Summary: Being drafted into the military was the last thing Brittany Pierce wanted, but things don't seem so bad once she meets Santana Lopez.
Warning: There's sex. There's always sex. It hasn't been that long, has it?
A/N: HI GAIZ!
I know, I know, it's been FOREVER since I've posted something. But I'm back now!
Many of you probably read this story on tumblr, in various parts or whatever, but now, as promised, here it is in its entirety!
Thanks everyone for reading my stories and being patient and supportive while I've been gone!
Okay well, this was supposed to just be a little ditty to get me back into writing- and it basically did just that. I hope it doesn't suck too bad. Now, some of you may notice that this bears a STRIKING similarity to Service, and congratulations! You are right! I actually took the setting of that story and wrote this story, only without the girl wang and with a slightly different premise- you might actually think of this as Service fanfiction, or a Service AU, lmao. XD
Anyway, that's all I have to say! :D
Enjoy~
The first time you see her is at the airport.
She's standing in line at Starbucks, staring off into space, and she looks completely unapproachable- closed off, calmly irritated, like she might coolly whip out a knife and stab the next person that tries to talk to her- but breezily.
Despite the obvious intimidating aura that hovers over her like a dark cloud, there's a softness about her that you can't quite place. You're not sure how you know, but your instincts tell you she's kind of like those butterflies that have huge scary eyes on their wings to scare off predators because they're really harmless and beautiful.
You continue to watch her for a moment, captivated. Her dark hair is swept up in a no-nonsense ponytail, and if you didn't recognize the tight (sinfully so) black USND shirt that marks her as a recruit- the same shirt you're wearing- you'd think her an officer based solely on her powerful presence. You're drawn to her for obvious reasons, but the expression she wears (resting bitch face, you like to call it) makes you keep your distance, as you're sure it's meant to. You clutch the string of your issued black knapsack, adorned with a shiny silver USND insignia, closer, and remind yourself of your destination.
Boot camp.
You're finally here. You've been dreading this day for weeks, or maybe months or years, but everyone knew the war was coming and it was only a matter of time before it reached your small, middle-of-nowhere town. With the hostiles- and their still uncured disease- taking more lives every day, the draft had been reinstated, and soon after, the letter arrived in your mailbox. Prescreening had selected you for a special operations combat position, which you weren't excited about- it meant you'd surely end up on the front lines, and those people usually came home quickly… in boxes.
You wonder if your dark-haired companion received the same letter you did, or if she volunteered. It's not unheard of, but it's rare. Who would volunteer to die? Or worse- to get infected?
Shivering slightly, you turn back to find her again, but she's already gone, and you're left alone with your curious, uncomfortable thoughts.
/
The second time you see her is at Processing, hours later. It's a fleeting moment- you pass her exiting the urinalysis bathroom just as you're entering. Your eyes meet for the barest, most intense second of your life. Your breath hitches and your only thought is what the fuck? because you've never had such a powerful reaction to someone before, and especially not from a measly second of eye contact, but then too soon she's brushing past you and making you feel like you're in some really lame romantic comedy like the kind your younger sister Ashley watches.
The girl's scent lingers, invading your senses as you inhale, and then you're moving forward into a dark, dingy room, where a woman is shouting directions at you to pee into a plastic cup.
Right. You're not in a movie.
You follow directions quickly, tearing the cup open and tugging your pants down, and once you've finished, you carry your still-warm cup of pee out to wait in line with the other recruits.
The rest of the night goes by in a blur- you vaguely remember being weighed, yelled at, issued uniforms, screamed at, stripping down to pack your clothes and belongings into a box, and being yelled at some more. When the whirlwind finally ends, you stand lined up in your initial issued uniform with a dark blue canvas bag- nearly as tall as you are- strapped to your back, waiting to be assigned to a barracks.
"Pierce!" A Drill Commander with a clipboard yells, and you shake yourself out of your daze.
"Pierce," you echo, and the woman points grumpily over to another line of females down the hall. You dutifully make your way over, wondering if the Drill Commander has to actively try to frown, or if it comes naturally to her because she's such a bitch. Maybe her face got stuck that way. That happens, right?
You fall in at the end of the line, your head spinning from the overflow of information and your lack of sleep. It seems like hours before someone comes to collect your little group to lead you across base to your new barracks.
Actually, it might be hours. You have no concept of time passing inside the immaculate, dimly-lit halls of the Indoc building. Your bag is beginning to weigh a ton. You're in excellent shape, but you're also reasonably sure your bag gained at least a few hundred pounds since you put it on.
When your line finally starts to move, you're grateful. You can't wait to get wherever you're going and crawl into a bed to sleep. You don't actually have your hopes up for a real bed, of course, but you'll be content with a jagged rock at this point.
The night air is cold when you step outside, and the shock of it wakes you up a little as you trudge steadily to your new home for the next several weeks. Just like with everything else you've experienced so far, it seems as though it takes forever, and your legs are pissed at you. You can hear the low grumbles and groans from the other girls who aren't as athletic as you, and you're thankful for a moment that you're not them.
When you finally reach the small, cramped room that you'll be living in, you head straight for the nearest cot and drop your pack in front of it. You just want to sleep-
"FALL IN, DIRTBAGS."
You sigh, turning. You've gotten used to the degrading names- okay, that's a lie, it's still fresh and jarring- but you're tired-
You stop. You knew you were tired, but you're definitely sure you must be hallucinating.
She's in your division.
/
The next few hours drag by painfully slow. You're in a weird state of exhaustion, the kind where you feel full of energy due to the mystery girl's presence. You know by now that it must be close to sunrise, which means you've been up all night, but your commanders give zero fucks as they guide you and the rest of the females into temporarily setting up the cots and lockers you've been assigned. All the while, you're acutely aware of the dark-haired girl's presence in the room. You feel like a creep, but you can't stop stealing glances at her, even when she catches you. Her challengingly-raised eyebrow and fierce eyes make you lower your gaze, heart pounding.
"Listen up, maggots, because I'm going to say this one time and one time only," the blonde Commander who looks like she might have been around when dinosaurs roamed the earth barks at you, and you actually really like dinosaurs a lot so maybe-
"Get your packs and find some space on the floor. There's no need to talk. You have one minute. Do it."
You scramble to comply, snatching up your very heavy bag from near the foot of your rack and hefting it over to an open area, trying not to get run over in the chaos as the other females stumble around.
"FASTER; Three… Two… One…"
You plop down on the clean, freshly polished floor, cradling your pack, and wait for instructions.
She sits down beside you.
You swallow.
"Well, I figured since you can't stop staring at me, I'd give you a better view," she whispers harshly, her brown eyes burning and even more beautiful up close. It's then that you realize your mouth is hanging open. You shut it quickly, your cheeks heating up, and turn back to your pack.
Everyone around you has begun digging out an issued stamping kit, so you rush to do the same. At the front of the room, the Commander Dinosaur Lady is roaring out rapid instructions, and you struggle to keep up.
You glance over at your harsh neighbor and find her keeping up perfectly, so you copy her as best you can without seeming glaringly obvious about it.
"Now take those letters and turn them backwards, and put them on right to left," Dino says.
What?
You bite your lip. You're so confused. You stare blankly down at your stamp kit, trying to decipher what you're supposed to be doing. Right to left- you have trouble distinguishing between the two sometimes, and now they aren't even true right and left, they're backwards. You know you're supposed to spell your name with the letters and it's supposed to line up somehow, but-
"Oh, for fuck's sake," you hear the girl beside you mutter, and before you can process what's happening, she's reaching over and grabbing your stamp kit out of your hands. Her warm, tan fingers brush yours and your heart stutters, and okay now you feel really stupid for having no control over your emotions.
You watch, starstruck, as the girl easily sets up your stamp kit in record time, and as she wordlessly hands it back to you, you look down at the perfectly-aligned rubber letters and find your name, spelled correctly, and you wonder how she knows-
"Thanks," you stutter under your breath, and she doesn't answer. Instead, she begins to follow Dino's instructions and stamps her uniform items and gear, so you decide to do the same.
When you steal another glance at her, your eyes drop to her stamper and you discover new information.
Her last name is Lopez.
You smile to yourself.
Your first few days in Processing are, as you expected, a nightmare. It's a chaotic, never ending rollercoaster of shuffling back and forth between places, and by the end of it, you've accumulated a fuckton of shots- including a rather large, painful one in your butt- an ID card with a very unflattering picture of yourself after 48 hours of no sleep, and no new informaton about Lopez. Most of your time is spent waiting around in alphabetical order, and P is unfortunately only next to L when Elemenopee is one letter, which is only in your version of the alphabet.
You learn the basics of drill. You take awkward showers with 38 other females in under twelve minutes. You get pretty good at standing at Attention and remaining completely motionless. The days seem to take forever, despite being rushed to do everything, and you're in a constant state of exhaustion that followed you from your first night. You wish Processing was over.
Until it is over.
Your first day of real Training has you hating your life. Since you're special ops, you're required to go to extra physical fitness training. Three times a week you wake at 0315, brush your teeth, slip on your uniform and, with your stomach already growling, sprint the two miles across base to meet Major Beiste at the Training Grounds by 0345. After that it's two hours of grueling, intense exercises you thought only existed in boxing movies, and, once finished, you get to sprint the two miles back to reach your barracks by 0600- just when the rest of your division is waking up for the day.
The only good thing about your special PT is that Lopez is there, too. You can't talk to her, of course- but her presence there encourages you, makes you feel like you share something in common that no one else does, since you're the only two from your division at the practices.
After that first practice, as you pack your bag and sling it over your shoulder, preparing to head back, your stomach practically eating itself, you look over and find her wiping sweat from her forehead, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should talk to her, but she beats you to it.
"Hey," she says softly, barely audible, her voice low and slightly scratchy due to her undoubtedly dry throat and the fact that you've both spent the morning in ordered silence.
"Hi," you answer, and she smiles at you. Then, she tightens her ponytail and takes off, and you're left standing in the foggy morning air, waiting for your brain to catch up to the racing of your heart. You sprint back, ready to collapse back into your stiff cot the second you enter the compartment, but as soon as you drop your pack beside your bed, Dino is charging through the door, yelling.
"GET UP. GET OUT OF BED. NOW, SHITBAGS!"
You sigh.
/
Your second practice that week, Lopez beats you there. She's in her gear and ready to go by the time you reach the field, and when Major Beiste pulls out her stopwatch, you know it's going to be a long, rough two hours.
And you're not wrong.
By the end of training, you're pretty certain your legs will fall off at any moment. But then Lopez smiles at you, and this time, you take off together, sprinting at a relatively easy pace back to the compartment in silence.
The morning of your third practice at the end of the week, you rush to get ready so you can run with Lopez, but again, she doesn't wait for you. She gives you a challenging smirk, and with an accepting grin of your own, you race her to the Training Grounds, unable to keep the smile off your face as you push yourself to the limit to keep up with her, your breath fogging in the chilly morning air.
At practice, you get to know Lopez by the sounds of her heavy pants and small grunts as she does 8-counts, push-ups, in-and-outs, and crunches next to you. Her breaths and sounds become familiar to you, and though you've never had a conversation and know basically nothing about her, you feel like you can call her your friend. You enjoy her company, silent as though it is, and as you push through suicides, shuttle runs, and even more push-ups, you feel your connection to her growing stronger due to your shared experience.
You can't wait to have an actual conversation with her.
/
Outside of special ops training, nothing eventful sticks out for you. You don't get a single opportunity to talk to Lopez or even to be near her, but you do get plenty of opportunities to do more push-ups, because as it turns out, you're horrible at folding your clothes.
"Are you stupid or something, Pierce?!" Dino screams at you as you lower yourself to the floor, then push yourself back up.
"Thirty-seven, Commander!"
"Ah, that's not nearly enough," Dino says, disappointed. "Go ahead and do fifty. Then we'll see if you can follow simple fucking instructions."
