Disclaimer: I have nothing but respect and admiration for these ladies. This is not real, it only happened in my head. I also don't own Glee. Obviously.

A/N: I wrote this last July, and it was posted on the NayaHeather community on LJ, reposting it here now as people requested it.

A/N2: I don't even really know what this is. It came to me like this and refused to be tamed by plans or direction. Just a pile of stream of consciousness drabble, really. Unbeta-ed so please forgive any errors

Naya is a hoarder. This is not a secret. She keeps everything. Just in case. She's the kind of obsessive compulsive that is chaotic with her order. Things aren't organized or categorized. Sometimes they've barely made it into any form of storage, spilling out of the edges of boxes or drawers, in the corners of cupboards and shelves. She knows generally where it all is, and that's all that matters. She can retrieve what she needs when she needs it and who knows when that will be. And sometimes, she'll open a drawer and see an old trinket and smile at a memory, grateful that she hadn't thrown it away, because she loves those moments.

She's kind of the same with intangible memories too. Except for the chaos. These memories are carefully catalogued, crosschecked and referenced. She can't accidentally discover these memories hidden in a shadow. No, they're packed away to only be retrieved when she's planned it, prepared for it. She packs them up in little boxes, ties them off with a bow and stores them in the corners of her mind. They don't merge and mix and muddle. They stay separate from each other and from the memories she goes on to make.

Some things aren't meant to overlap. And the world is a safer place when she can control the little things.

Her childhood memories float in weightless boxes covered in crayon and finger paint, wrapped in well worn brightly colored ribbon. Memories of high school take occupancy in heavy, black boxes with tight metal bands, impenetrable and impossible. Old friends and lovers each have their own boxes, full to the brim of every emotion that drifted through her mind as they drifted through her life. The boxes are easily identified, organized and filed away for a day then she feels like unpacking them and taking a walk in a memory.

Until Heather comes along. She breezes in all smiles and hair and bright blue eyes that Naya swears are the home of sunshine and starlight and rabbits that hop into the moon. She breathes dance or maybe she exudes it. Naya's not sure; she just knows that's all she sees. They clicked from the beginning and it just grows and stretches and wraps around them in a blanket, or maybe a cocoon. Maybe that's it; they're just waiting to emerge as butterflies. How's that for a metaphor. There's meaning to everything.

They are goofy and sexy and it's all fun until it's not. Until they find that the energy between them is a slow burning fire. It bites and crackles and there's an itch she can't scratch, but dammit does she try. There are moments, she sure, when they're on the same page, where the spark goes both ways and the fire is mellow and aching, but oh so good. They're fleeting, but they're there and she packs them away in little boxes of Heather, blue ribbon on blue on blue. It's the only color she can feel now.

Tour comes around, old hat, in some ways, for Heather but all new and exciting for Naya. The energy and vibe just add fuel and the fire builds and it's definitely both ways, but so is the fear and the uncertainty.

A two day break in the schedule means the cast can party harder than usual, and they take full advantage; landing back at the hotel as the sun rises. Heather pushes her through the doorway and if Naya had known alcohol doused fear so easily she would have thought of this sooner. Because now Heather is setting her on fire in ways she never knew she could burn. They intertwine in a mess of sweat and limbs and hot breath and skin. They explore each other with touch and taste and smell and sight and the sounds they make reverberate gently around her mind, preparing a box that she hopes will contain this, because it's so big but so fragile and she's not sure if she'll be ready to unpack it anytime soon. The air is heavy with moans and whispers and the musk of arousal and satiation. They discover and explore and revisit and replay until finally sinking with the sun into the darkness of night.

Heather wakes her with a kiss and a whisper and, oh, there's the burn again and suddenly she she's falling and soaring and upside down and she's going to run out of string to keep these moments confined.

Heather ends up in her bed each night of tour; they burst through the door still feeding off of the energy of thousands. There are heated whispers and cries and sweet everythings as they lather, rinse, repeat; tangled and burning deep into the night.

Onstage, the memories are hidden away in those carefully packed boxes, bursting at the seams but still sealed and stored. Naya performs like she's meant to, she hits the notes and the beat, and she smiles widely and creates new boxes to store the memories of her dreams coming true.

