort of her homeland, isn't it."
"Oh my God, Britt." She laughs, that deep belly laugh that makes your whole body feel warm. "I'm totally captioning it like that on Instagram."
"Trolling Rachel Berry from nearly twelve hundred miles away." You raise your hand up and she slaps it. "The Lopez-Pierces have some serious skills."
"Trolling the troll from under a bridge. We are the masters, wifey."
"That we are, baby." You lean towards her and smirk, both of you raising an eyebrow at the camera, without even discussing it, making you both dissolve further into a fit of giggles. "Perfect, send it to me, that's my new lock screen."
"You've changed your lock screen every day." She points out, still laughing. "And you haven't even used your phone."
"What can I say? We're hot, and our pictures just gets better and better."
After you finish your meals, complete with a shared gooey bread pudding, and a third round of drinks, the sun is setting, and on the water taxi ride back to the resort, Santana presses herself into your body, and you're quiet, just watching it dip lower, lower until it disappears. Hands still full of bags from your shopping excursion, you head immediately up to your room to rid yourself of them and relax. Just as soon as you slip your sandals off on the balcony though, Santana catches you looking out at the beach, and comes up behind you on tiptoes. Wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder, she suggests that you head down there, now that the day crowd has wandered off in search of other activities, and enjoy the bright moonlight, the sound of the crashing waves, and just each other.
Neither of you bother to put your shoes back on when you leave the room, though you do tie up the side of your skirt to avoid dragging it along the damp sand. You're quiet for awhile, as quiet as the beach itself is, each of you with an arm around each other's waist, Santana's head resting on your shoulder, and your fingers tickling her side. It's the little moments like this, really, that make you feel the love between you even stronger than ever (and that's saying something, really, because you feel so head over heels in love with your wife at any given moment), it's the things that fill up the silence, that make you feel like you could live your entire life with nothing but this, and you would still be totally and completely content. You're far down the beach, away from the few resort guests who decided to enjoy an evening drink in the sand, when Santana begins humming at first, softly, then louder, louder, before adding words to the music she makes with her lips. Its not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me, oh no, its just the nearness of you. You stop your paces at the sound of her voice, the sound that reverberates through you like nothing else, and you simply stand there for a moment, listening to her and only her in the darkness, before turning to face her, and extending a hand.
"Dance with me?" You ask, and she nods, moonlight reflecting in her dark eyes as she falls into step with you on the sand, her voice never wavering. You sway, you sway, and you spin her around, before she spins you in turn, then presses her body close to yours, holding you tight, when you're in my arms, and I feel you so close to me all my wildest dreams come true.
You dance, long after she stops signing, you dance, and you dance, tasting salt from the sea air on her lips as trade soft kisses, feeling the contours of her body as your let your hands roam over her, and shuddering in delight as her fingers play over your ribcage and spine, as if she's creating music there. This closeness, or, nearness, seems more fitting, is everything to you, and you know it's everything to her, and when your movements finally slow, and then eventually stop, so you're just standing in the sand, water lapping at your feet, and eyes locked on each other. You drop into a sitting position then, pulling Santana down between your legs, your limbs tangled up, and her head resting back against your chest. Together, you look out at the vast sea before you, and you look up at the even vaster universe above you, the stars in the sky mapping out every possibility for your future, the moon, that looming constant, even when it can't be seen, reminding you of the other constant in your arms.
"I love you, Britt." She whispers in the night, soft, open, honest.
"I love you too, Santana. Today, tomorrow, every single day. Even when the moon is gone from the sky, or fish leave the sea, or sand washes away from the beach, I'm still going to be so totally and completely in love with you."
"Brittany." She shifts so she's looking up into your eyes again, and she cups your cheek before kissing you slow, deep, pouring everything she is into one singular action. "You're so good at romantic words."
"Like you're one to talk, Mrs. One True Love." You tease a little, but your voice is rough from that kiss, and you feel a little swoony, just from the way she's looking at you.
"That was a great speech, wasn't it?"
"The greatest." You affirm, kissing the corner of her mouth. "And as much as I'm loving this awesome honeymoon, I'm also really, really excited to get home and start the rest of my life with you."
"Me too, Britt. Me too."