By the time you're done, your arms are shaking- because you'd already done about a hundred push-ups that morning- and you walk dejectedly back to your shirts, which don't look that bad to you, but-
"Here," Lopez says lowly, and you look up, surprised to find her near your locker. She quickly re-folds your shirt, sliding her palm along the edges to make a sharp, crisp crease, and you feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment again. This is the second time Lopez has had to help you with what's supposed to be easy shit. She must think you're such an idiot-
"This shit is stupid," she mutters, and when you meet her brown eyes, you don't find any malice or repulsion in them- only a softness, an understanding. She shrugs casually, and then, before you both get caught interacting, she slips away and back to her area on the other side of the compartment, and you're left with perfectly-folded shirts, and an even greater appreciation for your- still mysterious- friend.
/
You're excited for Sunday- there's a huge block of time Sunday morning designated Holiday Routine on the schedule, which means you finally get some free time to yourself. You can organize your locker, write a letter to your parents, shine your boots, take as long as you want in the shower, and best of all, you can talk. You can't wait to find Lopez and have an actual conversation. You spend all day Saturday fantasizing about the things you'll say to her, and preparing your answers to the questions she might ask you in return. You want to know everything about her, and the excitement of making a new friend helps get you through two hours of drill practice, which you've found you're actually pretty good at thanks to your natural dancing talent. Stepping in time is effortless for you.
Saturday night, you're eager to get to sleep so you can reach Sunday faster, but Dino and your two other Drill Commanders- a butt-chinned guy you've secretly dubbed Sand Dollar, and easily the nicest of the three, Commander Corcoran- gather your division around to select leaders among your peers.
You watch as they call forth a hazel-eyed girl named Fabray and dub her the divisional leader, and you don't mind. She seems like she has her shit together, so you won't have a problem following her. Dino pins a shiny silver something to Fabray's uniform collar, and you dutifully clap with the other girls once they finish.
Next, they call up Fabray's second-in-command, and you're pleasantly surprised when Lopez rises to accept the designation. You're ecstatic that Lopez is a recruit leader- you think being in charge suits her. You smile as the silver pin is attached to her collar, clapping with much more enthusiasm and shooting her the biggest smile you can muster. She doesn't smile, but you think that's just her being professional. You'll congratulate her properly on Sunday.
Yeah.
/
When Sunday finally arrives, you're in your uniform with your bed made before the wake-up call sounds, practically bouncing with eagerness. You line up to go down to the mess for breakfast, forcing yourself not to search for Lopez yet. You don't want to scare her away by coming on too strong. You'll find her after breakfast, and then-
You wolf down your bacon and eggs and cereal and fruit and chug a glass of orange juice in record time, and then join your division to head back to your barracks. When Sand Dollar calls out that it's Holiday Routine, you surreptitiously scan the room for Lopez. You know where her bed is- it's across the compartment from yours. You see her out of the corner of your eye every time Dino makes you line up at attention and wait for instructions.
You find her bed easily, but not her.
Okay-
Maybe she went to the bathroom.
You wait (impatiently) a few minutes, then decide that when she does come out, and sees you standing there lamely, she's not gonna wanna talk to you anyway. You should probably do something productive.
You dig in your locker for a moment and come out with shoe polish and a cloth. You might as well shine your boots.
You sit down at the foot of your cot, which gives you a pretty good view of the room, tug off your left boot, and wait.
You still don't see Lopez.
You start to worry. Was there practice today you didn't know about? You bite your lip. You're so busted if that's the case- but no, you already had three practices this week. Besides, you hope Lopez would have woken you up if there was a practice you were sleeping through-
That can't be it.
But then where did she go?
Lopez doesn't come back until 1330, and by then, Holiday Routine- and your opportunity to talk to her- is over, and you still don't have a clue where she'd gone. The rest of the day is spent studying for your first test, which is on various military vehicles and aircraft, and all of it looks the same to you. It gives you a feeling of hopelessness and reminds you that you're a fish trying to learn how to climb a tree.
That night, after showering, your hair still damp, you're digging through your locker when Lopez drops her pack heavily beside the foot locker next to yours. You look up; she offers you a smile. Before you can say anything, though, Dino appears and glares at you.
"Sandbags is moving in," she sneers. "Her new position's bunk assignment is mandatory, and it's right here, according to USNCMJ rule number 341. Any problems?"
You shake your head. The girl who has the bottom bunk- Chang?- shakes her head. Your bunkmate- Rose- looks bewildered, but Dino doesn't comment on her vacant, vanilla expression. She just smiles a smile that's more condescending than anything else, and leaves.
You watch as Lopez begins to unpack her bag, and you wonder when Chang's (you're pretty sure now that that's her name) original bunkmate- Pepper, you think- moved out. You don't care much, though. You're more than happy to have Lopez as a neighbor. This means you can get to know her better. Maybe you can start waking up together for practice. Maybe-
"Would you stop staring at me?" Lopez mumbles- not unkindly- as she jams her key into the lock on her new locker. You feel your face heating up, and even though she only said it loud enough for you to hear, you're embarrassed that you were caught staring by her, even though you'd done it unintentionally. You obediently lower your gaze and give her some privacy.
You kind of want to crawl under your blanket and die.
/
Monday morning starts how you expect- early. You get ready for practice, creeping silently in the dark, sharing a secret with Lopez as she dresses and pulls boots on beside you. It's almost a race, except you're not putting that much effort into finishing first; you rather like pushing yourself to catch up to Lopez, and she's out the door before you finish lacing your boots.
Practice is, as usual, brutal, but the jog back, side-by-side with Lopez, makes you forget it even happened, if not for your screaming muscles and the fact that you're up so early at all. You keep pace beside her and let your thoughts wander. You want to ask her where she went yesterday. You want to ask her a million questions. But you also don't want to bother her while she's so focused on running, so instead you keep your mouth shut and focus on your breathing.
The rest of the day is spent practicing drill, learning how to form up into marching ranks, with Fabray making the calls ("For-ward… MARCH!") and Lopez singing cadence ("Left, left, left-right-left…") and it's then that you realize why she was chosen for her position- she has an amazing voice. It's strong and loud, and you find it impossible to hide your smile as you listen to her play around with the beat to find her own rhythm while still keeping the division perfectly in step. You're more than impressed and pretty sure you could listen to her sing cadence forever, repetitive though it is, and the best part is that she's singing right beside you.
Since you're one of the tallest females in your division, your place is in the back of the formation, and you're assigned road guard duties, which consists of a lot of running, but you get to be near Lopez, who marches beside the last rank to sing cadence over the whole division. Stragglers on the street take notice of her voice as your division marches by, and you can't help feeling proud to march next to her, even though her singing has literally nothing to do with you. You think you actually really like marching-
"TWO road GUARDS!"
Until Fabray calls you to do your job. You scramble to comply, shooting Lopez a cheesy grin as you break rank and take off running towards the street up ahead, your pack bouncing slightly against your back as you rush to get in place. The other tall girl- you're not sure of her name- can't keep up with you, which you're not surprised by. She's not special ops like you.
"Road guards, POST!"
You walk out into the street to stop traffic, to make it safe for your division to cross the street, and they do, with Lopez singing all the while.
Left, left, left-y right le-eft
Left, let's go, keep it in step
When the division finishes crossing, Lopez pauses in her singing to call, "Road guards, IN!" And you smile to yourself as you rejoin the formation, taking your place beside her.
You definitely like marching.
/
It's Monday night, and you feel like a creep watching Lopez sit in front of her locker and shine her boots. It's the perfect opportunity to talk to her, but you stress about how to approach her. You don't want to just sit there with nothing to do- but you spent a good hour yesterday during Holiday Routine shining your boots, and a quick glance down at them confirms that they're still flawless.
You're going to have to make a sacrifice.
You chew your lip for a moment, debating, and then you decide, fuck it.
Then you walk into the bathroom, glance around to ensure no one's watching, and discreetly scuff the fuck out of your boots, kicking them repeatedly against a bench. Once the shine is gone and you're satisfied, you hum to yourself a little as you stroll back to your rack, dig out your shine kit, and shuffle over to where Lopez is seated, completely engrossed in her work.
"Hey," you say softly, and she looks up briefly before dropping her gaze back to her boots.
"Hi," she says.
"Do you mind if I-?" You start, and she shakes her head without looking at you, dipping her cloth in some polish and smearing it over the toe of her boot. You watch her for a moment before you settle in a respectful distance away, pop the tin of your shoe polish open and begin to work on your own boots in comfortable silence. You long to talk to her, though, so you search your mind for the questions you wanted to ask her the day before, and finally settle on one; but just as you're about to ask, she beats you again, asking a question of her own.
"Volunteer or drafted?"
You hide your smile by ducking your head a little, overly pleased that she wants to talk to you, (you pretend it's as much as you want to talk to her) and respond with, "Drafted. You?"
She's silent for a moment, the only sound the rustle of fabric against leather, and then she says, "Volunteer."
Your eyes widen in surprise, and a million questions race through your brain, but then she adds, "I knew it was coming, and I didn't want to wait for it to find me, you know?"
You do. You wish you would've thought to volunteer before the draft- it would've given you more control over the terms of your contract, given you more control over your destiny. It's a smart decision, and not for the first time, it makes you realize how intelligent the girl beside you is.
"What's your SOD?" You ask, referring to what her job is.
"Combat medic," she says easily, and you're floored- she's literally in one of the hardest SODs in the special ops field, and since she's a volunteer, she chose it. "You?"
"Specialist," you tell her, and she seems impressed, but you know it's not as impressive as her job. If this were a movie of cliche soldier tropes, you're the one that blows shit up and kicks ass. Your training, once you leave basic, will consist of a lot of close-quarters combat, stealth killing, and strategic bomb-setting.
"Did you get to choose?"
You nod, dipping your cloth in some water and rubbing it over your boots to get that high shine effect. "It sounded cool," you admit.
She laughs, and the sound of it makes you proud of yourself for being able to elicit such a beautiful noise from her. You decide right then that you love her laugh, and that you're going to try to make her laugh as much as possible. You look at her, studying her face for a moment before her soft brown eyes find yours, and you hold each other's gaze for what seems like forever. (You kind of want it to be.) She bites her lip, and you swallow hard, feeling your heartbeat pick up speed at the sight.
"Maybe we'll end up on the same SPECOPS team," she murmurs, hopeful, and your heart skips a beat, echoing the sentiment. You'll probably go to training together after basic, and that makes you feel relieved and happy- at least you'll have a friend at your next assignment-
"Maybe," you whisper, not breaking eye contact. You continue to stare into her eyes, searching the brown depths, feeling the strong pull of attraction gripping your stomach. It hits you full force and you realize that you like everything about Lopez, and you want to get to know her better, and you want-
"Lights out, dirtbags," Dino calls, and you're suddenly shrouded in darkness. You have no idea how so much time passed- you're usually dressed for bed and ready to jump in your cot by now, but-
Lopez smiles at you, and you laugh, feeling a little embarrassed that you both lost complete track of time. You grab up your boots and polish supplies while she does the same, and then you stand awkwardly, facing each other, smiling like a dope.
"Well, good night," you say regretfully, and she nods.
"Good night," she returns, and neither of you moves for a moment. Then, you chuckle a little, dropping your gaze to the floor, and shrug, turning away to your cot. She does the same, and you quickly get through your evening routine, brushing your teeth and hair and changing into your black sleep shorts and heather gray USND shirt.
It occurs to you that you didn't get to ask Lopez any of the questions you wanted to ask, but you have another four weeks with her, and her bunk is right next to yours.
There's always tomorrow night.
/
Wednesday morning's practice is especially grueling. It had apparently rained the night before and the field is covered in mud, which means you are covered in mud. Thankfully, Major Beiste ends practice thirty minutes early so you can shower before rejoining the division, but it doesn't occur to you until after you undress and step into the shower that that means you and Lopez will be sharing the showers.
You've never been alone with her- or anyone, actually- in the shower before, though you've spotted her briefly a few times. Now that she sleeps on your side of the compartment, you shower at the same time, but there's always been at least five or six bodies in between you and her, blocking your sight of her full naked frame.