Until Heather reaches for her hand. They're onstage and she feels the ribbons in her mind weaken, but she just tightens the knot as she tightens the grip on her best friend's hand. Onstage that's what they are. Hotel rooms across the country hold memories that fill different boxes, but outside of those rooms, Heather is her best friend. And so she holds her hand and she smiles and she reciprocates. But she won't initiate, those ribbons are fragile and these worlds aren't meant to collide.

Heather starts to drag the insides out though, as she finds her backstage and drops her voice into a sultry whisper and tells her what she's going to do to her that night. She begins to risk kisses in change rooms and corridors, her hands begin to roam further and deeper and harder and Naya closes her eyes and tries not to tumble and fall and drown.

When the door to her room, in whatever city they're in, closes, she tears the ribbons apart; she initiates and dives into the glory that is Heather. She allows herself to be taken in any and every way that Heather wants and she gives and gives and gives until Heather is sated and spent. Here she whispers back, let's her own hands roam, kisses Heather's lips without inhibition. Here she can be what she wants to be and she lets it all bleed and breathe and soak and boil and the room becomes the box that they're both in, wrapped in the ribbon of tour and circumstance and she shakes the thought away to be dealt with later. She has things she needs to taste and touch now.

The last night of tour they don't sleep. They don't talk. They both fly to different parts of the country tomorrow and no promises have been made. There are unspoken words and who knows if they've been heard or imagined or misinterpreted. They just know there's this and they give and take until they're both drenched and aching and empty.

Heather follows Naya home after Comic Con, they haven't seen each other since tour and there's electricity in the air. Naya lets them into her house and spins to face her friend, pulling her into a hug and waiting for Heather to initiate the next step. But they're standing still and Naya's confused as she feels the burn fade and realizes it's not going both ways anymore.

She steps back and retrieves two beers from the fridge and hands one to Heather without quite looking at her. She settles into her usual position on the couch and waits for Heather to take her place. She tightens the ribbons on the boxes, considers locking them up to never be opened again as she feels herself crack. She pushes them into deep corners in her mind and walks away. She resettles herself in the now and looks towards Heather on the other side of the same couch.

It's only then she notices that Heather's not looking at her either. She's playing with the label on the bottle of her beer and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Naya isn't sure if she'll get through this and she makes plans and lists and slideshows in her mind.

Heather turns to face her, mouth open and moving and trembling with murmured words reluctant admission, blue eyes still bright, but there are clouds in the sky and the sunlight is hidden and Naya can feel her heart reach out. And then she feels it crumble.

Naya locks the boxes.

Heather is still her best friend. The holds hands and smile and touch and hug. Naya never initiates but is always there to reciprocate. They dance and sing and drink and talk and nothing really changes even though everything has.

They have their own trailers now and she's grateful for the space and the distance but she misses feeling herself surrounded by blue. But when she sees Heather she remembers her eyes aren't that color anymore. And sunshine and starlight and rabbits have moved out and Naya wishes she knew where to find them.

Santana falls in love with Brittany and Naya can only smile. Heather looks worried but Naya shakes her head and delivers her lines and blows them all away because she's packed away the boxes and she's just acting out a scene with her best friend.

They sing and dance and act their way to New York and Naya doesn't touch the boxes. She's making new memories and she refuses to let her worlds collide. Or implode.

Heather knocks on the door to her hotel room in New York and Naya feels her tummy flip. Heather stands in the doorway with dark eyes and scattered hair and Naya waits for her cue. But Heather just shakes her head, likes she's trying to empty it of her own memories, before she breathes then smiles and produces two tickets to a show.

Heather holds her hand in the cab and at the theatre and the whole ride back to the hotel. Their legs are pressed against each other and Naya is trying to calm her breathing. Heather walks her to her room, drops a whisper of a kiss on her lips and walks away.

Naya builds a box as strong as a fortress and contemplates crawling inside.

It's time for the tour again and Naya can't wait, except that she can.

It takes nine shows before Heather shows up at her door with tequila and lime and tells her to forget about the salt. It takes less than three minutes for their clothes to come off and another three minutes before they discard the tequila completely. Falling back into old habits like it was just yesterday, not a whole year ago. Like there weren't reasons and people and complications. Just them in a hotel room with a fire that burns both ways, fear doused with alcoholic courage and a growing pile of boxes.

The smallest box was, of course, the most important. It was stored where the blood was fresh full of breath, where her soul found life and where her life found rhythm. The smallest box was stored under layers of skin and flesh and bone and blood, within flowing veins and pulsing muscle. The smallest box was tied with string the color of straw and gold and blonde and sun. The smallest box was stored in her heart.

