His lips are trailing wetly across her neck and, despite everything, she knows how good it feels. She remembers how good it felt. She hates him more because of it.
She's not sure why she's watching this, but it's like she trapped, just staring, and she can't believe that things have come full circle in the worst way.
She remembers that day. She remembers her bedroom. She remembers her dress hanging limply across the back of her butterfly chair. She remembers her moans, genuine, but never as deep and yearning as they had once been.
She remembers trembling jaws and and muffled whimpers. She remembers blue eyes and silent tears.
She remembers the panic in her chest. She remembers sheets snatched from the floor and slammed doors. She remembers his confusion, sees it now as he's knocked sideways onto the carpet just as he had been that day.
When he catches her gaze for just a moment, Santana thinks she sees the recognition in his eyes but then there's a gorgeously underdressed tangle of legs and blonde hair rushing towards her and it's too much.
It's different this time. This time the tears are hers. This time it's her feet clumsily slipping down hardwood stairs and out onto dampened soil. It's her head resting heavily against the steering wheel.
It's a knock on her window.
She pops the lock because it's raining and she could never resist Brittany even if she tried. She hears the storm around her as the door opens and shuts.
It's silent, save for a few sniffles between them and when she looks up at Brittany she sees the tears reflecting her own.
Neither of them speaks and she can see the curtains moving in the room upstairs. He never was subtle.
"You said it was okay."
It's a whisper, just barely there because Santana thinks that they both know that the truth in that statement is limited.
"I also said I wasn't in love with you," she begins, chancing a glance up at her to see her smirk in recognition. It doesn't matter what they're talking about, Brittany's never not been smug about that day.
"You should know that when it comes to you, my 'truths' are pretty damn false sometimes."
The silence falls over them again and she startles when she feels Brittany's fingers threading between her own.
"Is this the part where you tell me that you love me, but you don't want to hurt him? Because you can save that for another rainy day, Britt-Britt. I don't need to hear it."
She bites down on her lip when the grip on her hand loosens until it's gone. She thought they were past this. She really did.
Brittany turns on the seat to face Santana. Her hair is still dripping from when she was out in the rain before and Santana's eyes can't help but follow as a raindrop trails down her neck and disappears beneath her flimsy tank top.
"Come here."
Santana furrows her brow, not sure exactly what Brittany means. She's sat there with her arms open, waiting and the irony is not lost on her. Brittany's always there waiting.
She feels a little awkward as she leans halfway across the arm rest, trying to figure out where she's meant to put her arms and Brittany chuckles.
"No, silly. Come here," she repeats, patting her lap lightly.
Oh.
Santana chances a glance back to the curtains upstairs before she swallows and climbs fully over into the passenger's seat.
She finally ends up sitting sideways across Brittany's thighs, her own legs hanging over into the driver's seat. Brittany wraps her arms tightly around her waist and buries her face into Santana's hair.
For a moment they just sit, content to hold each other without all the questions. Santana presses a kiss against Brittany's temple, threading her fingers through her damp hair.
It feels too good. Brittany's fingers are sliding just beneath the hem of shirt slowly, and seemingly without thought, tracing the familiar paths that she has forged with her touch.
"Britt..." she begins. It's too much. She can feel her desire, her need to be touched by her blossoming and soon she won't be able to resist it. She's not sure she wants to anyway.
Brittany doesn't seem deterred at all because she simply mumbles a distracted "shhh" and presses her lips to Santana's neck, digging her fingers into her hips.
Her kisses grow hot and open the longer Santana lets her continue and it isn't until she feels a warm tongue brush against her pulse that she shakes herself out the haze Brittany's lips always lure her into.
It seems they've both forgotten themselves because Brittany's fingers have drifted much further beneath her shirt, teasing the edge of her bra, and the hand not in Brittany's hair has wrapped around the back of her neck to pull her closer.
"Mmmm," Brittany hums protest, craning her neck to get a taste of her skin again. Her lips latch on and suck hard, drawing an involuntary moan from Santana. It's then that she opens her eyes in time to see Sam duck back behind the curtains.
Santana darts straight up, removing her hands from every part of Brittany and shifting back into her own seat.
"He's watching us. I wouldn't want your boyfriend to get the wrong idea," she spits, crossing her arms and glaring out at the steady rain. Brittany sighs.
She tugs an elastic from around her wrist and busies herself tying up her hair. It's a nervous habit and Santana knows it means she's annoyed.
"He can't get the wrong idea if it's exactly the right idea, Santana," she says with barely concealed irritation.
"I don't like it when you're mean. I know you don't mean it because you're really all fluffy inside, but it still hurts because it's me and I'm yours and you still don't get it."
When the door clicks open, Santana's eyes widen and she finally looks up just before Brittany steps out into the rain.
"I don't love him. How could I ever love him when I have you? And I do have you. I always will," she says with certainty. They share a small smile before sight of Sam in the doorway sobers them.
"And you have me," Brittany continues making sure that Santana's sees how much she means it. "But right now, I'm going to go hang out with Sam because his lips are horizontal and that's just really interesting to me..."
Santana shakes her head, feeling the lump in her throat again as she whispers, "How can you be with him like that when we just almost..." She trails off, flushing at the thought despite the heavy atmosphere. " I know that I...that I broke us up but-"
"No. You're not listening, Santana. That stuff doesn't matter. It's like your ears aren't absorbing the words. You wouldn't ask your arms and legs if they want to be a part of you would you? Or ask your voice if it felt like singing?" she asks, smiling sadly. She doesn't give Santana a chance to answer, instead opting to tell her what she wishes Santana already knew.
"Because your body and your pretty voice belong to you and they do whatever you want or need them to do. I'm yours. Call me when you finally figure it out."