But not now.
There's nothing but the spray of hot water standing between you, and fuck, you know you shouldn't watch her, but you can't seem to tear your eyes away. You do good for the first half of your shower, forcing yourself not to look, to stare straight ahead, to think about other things while you shampoo your hair.
But then you wonder if she's looking at you, if she's finding it just as hard to resist, and you surreptitiously glance over at her.
Your resolve crumbles into dust. You've never seen anyone- anything so gorgeous. You can't help but trace your eyes down her back, down her ass, as she rinses her hair, and then she turns around, and you feel your body heating up as she takes soap into her palm and rubs it over her skin. Your eyes can't help but follow her sudsy hands as they glide down her stomach, down her thighs, washing away mud and revealing tan, supple skin underneath.
You stand mesmerized for long moments, your pulse pounding everywhere, forgetting that you're supposed to be cleaning your own body, and then very suddenly you realize how completely creepy you must seem.
You drop your gaze immediately, wishing to melt into the floor, but though you're horrified to face Lopez after you literally just eyefucked her, you're not a coward. You deserve the punishment of facing her.
You lift your gaze to meet hers, surprised, once again, by what you find.
She's not angry.
Her brown eyes are dark as they hold your blue ones, and again you wonder if she'd been staring, too- if she'd been tracing her smoldering eyes over your naked body, over your abs, over your breasts, and feeling the heat that you're currently feeling.
You stare at each other, the only sounds the steady spray of water from your separate shower heads. You bite your lip subconsciously, unsure how to proceed, what to say, how to break the spell you're under-
A bugle in the distance snaps you out of it, gets you both moving, and you scramble out of the shower, cursing. You're going to have to book it back to your barracks or you'll be late.
You dress in a hurry, not even bothering to dry off, and then you're both sprinting back at warp speed, walking in seconds after Dino and barely escaping her wrath.
You don't meet Lopez's eyes for the rest of the day.
/
When Friday morning comes, you go to practice like normal- Major Beiste has you wearing full packs of gear while you do your exercises now- but once it ends, Lopez doesn't wait for you like she normally does. You wonder if maybe she has somewhere to be, so you rush to finish changing and packing your stuff, but she's already got a good distance on you.
You struggle to catch up.
"Lopez," you call when you get about two paces behind her, but she doesn't slow or acknowledge you. You're confused.
"Hey," you pant as you reach her side, trying to keep your positivity.
"Why do you keep following me, Pierce?" She snaps.
You're taken aback. Her words sting. "I thought we were friends."
"Do friends watch each other shower?"
Her words make you stumble a little. Your brain struggles to form words. You have no fucking clue what to say. You know you should probably apologize, but how the fuck do you apologize for blatantly watching your friend in the shower?
"Whatever this is," Lopez continues, gesturing between the two of you, and her tone is softer, not as harsh, "it isn't friendship."
Oh.
You both slow as you reach the front of your barracks. You wrack your brain for what to say, still at a loss. You desperately search for words, for anything, but you have no idea what Lopez is thinking or feeling.
But judging from the way she looks at you before she enters your building, you really want to find out.
Friday night, you sit by Lopez at dinner for the first time ever. You normally sit in the same area, because her position requires her to be the very last in line, and your height puts you at the back of the line, as well, but you usually end up shuffling through separate chow lines at separate times, and you didn't really actively try to sit by her.
But after tonight, when luck or fate or crazy coincidence puts you next to her in the same chow line, you decide to never not try to sit by her ever again. Her sly comments in the line about the less-than-appetizing selection of foods have you struggling to keep a straight face as you pick a salad dressing and grab a few rolls.
You spend the whole meal brushing elbows and communicating silently with your eyes and slight touches, since you're still not allowed to talk. It doesn't matter- you and Lopez must somehow be on the same brainwave, because you have no problem discerning what she tells you with her eyes, with her smile, with a tiny tilt of her head. You become an expert in her subtle language in a very short time, and as you sit there, giggling over your cold peas at the silent impression she's doing of that obnoxious Berry girl sitting on the other side of the table, you know that you never want to sit by anyone else.
After chow, Dino hands out your shiny new ID tags, and you study them for a moment, verifying the information before sliding the chain over your head and tucking them into your shirt. The sight of your name- Pierce, Brittany S.- reminds you of your own mortality, and why you have ID tags to begin with.
Dino, Sand Dollar and Corcoran split everyone into groups to begin practicing for an upcoming inspection, but you spend the rest of the night lost in thought, worrying about what will happen after basic, and how none of what you're doing now will actually matter out there.
It's not a comforting thought.
/
The weekend seems to fly by, and once again you're looking forward to Holiday Routine on Sunday. You hope Lopez isn't going to disappear again like she did last week, but this time, you decided, you're going to be a lot more aware of where she is, which, thanks to her bunk assignment, won't be difficult.
When Sunday morning rolls around, you get ready as usual, and even sit next to Lopez at breakfast. You laugh secretly together over your bowls of Cheerios, and you wish you could actually talk to her. It kills you that you can't ask her all the things you want to ask, that you rarely get any free time with her, but you hope after breakfast that will change.
You make it back to your compartment, and Lopez goes straight to her bunk. You follow her, determined to talk to her now that Holiday Routine has started, but then Dino pulls you aside and you struggle to find your military bearing as she instructs you in the mediocre task of running a form over to the medical building.
You're pissed as you literally run to your destination; you're pretty sure you're not supposed to be doing any jobs while on Holiday Routine- because it defeats the entire purpose- and running errands is not even your job, but you also know you can't fucking tell Dino that, so you grit your teeth and just hope that Lopez doesn't leave before you get back.
/
She does.
You silently curse your awful luck, sulking for a moment, before you decide to figure out where she's gone. You don't want to ask anyone- you don't want to give yourself away. Instead, you find the compartment sign-out sheet on the wall near the door and skim over the names until you find hers. You smile at her handwriting, admiring the way her letters flow, before you remind yourself that you're being a creep. You're already planning to follow her to her destination- no need to be a complete dope about it.
Lopez, S, it says, and your mind automatically files away her first initial. Checked out to Bldg 7210.
You furrow your eyebrows. You're not sure where that is. You don't remember ever seeing it during your runs or marches around the base. You glance over at the large map, conveniently located on the opposite wall, and quickly locate the building. You memorize the simple directions on how to get there, then rush to your bunk, grab up your bag, and sign yourself out to the same building.
On the way there, you try to think of as many S names as you can, trying them all and hating them. None of them seem right for Lopez, whom you're sure must have some beautiful, exotic name that you'd never guess. It's still fun to try, though, and it occupies your mind as you get closer and closer to building 7210, distracting you from what you're actually going to say to Lopez once you find her.
Oh, hi, yes, I love coming to this building on Sundays, too.
It sounds lame even to you, and you shake your head at yourself as you reach the door and the nameplate of the building comes into view.
It's a church.
You swallow your sudden dread and for a moment you consider turning around. Instead, you contemplate your situation- have you been wrong about Lopez? What if she's not even into women? If she's religious, maybe she has been offended by your blatant attraction to her. What if she's just trying to be your friend, or worse- what if she's trying to save you?
You stand, horrified, as your mind races with the possibilities of several undesirable outcomes. Finally, you decide that even if Lopez just wants to be your friend, you can't deny her. You want to be her friend, too. You want more than friendship, you're pretty sure- but if all you can have is friendship, you'll take it.
It's that thought that pushes you to pull the heavy wooden door open and slip into the dimly-lit reception area of the church. You're met by several passageways, all ironically labelled as paths to different religions, and your stomach sinks as you realize you have no idea which one Lopez went to. It's going to take a while to find her.
You sigh. You might as well get started.
/
You finally find her sitting alone in an empty room, kneeling at a pew near the front, eyes closed, praying. Several people had asked you if you needed help during your search, but you shrugged them off. You're pretty good at being sneaky- you'd just walked the hallways, peeking into the windows in the doors until you'd found who you were looking for.
It feels a lot like you're intruding, though, and you decide that maybe you should give her the privacy she obviously wanted in coming here, but then she speaks.
"You followed me?"
She's turned to look at you, and you swallow- should you tell the truth? You consider your lie from earlier, that you were just in the area, but as you find her eyes, you realize that you don't have the capacity to lie to her. You don't know if you'll ever be able to, not with her face looking like-
"Yeah," you admit honestly, stepping closer, hesitant. Her expression is unreadable, and you press your lips together with worry. Is she going to yell at you?
You wait, and after a long moment of silence, she turns back to face the altar, and you're left standing in the aisle several rows back. She didn't yell at you. She didn't tell you to leave.
She didn't exactly invite you closer, either, but…
You take a deep breath and approach, sliding into the bench beside her and taking up a kneeling position a safe distance away, leaning your forearms on the back of the pew in front of you. You look up, greeted with the sight of a golden Jesus shooting laser beams from his palms, which you suppose is better than the normal depiction of him brutally nailed to a cross you've seen the few times you've gone to church.
You wait silently for long moments, and then Lopez releases a deep breath beside you. The sound of her breathing is intimately familiar to you from your practices, so you know that it was a breath of finality, one that usually conveys to you that she's finished with a set. You apply that knowledge to the situation and conclude she must be finished with her prayer, so you turn to look at her.
"Hi," you say softly, barely above a whisper.
"Hey," she answers, her voice low and rough. It makes your stomach tighten and you feel guilty, since you're in a church.
"What are you praying for?"
She takes a moment to answer. "Strength."
You study her face. She doesn't look at you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, as if she's in pain, and her hands are clasped together tightly.
"You're strong already," you tell her. "You're the strongest person I know."
"Not strong enough," she whispers, and when she finally turns to look at you, her brown eyes cut into you with their intensity, and you understand her meaning. It nearly takes your breath away, and your chest fills with warmth, with a flood of emotion, with the strength of your desire for her. You want to kiss her. Your eyes dart briefly down to her lips, but- that wouldn't be appropriate would it? Here?
Resisting the nearly overwhelming pull to press your lips to hers, instead you turn back to Laser Beam Jesus. Your heart is racing, your thoughts are flying. You focus on Lopez's still-clasped hands. She doesn't need to pray for strength. She's not alone, not in this.
Slowly, you slide your hand along the top of the bench and gently pry her hands apart. You hold your breath- you don't want her to reject your offer. You know she wants you, but something's clearly holding her back, and you don't know what it is but you want the chance to find out. When she doesn't reject your touch, you carefully slip your pinky into hers. You hear her gasp softly at the tiny gesture, and you squeeze her pinky, your heart pounding madly. She didn't reject you.
"Do you think," you start in a murmur, soothing, "I could help you be strong?"
You practically hear her swallow beside you. She squeezes your pinky back and it makes your stomach flutter in the best way.
"Yeah."
You sit for the rest of your time in silence, and find that for the first time, you don't mind not being able to talk to her.
Monday is your favorite day of the week, you decide. Monday is the night Lopez chooses to shine her boots, which means it's the night you get to sit beside her and talk about anything and everything. You sidle up next to her, your thighs practically touching, and ask her questions about where she grew up, what her favorite color is, when she had her first kiss and anything else you can think of. She smiles and you smile and you both laugh and you ache to be closer to her. You can't stop staring at her lips at every given opportunity, and it makes your heart race and your stomach tighten when you notice that she can't stop staring at yours, either.
You want to kiss her, but you know you can't. There's a rule against it; you're here to train, they'd said. You're not supposed to be developing feelings for your fellow soldier, you're not supposed to be distracted by her lips, not supposed to think about the way she looks at you- you're only supposed to focus on your training and the mission, which is to graduate and get to your next training. So you know you can't kiss her- at least, not out in the open. It's the only thing holding you back.
"You're so good at that," she sighs after a lingering silence, her shoulders sagging as she stops rubbing at her boots. She evaluates them, and her displeased expression alerts you that they aren't as shiny as yours. It's an adorable expression, really- her eyebrows furrow and her mouth turns down a little, her brown eyes looking slightly disappointed and a little angry.