She could feel the string tense and tug, she could feel it coming untethered and unraveled as her insides fell apart. She could feel the bonds stretch and twitch. She takes a breath and tries to stop but Heather is in her and on her and all around her with fingers and tongue and teeth. Skin on skin on sweat on sweat. She was everywhere. Hot breath in her ear and she's sure Heather is whispering to her but she can't hear her over the rush of blood and the pull of string. Heather's on the move now, trailing a wet, hot, breathy trail down the plane of her torso. And then she hits her target and her tongue dances with the same beauty and agility as its owner and the string snaps, the box opens and Naya is longer in control.

"I love you"

In a room that is silent except for their breaths and whispers, the words echo and resonate and hang around them in a misty cloud. Naya wishes she could hit rewind or delete and take it all back. Because that won't fit in a box, no matter how big or small or how secure the lock.

Heather's fingers have slowed as she brings her down, her tongue lazily flicks and swirls and then makes a return journey up her body. She feels fingers, wet and viscous, on her hip and then her view is filled with Heather's face.

Naya wraps her arms and legs around her, pulling her closer before flipping her over, shutting her eyes when she's finally on top. She knows Heather's body better than the back of her hand. She's never understood the comparison, but it seems to be the right thing to say. She actually knows Heather's body better than she knows her own. Better than she knows anything. It's the perfect balance of soft and hard, firm and yielding. And she's euphoric at the prospect of revisiting this memory. She's spent hours worshipping it, even more so in her mind, memorizing the dips and muscles and freckles and scars. Memorizing the sweets spots that elicit the most delicious noises out of Heather, the spots that make her growl and grunt, groan and whimper, hiss and sigh. The spots that make her grind her hips and thrust for more. Naya's favorite spots are the ones that make Heather moan her name. But not today, today she stays away from those.

She makes the journey slowly, taking her time to retrace her steps and reunite with the contours of Heather's skin. She wants to taste every inch, to know she savored and devoured all that she can.

The string is already broken and the words have escaped to surround them, they won't fit back in a box and Naya doesn't know if she can do this again so she needs to make this count.

When she finally reaches wet heat she feels herself trembling, her fingers thrust and move at the pace that Heather sets with her hips, her lips and teeth are nipping and soothing flesh. When she dips her tongue and she tastes that familiar memory she feels the burn flare and spread and she spreads her fingers in turn.

Heather pulls her up and buries her face in Naya's neck, wrapping her legs around her hips as they continue to move to the same beat. She kisses her way up to Naya's jaw and eventually finds her mouth, sucking in her bottom lip before giving it a firm bite. Naya moans and curls her fingers, pushing deeper and deeper.

Heather grasps for Naya's shoulders and pulls herself up while pushing Naya back; she settles in her lap and grinds down, setting a slow but unyielding pace. Naya's eyes are still closed and she moves her lips across Heather's jaw, her neck and chest... she finds a nipple and licks gently before sucking and biting and reveling in the feel of Heather's fingers in her hair. Heather tightens her grip and pulls her up again, kissing her roughly in between breathless moans. She whispers Naya's name against her lips. Naya hears her voice lift, hears the question mark and knows Heather is not saying her name just because this feels good. She knows Heather's trying to get her attention, but she ignores it and keeps kissing her, it's hot and wet and open and Naya can't help but dive in. But Heather is trying again and she feels first, then hears her name and she eases the kiss and gives in, slowly opening her eyes to stare into the blue.

And Naya doesn't want to take anything back anymore. She wants to unpack her boxes and revisit those moments and then relive them and remake them and rewrite their future. Because Heather's eyes brighten under her watch and Naya sees the sunlight is back, and she's gazing at the stars and there's the rabbit in the moon. She feels the smile against her own as she takes in the darkness of arousal surfacing in Heather's pupils. Heather gently rocks against Naya's hand, supporting herself with a hand on her shoulder and another buried in the hair at the base of Naya's neck. Their foreheads rest against each other as they maintain their unwavering gaze.

The next time Heather says Naya's name, her fingers dig into the flesh on Naya's neck and shoulders, her back arches and her pupils dilate into endless pools of the deepest blue. And Naya... Naya freefalls and swims and floats and drowns over and over again.

"I love you"