You shrug, because you don't want to say something self-deprecating- like how at least you're good at something- and watch as she begins her task again. You pause your own motions to watch her for a moment, and you instantly spot her problem.
"Don't press so hard," you breathe, automatically placing your right hand over her left, which is holding her buff cloth on the toe of her boot. "It's not about force." You guide her hand in a circular motion, applying only slight pressure, and try not to think of the entire situation out of context. You swallow thickly; the clean scent of her skin and hair invades your senses, and you breathe her in, trying not to imagine how it would feel to bury your face against her neck and press your body against her.
When you release her hand after only a few moments, you lift your gaze to find her staring at you, her brown eyes dark, and you wonder if her thoughts had gone where yours had. You wonder if she'd been thinking about touching you, about being close to you, and you tremble slightly. Her eyes drop to your lips. She leans forward.
"Lights out, maggots!" Dino calls, and you suck in a sharp breath, turning away. You gather your shine kit and boots, cursing inwardly that its lights out already, and with one last look at Lopez, you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth, your pulse pounding the whole way.
You replay the evening over and over in your mind as you scrub your mouth clean, avoiding Lopez's eyes in the mirror, since she's doing the same right beside you. She spits, wipes her mouth and exits, leaving you rinsing your mouth and replaying her responses to your questions again, and then suddenly something occurs to you and you rush back to your bunk.
You find Lopez just settling down under her blanket and you move to her side, standing on tiptoe to see her on the top bunk.
"Wait," you say, nearly breathless, and she sits up a little to give you her attention, encouraging you with her eyes. "What's your name?"
She smiles. "Santana," she says softly.
"Santana," you repeat, sighing, relieved, "I'm Brittany."
"Brittany," she confirms, and you're certain your name has never sounded so beautiful. You nod. She nods. You both smile and stare at each other for a moment. Then, she says, "Well…"
"Well," you agree, "good night."
"Good night."
You don't move. She doesn't move. She smiles wider, and even in the dim light, you can see her dimple, and it makes your stomach flip in response. You want to kiss it so badly. Finally, after another moment of intense eyefucking, you force yourself to turn away, and dive into your bed, blushing furiously, though you can't figure out why.
/
Tuesday you discover that you hate this week. Major Beiste decides that you've reached a point in your training where you're ready for a week of practices every day, so instead of getting to sleep in until 0600 like you usually do, you're cutting through the water, swimming laps in the frigid pool while Beiste shouts abuse at you. It's exhausting, because you're fully clothed, and you're sore from yesterday's practice, where Beiste had you learning new hand-to-hand combat moves.
But Santana's right beside you, pushing herself to exhaustion, and her perseverance and determination drives you on. You're not gonna quit on her.
You push yourself even harder.
Wednesday, Major Beiste splits you into teams of two and has you race up a steep, rocky hill in full gear with packs. It's treacherous, but Santana's your teammate, so you know you're gonna do fine. Before the sun is even up, you're huffing up the hill, your boots sliding on gravel and sharp rock. You pull yourself up onto a ledge, then reach down a hand to help Santana up.
Together, the two of you win the race, even though you cut your calf on the way down the incline on a jutting piece of limestone. Blood pours down your leg, soaking your sock, but neither of you stops your descent, and it's not until after you reach the finish line that Santana insists you let her fuss over it. Major Beiste gives you both Thursday off as a reward for winning the race- which isn't much of a reward, considering you normally have Thursdays off anyway- while everyone else gets scheduled for more physical conditioning instead. You're not going to complain- especially not when you notice the worry laced in Santana's eyes as she wraps your leg.
Even with the day off, Thursday leaves you completely exhausted, because you still have to do regular training, and this week is firearms week, which involves long days of standing in an uncomfortable position and holding fully-loaded weapons at arm's length. Not exactly fun times.
And then Friday happens.
It rains- hard- reducing visibility and turning the dirt to sloshy mud that sticks to your boots and soaks into your utility pants. Major Beiste again pairs you off into teams of two, only this time, she makes you apply the combat skills you learned on Monday against each other. You watch- while doing jumping jacks, since Major Beiste can't just let you stand around- completely drenched from the continuously pouring-down rain, as two guys beat the shit out of each other, and worry about your upcoming duel with Santana. You don't want to fight her, not really, but-
Major Beiste calls your forward, and you swallow your nervousness. You barely catch the smile Santana offers you before she lunges, and you meet her, grappling and trying to knock her off balance. Her skin is slick from the rain, and it's hard for you to grab her, your fingers slipping along her arms. She hooks her foot behind yours and shoves you back, and then you're both splashing into the mud like some jock guys' fantasy. It makes your cheeks burn as you struggle to gain a dominant position over her, the slippery mud spattering your clothes and limbs.
Somehow you manage to drop her beside you, and she tries to roll away, which is the wrong move. You press yourself to her back, spooning her roughly, and wrap your elbow around her throat in a choke hold, pulling her body on top of you as you fall to your back to give you more leverage. She struggles, but you know you have her; her right hand pries at your thigh, which you're wrapping over hers to help control her. She twists. You tighten your hold. You're not actually choking her, but you have her immobilized, helpless. Even still, you're surprised by how strong she is, and it's a workout to hold her against you in your embrace.
You're panting, your mouth by her ear, when she finally taps her left hand on your arm in a silent signal of surrender. You try not to think of the way her body feels pressed so completely against yours, warm and slick, or the way you can hear her ragged breathing, even over the heavy rain, as you release her and she rolls up, climbing easily to her feet. She turns to offer you a hand up, her expression dark and unreadable, and you take it, your fingers slipping slightly on hers from the sludge as she tugs.
You should recognize right then that you're fucked, but Major Beiste has you doing jumping squats while the next team goes, and your brain focuses on the task at hand, and not on the obvious: you're going to have to shower with Santana again.
/
You can't sleep. Your body feels like it's a million degrees as you lie on your back in bed and stare up at the bottom of the bunk above you. Your skin feels like it's humming.
You can't get the image of Santana out of your mind.
You try not to think about it, but you can't stop remembering the way she felt pressed against you, her hips bracketed by yours. You can't stop feeling the warmth of her skin, or the softness of it, or the way she arched and writhed in your arms. You know it's completely out of context, but the feel of her body combined with your knowledge of the throaty noises she makes when she's physically exerting herself send a shiver down your spine.
You know you shouldn't get yourself worked up, that you should stop thinking about Santana, but it's too late. You haven't been able to turn yourself off since that morning, and your body is still on edge, still tense. You have to do something to relieve it, but you don't think you can get away with touching yourself- can you? Here?
You squeeze your eyes shut. You don't want to be creepy, but your center is throbbing. You haven't been able to relieve yourself in weeks, because you've had no privacy and no energy. You still don't have either, but your body has other ideas, because it's so difficult to resist the ache, and everyone's probably asleep anyway-
Fuck it.
You replay how Santana had looked earlier, in the shower; it had almost seemed like she was giving you a show this time, teasing you on purpose. She'd maintained eye contact as she'd soaped up her body, and you'd felt the tension through your entire body. It was nearly impossible for you to resist lunging forward and pressing her against the shower wall, especially with the way she watched you-
Your breathing picks up, your stomach tensing as you suddenly realize what you're about to do; you glance over at your neighbors to make sure they're sleeping, and once you confirm that they are, you quickly slide your hand beneath your waistband and down, barely stifling your moan at the feel of how warm and slick you are already. You know it's not going to take long, not with the way you're already tensing. You imagine dark, brown eyes, full lips trailing kisses down your stomach; you shudder hard, suck in a sharp breath and hold it, biting your lip as you rub circles on your clit and feel the tension building faster.
Just as you feel yourself getting close, you open your eyes to make sure you're still in the clear, and find Santana's brown ones, dark and focused on you.
Shit. You still your movements immediately, your blood freezing, your stomach clenching in a bad way as you maintain eye contact. Your cheeks are already slightly flushed from your aroused state, but you're sure they darken even further now that you've been completely caught in the act. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you're about to remove your hand when you see Santana shake her head slightly, which makes your heart leap even more.
You swear you see her mouth please and it makes you swallow hard, a throb of desire shooting straight between your legs. Your stomach clenches again, reminding you that you still have so much built up tension, and you take in one slow, shaky breath before you allow your fingers to return to their earlier movements.
It feels incredible, especially now that Santana's staring into your eyes, and you're almost embarrassed at how soon you know you're going to finish. Your hips buck up and you falter in your rhythm, desperate for release as you breathe as quietly as you can, struggling to keep yourself silent. Santana's mouth is open, and since she's lying on her stomach, she pants into her pillow, her right hand clenching the sheets beside her, and you watch as her eyes dart between your own and your hand under your blanket. It sends another spark of pleasure through you when you see her lick her lips, and you imagine them on yours; it carries you to the edge.
You imagine Santana's mouth on your neck, sucking, marking, claiming you- you want her to claim you. You imagine her sex pressed to your thigh, slick and hot, imagine the way she'd feel as she slides against the tense muscle there, the way her hips would rock, the way she'd shake when she comes, imagine her breathy moans, her grunts, her whimpers of pleasure. You imagine her begging in your ear in between sucking and licking it, her warm breath sending shivers through your body as she tells you lowly that she's getting close-
It pushes you over the edge. When you come, you arch up into your hand, shuddering hard and nearly feeling Santana's eyes on you like a physical touch, and wishing it actually was a physical touch. You want her to touch you. You want her sweaty, naked body pressed against you, want her mouth on yours, swallowing your moan-
"Fuck-"
It takes you a second to realize the sound came from Santana, who's biting her lip and staring at you intensely. Her hips are rocking down into the bed, and you can only imagine what her hand is doing between her legs; it makes you moan low in your throat, and all you can do is watch her, your heart pounding, as she quickly brings herself to the edge before you.
Santana's eyes don't leave yours, and the knowledge that you caused her to get so riled up sends a shock of pleasure through your still-throbbing center. Santana's hips rut faster as she humps her own hand, and you can tell she's getting close. When she comes, it's beautiful; her mouth opens in a silent cry, barely a whimper of sound escaping, and you can see how hard her free hand grips the side of her mattress as her entire body tenses, shudders, collapses back down.
All you want to do is jump out of your bed and wrap her in your arms, kiss her breathless, but you know you can't. Especially when you hear the rack beside you squeak, and you listen as Wilde sleepily gets up to stumble to the bathroom, making your heart sink and quicken at the fact that you were almost caught.
But you weren't.
You don't break eye contact with Santana. You lie on your side and stare silently at her, offering her a soft smile, which she returns. With your tension relieved, you finally feel yourself getting tired, and your eyelids start to feel heavy, but Santana doesn't move, and doesn't stop looking at you.
You fall asleep gazing into her eyes and have the best night of sleep you've ever had at boot camp.
When my grandma was ninety-one,
She P-T'd just for fun
You smile, singing along with Santana's cadence as you jog with your division during the designated Saturday physical training. Santana doesn't lose her breath as she sings, even though she's running, and neither do you as you keep beside her and echo back her words, surrounded by the sounds of steady, rhythmic slapping of sneakers on pavement.
You haven't talked to Santana about Friday night, and you don't really plan on it. To your surprise, though, she's not bothered or repulsed by it. In fact, you feel like the exact opposite has happened; you two are inseparable now, ensuring you're together for every activity, standing near each other in every line.
It's still not enough.
When my grandma was ninety-two
She P-T'd better than you!
You grin at Santana's snarky lyrics. Everything about boot camp sucks, but Santana more than makes up for it with her humor, her smile, her nearness. You think you actually might be able to deal with the bullshit you endure on a daily basis, as long as you have her beside you to keep you sane…
Or drive you insane with how badly you want to be closer to her. Even though you haven't talked to Santana about what happened, you can't stop thinking about it, or her. You remember the dark look in her eyes, the way her mouth dropped open, how her tongue looked moistening her lips, and the way her hips moved desperately against her hand-
You shake yourself out of your thoughts. You need to focus. Things with Santana are amazing now, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, whatever that means. (You hear your mom use that expression a lot.)
So when Sunday rolls around, you try not to get your hopes up for Holiday Routine- you know Santana goes to church, and you don't want to monopolize her private time. Everyone needs space, right?
You get back from breakfast, ready to leave Santana to herself for a while, to respect the alone time she deserves at church, as much as you know you'll miss her. You sit by your locker and pull out your notebook, fully prepared to write a letter home to your cat, when you notice a pair of boots stop beside you. You look up, surprised and pleased to find Santana standing over you, her eyebrows furrowed with an adorable look of confusion.
"Aren't you going with me?"
You hesitate, secretly pleased that she wants you to go with her, but then you feel guilty that she asked you when she went alone the last two weekends. You open your mouth to refuse, but the sight of her biting her lip and her outstretched pinky make you remember the promise you made to her to help her be strong. So instead, you reach up, accept her pinky in yours, and climb to your feet, fighting a grin the whole way.
/
Everything changes when you fail your first test later that week.
"Are you fucking stupid, Pierce?!" Dino screams at you, up close and personal, and it takes all your willpower not to flinch, not to turn away. You've gotten good at tuning out her insults, usually, but you hate having your intelligence insulted.
"No, Commander," you answer evenly.
"Really?" She demands. "Because this paper," she shoves it in your face- right in your face- and then pulls it away, "says otherwise. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you like being a failure? Do you like not amounting to anything? Do you like being useless, like a fucking potato- is that it?"
You swallow, feeling your eyes stinging. You don't want to cry, but your emotions are getting the better of you despite your desperation to keep them under control, and Dino is still screaming at you, drops of her spit landing on your cheek. You swallow thickly, silent. You don't know what to say-
"Lay off."
Santana's voice takes you by surprise. It takes Dino by surprise, too, and the skeletal woman turns to confront Santana, whose strong posture and confident stance makes her look taller, stronger than she actually is. She looks intimidating, and you've never seen her so angry as she glares at Dino.
"Mind your own business, Funbags, or you'll find yourself in the same position as Stupid over here-"
"Don't call her that," Santana snaps, and you notice her hands tightening into fists, making your eyes widen in alarm. Is she going to fight Dino? The idea seems ludicrous to you, but her body language doesn't lie.
"Excuse me?" Dino says coldly, almost as shocked as you are.
"You heard me," Santana snarls, tone vicious. She stabs her finger into the air, pointing it a bare few inches from Dino's chest. "Don't fucking call her that!"
"That's enough!" Dino shrieks. "My office. NOW."
You're stunned speechless as Santana coolly does an about face and storms over to the office.
"Back to work, all of you!" Dino commands as she stomps after her. "Those floors aren't going to clean themselves! And I'd better not see a speck of dirt or you'll all be pushing those rags across the floor with your noses!" She slams the door to the office and you watch through the large glass window as she immediately starts yelling at a squared-off Santana, who gestures back wildly. You can tell they're yelling by the way their faces contort; you can tell Santana's upset by the stiffness of her movement- it lacks its usual grace.
After long moments Dino must say the right thing, because Santana retreats, crossing her arms and shrinking into herself, subdued. You turn away, hating the thought of her hurting, and Jones asks you to pass her the cleaning spray, anyway. You chew your lip nervously as you hand the bottle to Jones, replaying what just happened; Santana defended you.
You wish she hadn't gotten into trouble, but deep down, it makes your heart ache. No one's ever defended you before, and especially not your intelligence.
/
You find her later that night, once things have calmed down, and take your place at her side, sitting with your backs against a foot locker, away from the rest of the division. For a moment, you debate saying anything; you can sense that Santana is still upset. But you want to prevent her from ever getting so upset again.
"You didn't have to do that," you tell her softly.
"Yes, I did," she argues fervently. Her brown eyes are fiery, though they aren't aimed at you. "She has no right to call you that."
"But it's true-"
"No, it's not. It's not, Britt." She finally looks at you, and the intense eye contact combined with the way she's affectionately shortened your name and the conviction in her words makes your heart skip a few beats and your stomach knot with butterflies.
But still- you know the truth, despite Santana's words, and the elated feeling you had seconds ago is quickly replaced by a sinking feeling of despair. "But I failed," you tell her. "How can you say I'm not stupid?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Because I see the decisions you make out there in the practice field," she says, serious and quiet, and her tone makes you want to listen and believe. "I see how you handle others and your unique perspective of things. You come up with solutions, and yeah, sometimes they sound off the wall, but they're always really smart, and- and you know what you're talking about, Britt, you're-" she struggles, getting caught up with emotion, and her passion surprises you. Without thinking, you take her pinky and squeeze.
She looks down at your joined pinkies for a moment before reconnecting your gazes. "I just don't want you to ever think you're inferior to these morons," she says, shaking her head slowly, her voice soft and a little sad. "You're one of the smartest people I know."
"Thank you," you tell her, offering her a smile that's so genuine you're not sure you've ever really smiled before, because the way she makes you feel is entirely new.
"You're not ever going to fail again," she adds, and at your questioning look, she continues, "because I'm going to help you study."
Your heart feels like it might break out of your chest with how hard it's beating, beating, beating. You stare at her lips- you want to, fuck, you want to- but it's still early in the evening, and the timing just isn't right, so instead, you turn your hand and slip it into hers, lacing your fingers together. You watch the faintest blush spread over her cheeks, her lips spreading into a shy smile as she moves her hand to fit yours more securely, and you spend the next few minutes holding Santana's hand and basking in the warmth of knowing that someone believes in you.
/
Santana keeps her promise. For the next two nights, she helps you study for your re-test, which you have to take first thing after special ops practice on Friday. You don't much care for the material, but the fact that it's Santana helping you, Santana devoting her time to ensure you succeed, Santana smiling and laughing with you and making the information memorable and fun, has you enjoying it a lot more than you did the first time around.
When Friday practice ends, Santana jogs back with you and fires off study questions, which you answer with ease. Then, right before you go upstairs, she pauses before you, and before you can say anything, she pulls you into a quick, tight hug, her arms wrapping around your neck. Your breath is stolen by the feel of the full length of her pushed up against you, of her in your arms, and you slide yours around her waist, keeping her pressed close, inhaling her scent as you tuck your face against the side of her neck.
She whispers do well and your chest feels tight, heart pounding as she gives one gentle squeeze before pulling back and turning to enter her barracks, leaving you dazed and elated.
You're surprised by how easy the information comes to you during your test, and when you walk out of the room, you're certain you at least passed, and you can't describe the way you feel about it.
Later that night during the end of Evening Routine, Dino calls you in the office to give you your score with a suspicious glare, and you're so proud of it you can only think of how Santana's going to smile when you tell her. You find her sitting by her bunk folding her laundry, and casually join her, folding the stack of your own clothes that were returned to you.
You chat about random stuff, finding out that she was a huge Alanis Morisette fan when she was younger (and admits she still is) and you tell her about your cat at home. As usual, you don't realize how quickly time passes until Dino's screaming and snapping off the lights, and you're swathed in darkness, the only light in the room coming from the emergency lights that are always on. It casts everything in a warm, red glow, and as you steal a glance at Santana, you can't help but admire the effect.
Usually, you part ways now, heading off to prepare for bed and crawling into your respective bunks; but tonight, Santana makes no move to leave. Instead, she stares at you, and you feel your heartbeat involuntarily quicken at the thought of possibilities. You glance at her lips, aching to kiss them. But you can't just dive in, can you?
"I passed my test," you murmur softly, like a secret, respectful that some of your shipmates are going to sleep. You don't mind staying up a little; you don't have practice tomorrow.
Santana doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to- the look in her eyes, her smile, the way she shifts closer, so close you can smell her shampoo, says everything for her. Her thigh touches yours; heat flares in your stomach, making your heart flutter. You find her eyes; they sparkle in the reflection of the red lights. The brown looks… different in the crimson glow, softer, but sharper. Melty, almost. Hot.
You swallow. Your eyes drop to her lips for probably the millionth time, and her tongue darts out quickly to wet them, making your heart race suddenly and giving you the reassurance you need; she wants you to kiss her.
So you do.
You feel as if you're moving in slow motion, but it happens too quickly- your lips find hers in the semi-darkness, slipping against the soft smoothness. You're surprised by how she immediately crumbles against you, her mouth pliant, hot, her lips trembling with the shuddering breaths she draws in between your slow, open-mouthed kisses. Your hand automatically reaches up to cup her jaw, keeping her close, and seconds later you feel hers tangling in your blonde hair, willing to stay. A low, barely audible moan leaves her throat and sends a sharp flash of heat straight to your center. Your stomach clenches as you devour her moan hungrily, longing to be closer. It aches. You've never wanted someone so badly, and you don't know how to handle it.
Finally, when you feel like your body is about to explode, she pulls back, panting. You struggle to catch your own breath, to slow your racing heart and the pulse that's throbbing between your legs. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, reaching up to tuck a loose lock of her dark hair behind her ear. You wish you would have done it instead.
She lets out a nervous giggle, a shy smile revealing her dimple, and it makes you smile in return.
"What?" You ask curiously.
"I really like you." She says it like she's just realizing it herself, and it makes you realize your own feelings, too.
Your heart soars as you answer, "I really like you, too."
You're so close you can see her throat move as she swallows, and you long to explore it with your mouth. "Are you scared, like me?"
Her statement confuses you. "Scared of what?"
She doesn't answer. Instead she pulls away, taking a deep breath. You miss her closeness, her heat, her living scent. You panic inside, terrified that you've done something wrong, and you ache to follow her as she climbs to her feet. You plead with your eyes- Wait. Don't-
"Good night, Brittany," she whispers, hoarse and thick, avoiding your eyes, and your heart sinks, crashes, burns, burns, burns.
"Get up! Get up! Faster!"
Major Beiste's words reverberate through you as you charge up the stairs in full gear. You reach the top of the stairwell and burst through a door, toting your assault rifle. You round a corner, not pausing to check for safety- it's not the point of the exercise.
The point of the exercise is to sweat.
You charge down the long, narrow hall, your sturdy boots thudding heavily on the tile as Beiste continues to scream motivation at you. When you reach the end of the hall, you heft your rifle and prepare to rush back down the second stairwell, sucking in breath as you begin your descent. It's five flights down, and you take the steps nimbly and quickly, around and around until you reach ground level.
Then you repeat it.
"Faster! Again- faster!"
You're exhausted by the time you finish your seventh loop, and then Beiste finally directs you outside to finish your relay, gesturing to a 200-pound dummy lying in the grass. You drag it fifty yards, sweating, your legs feeling like jelly, before Beiste tells you to drop it and sprint the rest of the field to the two yellow cones in the distance, so you take off running. When you reach the cones you hit the dirt and crawl beneath a low-hanging net stretched along the ground, careful not to snag your pack or your rifle on it as you shimmy along, your body screaming at you in protest, in exhaustion. One of Beiste's assistant facillitators reminds you in a shout to keep your rifle out of the dirt and you do, crawling forward at a steady, crippling pace.
When you reach the end of the net, you pop up- your legs shaking, nearly about to give out- and climb up a relatively small, rocky hill. You reach the top, and the facillitator there instructs you to drop and bust out thirty push-ups, and you struggle through it, the pack on your back feeling like it weighs the amount of another person. Your abs are burning, your arms trembling from exertion by the time you finish, gasping for breath. When you finally hear the click of a stopwatch, you let out a sigh of relief, and then, with approval from the facillitator, you climb shakily to your feet, your throat dry and raspy.
You stumble to the sidelines and peel off your gear, letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground beside you once you reach your spot. You search your pack for your water bottle and chug the water so fast it drips down your throat and soaks your already-soaked black shirt, but you don't care. You take deep breaths and try to slow down your pounding heart.
Then, almost on accident, your eyes find Santana, who's standing several paces away. You haven't exactly talked to her since Friday night, though you haven't been able to stop thinking about her. But she avoided you all weekend, and didn't invite you to church with her- she left without a word- and you're not sure what to say to her, because you're still so confused about why she's even avoiding you.
She looks away first and you feel your heart sink with disappointment. You're in the last Monday of your special ops training, and soon you won't be spending so much time with Santana. Soon you won't be training anymore.
In two weeks, you'll be doing it for real.
/
Santana starts to worry you later that night during lecture. She gets into an argument with Sand Dollar, who has to pull her aside to discipline her with physical activity. You watch out of the corner of your eye as she does twenty 10-counts- flawlessly- before angrily rejoining the rest of the division, and chew your lip. You don't like it when she gets in trouble, but you're not sure what to do to help.
It happens again the next day, only this time, Santana lashes out in defense of Rose, and Sand Dollar sends her to the office to get talked to by Dino and himself. It's another heated argument, and at the end of it, Santana storms out of the office angrily, with Sand Dollar trailing after her, calling out a list of physical activities as punishment. Santana obeys in silence, and you watch guiltily as she pumps out thirty push-ups before Dino charges out screaming for everyone to get to their feet, because you're going to do bunk and locker drills. You swiftly obey, trying to ignore the steady, one, two, three of Sand Dollar counting out exercises to Santana.
Wednesday night, Santana pushes it too far.
She defends Rose again, but her insults are so scathing, they make even you cringe. You don't disagree with her- not at all, actually, you think she's right to defend the poor girl who never asked to be here- but you worry about the consequences, and you're not wrong. This time, all three of your commanders- Dino, Sand Dollar, and Corcoran- pull her into the office, and when they're finished reprimandind her, they strip her of her leadership position, snatching the shiny pin from her collar and sending her out.
"Berry!" Dino hollers, and the girl jumps to her feet as quickly as she can and hurries to the office at the summons, but you don't care as you watch Santana storm to her rack and snatch up her bag and her parka. It's been raining and miserable all week, so you know she's going outside, but where could she be going on a Wednesday night?
Corcoran stops her at the door, and Santana argues with her briefly before signing herself out on the compartment check-out sheet and disappearing out the door.
You don't hesitate. You go to your cot, pick up your bag and parka, and follow. A quick glance at the check-out sheet confirms that Santana went to Bldg 7210, and you sign yourself out under Corcoran's tight-lipped stare. She makes no attempt to stop you, however, and you rush out the door, eager to catch up with Santana and find out what's going on.
/
You don't actually catch up to Santana, but you know where building 7210 is, and you make it there in record time, despite the heavy rain pouring outside. You enter the building and manuever between the groups of other recruits arriving for evening services, searching for Santana. You check her normal room, but find it devoid of her, which confuses you. You didn't see her outside- she obviously made it here before you.
Where could she be?
You search aimlessly for a while, wondering where she could have gone. It's obvious to you after a while that she lied about where she was going, but you have no idea where else she might have gone to. Sighing in frustration, you slip your parka back on and head outside, walking carefully down the street, carefully studying your surroundings to discern where Santana might've went.
Halfway back to the barracks, you spot a small gazebo in the distance, partially hidden by surrounding trees- the smoke deck. Could Santana have gone there?
It's worth a shot, you decide. You make your way over and enter the gazebo. It's dark, with just the brightness from the moon illuminating the inside, but the rain filters the light and drowns out any other sound. Its peaceful, and, you notice as your eyes scan the benches, occupied.
Santana sits alone against the back wall, hugging her knees and smoking a cigarette, of all things. You approach hesitantly, lowering the hood of your parka and dropping your pack to the ground as you sit beside her. It's silent except for the pounding of the rain, and you notice for the first time that despite your hood, your face is still slick from the raindrops, and a glance at Santana reveals hers is the same way. You shiver slightly from the chill, but ignore it. Santana makes no move to leave, and neither do you.
You sit, silent and contemplative, and after a long while, you speak.
"I didn't know you smoke."
Santana takes a long pull of her cigarette. You watch out of the corner of your eye, admiring the way her lips press to the filter, the way her fingers grip the cylinder, and you've never been jealous of a cigarette before, but fuck, watching her is just so-
"I don't," she admits after she exhales, the smoke dissipating in the humid air.
You turn to look at her, confused. "Then-?"
"Only when I'm pissed," she clarifies, and you swallow, your heart aching. You can't resist shifting closer, and she lets you.
"What're you pissed about?" you venture softly, hoping Santana will open up to you. You study her face, and her dark eyes seem conflicted for a moment before she gives in and your heart leaps with hope.
"I just..." she starts, and you wait patiently. Finally, she says, "She never asked for this, you know?"
"Rose?" you say in a voice barely above a whisper. You wonder why Santana is so protective of the frail girl as she nods, but you say instead, "Neither did you." Santana gives you a look and you add, "not really."
She shrugs. "But I'm not... I don't have anything to lose, not like her."
Your heart pounds, aching in your chest as you answer, "You have me." You feel cheesy saying it, but it's true, and you just barely see the way Santana's eyes tighten with pain before you cup her cheek and turn her to face you. She doesn't resist as you lean forward and kiss her, and oh, it's just as good as it was the first time, except Santana tastes like smoke, and her lips are slippery from the rain. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and she opens her mouth more, sliding her tongue out to meet yours, and you press closer, completely uncaring about the fact that water from your parka is seeping into your clothes.
You pull back to take in a breath before diving in again, but Santana places a firm hand on your shoulder, and you find her eyes, your breath ragged and deep as she licks her lips.
"Britt," she sighs.
"San," you hum. She lifts the cigarette to her lips again, and you shake your head slightly. "Where did you even get that?"
"Corcoran," Santana says easily, and you reach to pluck the cigarette from her fingers before she can take a drag.
She shoots you a sharp look, but as you put the cigarette out on the wooden bench beside you, she sighs.
"I know you care about Rose," you murmur, "but why are you really pissed, San?"
Surprised at your intuition, Santana hesitates for a long moment before she says in a low, rough whisper, "I'm angry because I have all these feelings... and I-" She pauses before she continues, "I'm afraid of dealing with the consequences."
You stroke your thumb over the back of her hand. "What consequences?"
She sighs again. "We could die, Britt."
"Everyone dies, San."
It's silent for a moment. You watch her throat move as she swallows. Then, she breathes, "But I don't think I could take losing you," and your heart nearly stops. "I've never felt this way before."
"Oh, honey," you whisper, and you slide your fingers in between hers, locking your hands together. "Isn't it better to experience it? Even if you lose it?"
Santana shakes her head a little, and your stomach drops in fear, but then she leans forward, laying her head on your wet shoulder. It doesn't faze her. The rain slows down before she speaks again, and you barely hear her despite her closeness.
"I don't know, Britt... I don't know."
/
You walk back to the barracks together in silence, holding hands. It's dark and muggy enough that no one will be able to tell, and you feel like Santana needs the physical connection. Besides, you love the warmth of her hand and the way it fits in yours, so it's not like you're complaining.
On the way, Santana tells you about her demotion, and you're outraged.
"They can't just strip you of your title! There's only two weeks left."
Santana laughs bitterly. "Actually, Britt, they totally can."
You growl. "Okay, so they can. But fuck."
Santana stares at you for a moment and you wonder why, but she shakes out of it and adds, "It doesn't matter, anyway. It's not like I even care."
"But you were good at it," you argue. "And you do so care. You love singing..."
Santana nods. "You're right. But I don't know how to get my job back. Sylvester fucking hates me." It takes a second for you to realize that Santana doesn't call your first Commander Dino like you do, but then squeeze her hand.
"Well, ask them. There's got to be a way," you say confidently with a nod, and Santana smiles slightly as you reach the barracks.
"Okay, Britt. I will, for you." She turns to you and lifts up on her toes to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and your stomach melts, your heart pounding in your chest as she pulls away. "Thank you," she whispers, stroking her thumb over your cheek. "For everything."
You smile. "It's nothing."
You enter the barracks and climb the stairs to your compartment, and as you enter and strip off your parkas, hanging them on nearby hooks to dry, Dino spots you and waves you over with a malicious smile.
"Sandbags, Stupid, you're just in time," she calls as you obediantly move over to take your place in front of your cot and stand at attention like the rest of the girls in the room. With a sneer at Santana, Dino adds, "I was just about to announce our new Motivator- your replacement." She holds up the pin she'd stripped from Santana earlier and presses it to the collar of Berry, and your mouth drops.
"Congratulations on your new position, Barbra."
After the dutiful clapping dies down, Dino releases everyone for Evening Routine, and you watch as Santana immediately follows her into the office to confront her about the change in leadership. While you wait, you decide to prepare for bed. You're completely exhausted from the brutal practices you've had all week, and you haven't been sleeping well, either, because you've been so worried about Santana. You're hoping to get to bed on time tonight, because you know Beiste is not going to go easy on you in the morning.
You wash your face and brush your teeth, and you're just settling under your blanket when Santana appears beside your cot, kneeling.
"She said she can't just give me my job back," she whispers heatedly. "Which is ridiculous. Nobody takes Berry seriously- she looks like she should be holed up in a cave somewhere pining over a magic ring or something."
You barely stifle your giggle, trying to focus instead on Santana's words. "You'll have to prove you're the better candidate."
"Britt, how?" She looks at you, her brown eyes fiery with determination. "If they don't already see how I outshine Berry in every way-"
"Maybe they do; but you have been pretty disagreeable lately," you say softly, and Santana's eyebrows furrow as she contemplates your words. "They might want to see that you can follow orders, be a model recruit. They might have put her in the position just to test you." You shrug. "They like to play games, San."
Santana nods. "You're right."
"Duh."
"I should outshine Berry in every way, and that includes being obedient."
"Exactly."
Santana grins. "You're a genius."
You mirror her. "Again, duh."
Sneakily, Santana bends slightly to kiss your hand, which is resting on the edge of your cot, before standing. "Night, Britt," she breathes, and your fingers tingle. "Thanks again."
You struggle to find words to answer with, but Santana's already gone.
/
Berry doesn't suck at cadence, but after less than a day in charge, she lets the power go to her head. She's bossy, and abrasive, and you've never wanted to claw someone's eyes out before, but you might just make an exception, because Berry is so grating-
"And Pierce, can you please pay better attention when you're-"
"Can you please stop talking," you tell her tiredly, dragging out your syllables. You had another brutal practice that morning, and you're sore and exhausted. "Your voice is making my head feel like it's about to explode."
Berry gives you an offended look, but doesn't argue. You think maybe she's a little afraid of you, especially knowing you're part of special forces. You don't mind though. If that's what it takes for her to shut up, you'd probably even shove someone in a trash can to keep your menacing reputation.
Unfortunately, not everyone is scared of you.
"Whats the matter, Pierce, they finally make you start using your brain instead of your muscles?" Wilde sneers. "No wonder you look so tired."
"Hey," Rose protests weakly, but she's already on Wilde's shit-list, so she doesn't do much else.
"You know why Pierce is on special forces, right?" Wilde asks the small group of girls nearby. She smirks at you for a moment, then answers her own question, "She's the only one dumb enough to take the job. She'll be dead within a week."
"Well that's six days longer than you'll last," Santana snaps from behind you, and you turn to find her seething; you've never seen her look so angry. It's scary and sexy and saddens you a little, that she'd get so upset over Wilde's words. They don't bother you, not really- you know what you signed up for. And you know you're not smart enough to-
"If you were as smart as Pierce, you would've joined special forces, too," Santana continues. "She goes to at least another couple of months of training, but you? Once you leave here, you'll go straight to the battlefield." She leans forward and lowers her voice to a silky purr, smiling cruelly. "Like a lamb to the slaughter."
Wilde shakes with anger. The rest of the girls stand around and blink at the display, frozen with shock. "Fuck you," she spits.
"You want to pick on people, huh?" Santana snarls, low and dangerous. "Don't fucking dish out what you can't take. I promise you, I will shut you down every single time."
You watch, amazed, as Wilde presses her lips together and submits, turning away and heading to her locker. The other girls look at Santana with awe, with admiration, and then Santana turns to Berry, who you hadn't noticed standing off to the side.
"Where the fuck were you?" Santana demands. "You're supposed to be keeping shit like that from happening."
"I didn't want to start a confrontation-"
"That's kind of your job," Jones points out. Chang nods.
Berry looks lost for a moment, but doesn't say anything. The other girls shake their heads in disappointment, and as they disperse, Santana turns to you.
"Let her say some shit to you, Britt," she mutters. "I'll rip her fucking eyes out."
"I kind of wanted to do that to Berry earlier," you deadpan, and Santana smiles a little before she discreetly touches your wrist in a small gesture of comfort. Your skin burns from the touch.
"It would probably improve her complexion."
You smile at the statement, watching as Santana leaves your side to return to whatever it was she was doing before she intervened. Jones, Chang and some of the other girls watch her go, and you can tell that something has shifted.
It's then that you realize that Santana is a much better leader than you initially thought.
/
You have Fire Guard watch that night, which involves you staying awake for two hours to ensure the compartment doesn't burn down. It seems silly to you, especially considering there's no fire, but as you walk the compartment and check on your fellow soldiers, making sure none of them died in their sleep, you're kind of grateful for the quiet, private time. It's really the only time you have.
But you're so, so sleepy.
As you turn a dark corner, someone grabs your collar, and before you can make any noise, Santana's lips are on yours.
You're suddenly wide awake.
She kisses you fiercely, pressing you up against the wall, and your pulse instantly races because it's so, so wrong of you to be doing this on watch, but- her kiss is heated and wet and her tongue slips against yours, her hand clutching your shirt tightly, keeping you close. You want to pick her up and let her wrap her legs around you, spin and press her to the wall and take her, but you're already breaking the rules by kissing her, and-
A noise startles you and you both part quickly, panting. You fix your shirt, swallowing, your heart racing madly, your pulse pounding between your legs. Santana bites her lip and you almost forget sense and lunge forward to kiss her again, but then footsteps shuffle in the distance and you remember where you are.
Silently, Santana gives you a teasing smirk, then spins away and disappears into the shadows. Your heart doesn't slow down for the rest of the night- and you have no problem staying awake.
/
The next day is Saturday, and you're hella tired, both from Friday's practice, and from watch the night before. All you want is to snuggle Santana, but thankfully, she sticks close to your side anyway. You want to hold her hand; you want to kiss her. But instead you stand near her and just vibrate with tension from her close proximity.
After Taps, she asks you to come with her to church the next day, and you agree.
But you don't go to church.
Instead, she drags you to the smoke deck, which is deserted.
"They built a new one closer to the main buildings, so no one comes here anymore," she tells you before she presses you against the wall and attacks your lips. You spend the next ten minutes making out, your hands gripping her ass, before she pulls back and releases a slow, shaky breath.
"I didn't bring you out here for this," she laughs breathlessly.
"You didn't?"
She grins. "No, Britt. Although," she presses another searing kiss to your lips, one that has you aching between your legs, and you follow her when she pulls back, unwilling to let your kiss break. She cups your jaw steadily and smiles before she continues, "it's definitely nice to be able to do this."
"We don't have to stop," you mumble as you let your lips press to her jaw. You feel her shudder. "We have at least another hour and a half before Holiday Routine is over." You kiss beneath her ear. "We can just say we went to every service."
She squeezes you briefly before she pulls completely out of your embrace, and you frown instantly at the space between you. You miss her warmth.
"I want to do something else," she tells you, and you run a hand through your hair and nod, trying to calm yourself down. She bites her lip at the gesture, her eyes dark, and before you both cave again, you clear your throat.
"What is it?"
Her eyes snap up from where they'd been staring at your lips- or your neck? You're not sure- and she smiles. "I want you to help me with a new cadence I've been working on."
You grin. "Of course, San."
You spend the next hour working on Santana's new cadence. You do the marching and help her work out the pacing, so she can watch your feet and call the right side. You have to admit, the tempo is catchy, and you're certain it will help her gain leverage over Berry. It shows initiative and planning, and you're honored to have helped her with it.
And of course, the ten minutes after you finish, when Santana shoves her tongue into your mouth in gratitude, definitely doesn't make you sorry you helped, either.
/
The rest of the week is spent waiting for an opportunity for Santana to show off her new cadence, and it finally arrives on Tuesday, when Berry has a follow-up dental appointment. Santana takes her spot proudly when Sand Dollar reluctantly gives her direction, and with a smile at you, she belts her new cadence after Fabray calls For-ward... March!
Let me get your left, right on, right on your left!
Let me get your left, your left-y, right, left!
Let me get your left, right on, right on!
You're not surprised at the way the division's spirits seem to lift- but maybe you're just imagining them stepping livelier, staying on step better, not dragging their feet as much-
But one look at Sand Dollar tells you that he's noticed the same things you have: the division's responding to Santana.
You can't help but grin all the way to the drill hall, loving the way Santana's voice fills you with a sense of pride and excitement you haven't felt in days. (And you have a feeling the rest of the division feels the same way.)
/
Once you return to the barracks, Santana is immediately called into the office with Dino and Sand Dollar. The smile you had while marching hasn't left your face, even as you form up with the rest of the division to study for your final exam on chemical warfare. You don't have to wait long, however, as Santana emerges and takes her place beside you. You don't have an opportunity to talk until Evening Routine, when Santana sits beside you, holding her boots and shine kit.
"Sylvester said that she's giving me another chance at Motivator," Santana tells you as she pops her polish tin open.
"Yeah?" you ask with a pleasantly surprised grin.
Santana nods. "Mmhm. There's one catch- whoever has the shiniest boots wins the position." She pauses to look up, to meet your eyes, and the unspoken request in her dark brown ones has you smiling.
"Looks like you got your job back, San," you laugh as you reach for her boot. "I'm going to make sure you have the shiniest boots in the entire military."
Santana's smile makes your heart pound. She bites her lip and your stomach flips. You try not to think about the way your body is reacting as you smear polish onto the toe of Santana's boot and begin your task of ensuring Santana wins her title back. Instead, you make small talk. Santana explains to you how she's so glad she's going to beat the crap out of Berry with your help, and you can't help the warm feeling the fills you up and makes the tips of your ears feel hot.
You work on her boots for the better part of an hour, and finish just as Dino is calling Lights Out.
"Wow," Santana breathes as she gazes down at the high shine of her boots. She can literally see herself in them. You can't deny that you're proud of your handiwork- her boots look pretty fucking amazing.
You watch her face as she admires them for a moment, completely smitten and taken by her cute expression. You love the way her brown eyes seem to melt, the way the corners of her mouth soften, the way her eyebrows furrow. She catches your stare and refocuses her attention on you, and you subconsciously hold your breath a little as she shifts closer.
"Britt, thank you," she says softly, so low you wonder if you imagined it.
"It was nothing," you shrug.
She reaches for your hand, surreptitiously stroking her thumb over the back of it, tracing circles. You thrill at the contact. You crave more, but the little secret touches you share are enough for now. "You didn't have to help me."
"No, I didn't," you agree. "But you didn't have to help me pass my test, either... besides, you say the dream and I help build the dream... and that's what a partnership is about, right?"
She stares into your eyes for a long moment, searching. You don't know what she's searching for but you really hope she finds it; you really hope she stays there.
"You're the best partner," she whispers. "On and off the battlefield." She grins. "That sounds so cheesy."
"Totally," you agree with a straight face, which only makes her smile more. You smile, but just enough to let her know that you're actually serious when you say, "I believe in you, Santana."
The way her eyes melt that much more makes your insides tingle, and she squeezes your hand briefly. You want to kiss her so bad, but there's not enough privacy for that. So instead you just stare into her eyes for another small eternity, until she breaks the gaze to whisper good night.
After you crawl into your cot, you lie awake for another hour and just remember the way she looked at you.
/
The next day, Santana gets at least ten compliments on her boots. She accepts every one graciously, and even though she can't admit that you did them for her, she does explain that she learned how to do it from you, giving you as much credit as she can without disqualifying herself. A lot of the other girls look at you differently, then; they finally see you as worth something, and it gives you a funny, unfamiliar feeling in your chest.
After breakfast, Santana and Berry are both summoned to the office, and your stomach feels like it's tying itself in knots as you wait for the outcome. You know Santana's boots are shinier than Berry's, though you have to admit, Berry's were meticulous and a very close second, but you're worried something else might've happened to fuck everything up.
Once dismissed, Berry and Santana exit the office, giving nothing away in their expressions. The anticipation is killing you, but you can't confront Santana about it. You try to be patient.
You've almost forgotten all about it when Santana corners you in the bathroom. You barely have time to process what's happening before she's gripping your shirt and roughly manhandling you around the corner and out of view, right outside the shower room. Your back hits the tile and then warm lips are attacking yours. You instantly succumb to the kiss; you've been craving it for days, and when Santana's wet, hot tongue swipes your lips, you nearly moan out loud and give yourself away, your knees seconds from buckling.
Santana pulls back with a satisfied smirk. "I wanted you to hear this from me," she pants. "I got my job back!"
You blink, but then her words register. You beam. "Of course you did!"
"I've gotta go," she breathes before pressing one more lingering kiss to your lips. You tremble. You want her so much, but she pulls away and whisks around the corner before you have a chance to protest.
You're left, heart pounding, knees shaking, in the bathroom, grinning like a fool.
At Evening Routine that night, Dino announces that Santana has reclaimed her position as Motivator. The whole division cheers, but none of them louder than you as Dino gives Santana her pin back, then silences the clapping and hooting quickly with a warning that there will be a dress uniform inspection first thing in the morning. The triumphant smirk on Santana's face makes you laugh inside, because she's so proud to be wearing a pin that is meaningless outside of this atmosphere, but you don't care. You're happy that she's happy.
You don't get a chance to congratulate Santana or even talk to her the rest of the night, because she's too busy getting congratulated by the rest of the girls in your division, but you don't mind. You smile to yourself as you get your dress uniform ready for the next day's inspection, watching Santana out of the corner of your eye as she smiles and laughs with Jones and Chang.
You can't help smiling, too, knowing that Santana will be marching the division alongside Fabray in the graduation ceremony; you imagine how she'll look, sharp and professional in her dress uniform, her military bearing perfect and tight as she leads them across the drill hall. There's no one else you want representing your division, and you stay lost in your fantasies until Lights Out.
You hang your uniform, pressed and creased, up in your tiny locker, and when you turn around, you're greeted with Santana's presence.
"Hi," she whispers, smiling shyly.
"Hey," you murmur, returning her smile. You search for the right words to say to congratulate her again, but before you can settle on the right ones, she's pressing against you, wrapping you in a hug.
"Thank you," she breathes against the side of your neck, and half of you is terrified that someone- like Berry- will see the hug and report it, but the other half is dancing on a rainbow in the clouds, ecstatic to feel her so close to you. You slide your arms around her, deciding that you're probably not going to get in too much trouble with one week until graduation, and close your eyes, enjoying her proximity.
"You already said that," you remind her softly, smiling as you rest your chin on her shoulder.
She squeezes you briefly before she pulls back, gazing into your eyes. "What are your plans for after the ceremony?" she blurts.
Surprised by such a random question, you hesitate for a moment before answering, "dinner with my parents. And then- packing, I guess. We fly out at 3am for our next strand..."
Santana nods, and her expression turns suddenly vulnerable and soft. "I know. My mom is coming, and- well, would you mind if we joined you for dinner?"
Your smile is slow, stretching across your face as you realize exactly what she's asking, what she's implying. You silently nod, slipping your left hand into her right one, and she grins in return before she leans forward to kiss your cheek.
She lingers there, breathing over your skin, and then she says throatily, "they'll be putting us in the same hotel that Saturday night..." and then she pulls away and leaves, pausing only to catch your eyes over her shoulder, and you feel your heartbeat accelerate at her suggestiveness. You bite your lip.
Graduation can not arrive soon enough.
/
You struggle through the next day. Santana looks absolutely breathtaking in her dress uniform, and it's the first time you've seen her in the tailored outfit. Combined with the fact that you can't stop thinking about what Santana hinted at the night before- about them spending the night alone in a hotel- you're surprised you haven't exploded from all the built-up sexual tension. Especially since Santana keeps shooting you dark looks from across the room, and finding any excuse to discreetly touch you, sending your heart racing and making you lose your breath.
After the inspection, Dino gathers the division to have a serious talk.
"I have some news," she announces. She catches the eyes of everyone in the room before continuing, "A cure was found today."
The room errupts with hushed comments, some of them confused, but then Dino demands everyone's attention again.
"For those of you who don't know what that means, it means that this war is finally on its way out," she says matter-of-factly. "The outbreak is no longer a threat, and we now have the means to start giving help to those who need it. There will still be fighting, of course- but the stakes have dropped significantly, and the chances that you all will die from disease have lowered- you'll probably die from standard old weapons, instead."
You take a moment to process Dino's words and what they mean- no more disease? You have to admit, without the threat of infection, your enemies seem a thousand times less scary, but you're still in a war, and you're still a trained killer-
"You'll all be getting the vaccine shot today. Fabray- assemble the division and be ready to march out in five minutes."
/
The shot doesn't hurt- not really, at least, not to you, and not to Santana. It stings a little, and the needle is a lot bigger than you thought it would be as it stabs into your thigh, but you withhold your grunt of pain as the vaccine enters your body.
Berry, on the other hand, seems like she has an anxiety attack once she sees the needle, and it takes several of the medical staff to calm her into allowing the shot anywhere near her body.
You catch Santana rolling her eyes from across the room, and you struggle not to stare for too long; she's standing in her black, issued boxer briefs, and tight black undershirt, pressing a piece of gauze to the injection site on her thigh. Her black BDU pants are around her knees, and you know you look the exact same way, but your thoughts run wild. Another quick glance reveals that Santana's biting her lip, her eyes dark, which tells you she's probably thinking about exactly what you're thinking about, and you feel, again, that graduation can't arrive soon enough.
/
Two nights later, you're lying on your bunk after Lights Out, sorting through the many things weighing on your mind- Santana, graduation, the cure, Santana, your parents, Santana, your upcoming secondary SPECOPS school and inevitable application in the field, the hostiles, Santana-
As if you willed her to your side, you sense her presence as she boldly climbs onto the bed beside you, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest in a jolting mixture of terror and arousal.
"What are you doing?" you hiss under your breath, your eyes wide with fear as you scan the surrounding area. Your bunk is beside a support beam, which obscures it from view for a good chunk of the rest of the room, and it is late, but all it will take is one person to-
When Santana's lips find yours, the amount of fucks you have to give about getting caught becomes zero. You cup her face and kiss her back aggressively, and then she's pressing closer, her bare leg rubbing against yours, and fuck, your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest, your stomach is wound so tight you think it might implode, and Santana's fingers are in your hair, on your neck, on your arm, on your ribs-
You break the kiss to suck in air and Santana's mouth moves to your neck, soft, wet lips pressing to the sensitive skin, and you shiver, turning to find her mouth again in the darkness. You haven't been so close to her in days, and you've never been this close to her; you push forward, closer, suprised when Santana doesn't resist, falling onto her back and inviting you to move on top of her. You don't resist, sliding your leg over her and slipping your body between her legs; she wraps thighs around you, your sheets pushed aside carelessly as you refuse to stop kissing her.
Cotton rustles, her hands slide up your spine, and her stomach is hot when you slip your hand beneath her shirt to stroke her skin. She arches at your touch, sucking in a heavy breath, and you ache to press your center against hers- you know you've already soaked through your shorts, and you feel as if you're drowning in her the longer you kiss her, the longer her tongue strokes yours in your mouth.
You pull back for a moment to catch your breath, balancing yourself with your palms pressed to the thin mattress on either side of her head. You trace your eyes down her body, over her delicate neck and partially-exposed collarbones and lick your lips. You want to mark her- claim her- so badly. The ache thrums in your chest and reverberates down to your center. Santana arches beneath you, willing- but no. Uniform. Privacy. You can't give yourselves away like that. Just two more days-
Your eyes meet her fierce, dark brown ones, and the look in them sends another hard throb of arousal through you, making your entire body shudder.
"C'mere," Santana growls, low and in her throat, and she reaches up, her fingers gripping the metal chain of your ID tags and tugging, and you're powerless to resist as she pulls you into another searing kiss.
It's a struggle to be quiet; the only sound is the clink of your ID tags as they land on Santana's chest when you lie fully on top of her. The way her body feels beneath yours is driving you crazy, and you're about ten seconds from slipping your hand up the leg of her shorts and fucking her into her oblivion when she finally breaks the kiss, laughing, the sound a slight rumble in her chest.
"We need to stop," she breathes. "We can't do this here."
"Then where?" you pant, your thoughts hazy and unfocused on anything except the warmth of Santana's body beneath you and all the places she's pressed against you.
She giggles breathlessly, rubbing her nose against yours, and the intimate, sweet gesture calms your racing heart considerably, bringing you back to reality and away from the clouds you were floating on.
"We've worked too hard," Santana whispers against your lips. "We can wait. We have to. You know what will happen if we get caught."
You laugh a little. "You're saying this now?" you tease.
She bites your lip playfully, softly, and then says, "I know, I know- but we haven't gotten caught yet. I'd like to keep it that way. Besides," she lowers her voice to a purr, "if you fuck me I'm not going to be able to be quiet, and we definitely will get caught."
You freeze at her words, and then she's kissing your nose and gently guiding you off of her. She slips out of your cot and pauses only to shoot you a devious grin before climbing up to her own bed, and you swallow the lump in your throat, sighing in frustration as your head hits your pillow.
Two more days.
Fuck.
Today's the day.
You've finally reached the end of your training, and you can't believe you made it. You take a deep breath as you scrutinize your reflection in the mirror. You look flawless- or as flawless as you could get after months spent doing your eyebrows only under the cover of darkness, like someone who has a secret addiction to eating paper clips or something. You'd spent a good chunk of time in the bathroom the night before with Santana, as you'd both helped each other with your nails and eyebrows, and then again this morning, straightening your hair and applying the minimal makeup you'd been allowed to buy at the Exchange.
And now it's time.
You nervously smooth your hands down the front of your dress uniform, feeling your stomach fluttering with anticipation- not just for the ceremony, but for after. You'd been allowed to call your parents the night before, and you'd told them about the addition of Santana and her mom to your dinner plans. They'd been thrilled, but you're still nervous for them to meet Santana, and you're nervous to meet Santana's mom. Your parents are- well, they're eccentric, and everything with Santana is still so new- you don't want them to scare her away-
"Wow," Santana says softly from behind you, and you turn to meet her eyes, your breath hitching as you take in the sight of her in her dress uniform. Her dark hair is pulled up into a tight, professional ponytail, and her lips are shiny with gloss; you ache to kiss them as she moves closer, especially when you see her pull her bottom lip between her teeth.
"You look amazing, Britt," she says, then she smiles adoringly as she catches sight of your collar. You feel your cheeks heating up- you were struggling to put your SPECOPS pin on straight, but you couldn't get it to not look crooked, and you eventually gave up, hoping no one would notice.
But you should've known better- Santana notices everything.
"Here," she offers, gently reaching up to fix the pin, and you force yourself to remain calm as you're assulted with her scent and the warmth of her body, hyperaware of the feel of her fingers brushing against your neck as she finagles the pin on your collar. When she finishes, she smooths the collar back in place slowly, intimately, and you meet her eyes, feeling an intense tension pass between you. Your stomach clenches, she licks her lips; you look away.
"Are you nervous?" you ask, clearing your throat.
She nods. "Mmhm. But we've been preparing for this day for a long time." She smiles, and it makes your heart skip about a dozen beats.
"We made it, Britt."
/
Dinner is about as horrifying as you expected. Your parents don't stop talking about how amazing you were, even though you're pretty sure they couldn't even see you that well, since you were in the back of the entire division throughout basically the entire ceremony. Your mom insists on telling the most fantastical, embarassing stories of you from when you were not that much younger than you are now, but Santana doesn't seem to mind. Her mom watches in horrified fascination, and you feel real regret at her having to endure the trainwreck that is your parents.
You kind of wish your cat had shown up, instead.
Santana only smiles at you from behind the rim of her wine glass, seemingly enjoying being a witness to the torture your parents are burdening you with, but you don't really care all that much, as long as Santana is happy.
When it's over, your dad pays for everyone's meals- including Santana's and Mrs. Lopez's- so you feel marginally better that at least Santana and her mom didn't have to actually pay to suffer through their meal.
Santana offers to meet you back at the barracks, and you nod, missing her already once she gets into her mom's rental car, and you go back to the hotel with your parents. You love them, but you've spent your whole life with them already, so you're more than ready to spend some time apart from them- though, you hadn't really expected it would be so you could learn how to transform into a killing machine, but, everything happens for a reason-
After all, you met Santana.
You look at your cell phone- your parents had brought it with them- and notice you have a message from a new number, but one that you recognize, because Santana had given it to you hours before. You nearly choke when you read the filthy text message, and it's suddenly a million degrees hotter in the hotel room, and you feel stifled. You also suddenly have zero patience for anything happening around you, because your level of sexual frustration has reached saturation.
Fuck. You definitely were not expecting that.
After your parents ask you a million questions about boot camp, which you give the vaguest answers to- in between replying to Santana's dirty texts- they drive you back to the base so that you can pack. You hug them good-bye, and you feel actual sadness- you don't really know when you'll see them again, honestly- but the proud looks on their faces cheers you, and they left you with a picture of your cat to bring with you to SPECOPS training, so you don't let yourself stay down about it for long.
The compartment is a whirlwind of activity, with half of the girls already leaving for their next station, and the other half in the middle of packing, like you. You're about halfway done cramming all your uniforms into your issued canvas bag when Santana returns, and the air around you grows instantly thicker and more tense.
You try not to stare, to focus on packing, as she does the same beside you. You're both still in your dress uniforms- you'll be traveling in them- and the only thought in your head is the way Santana's uniform is going to look on the floor of your hotel room. In your mind you recall Santana's texts, playing them out in your brain, and-
It's an agonizing few hours.
/
You're barely through the door of the hotel room before you're roughly tugging off each other's uniforms. It's an urgent tangle of coats and ties- both taking just enough care not to rip your uniforms- and of heated kisses in between undoing buttons, because neither of you want to stop kissing each other long enough to properly undress. It's a chaotic process as you stumble to the bed in the center of the room, dropping various uniform items to the floor, eager to feel skin. Your fingers fly down your crisp, white dress shirt, and then you're slipping the article off your shoulders. You know you should take time to pick it up, to hang everything so it doesn't get wrinkly- after all, you both still have to report to your final duty station on the West coast- but you honestly don't think you can stop waging war with Santana's tongue long enough to do so.
Besides, hotels have irons. You'll be all right.
You give Santana approximately five more seconds to drag her black underwear down her thighs before you're pressing your fully naked body against her. You barely notice when you both hit the bed. You only know that you're spinning out of control, that you're flying, and that you don't want to stop.
Fuck going slow. You don't want to go slow. You can go slow when you fuck Santana again later- right now you want her.
She tugs at your hair and you slide an arm under her shoulders, keeping her close. Your right hand doesn't hesitate- you don't need any more foreplay. If Santana's reacting the way you are, she's ready; you suck in a breath as you reach her wetness, confirming what you already knew, and let it out as a groan, low in your throat. You'll explore later. You need something else.
You drive fingers into her and she gasps, spreading her legs for you. She's tight and warm and you suck a rough bruise onto her chest as you sink all the way in and she arches beneath you. You curl your fingers and search for only a moment before you find what you're looking for and Santana's digging blunt nails into your back. She tilts her head, her breath heavy, and wraps her toned legs arouns your waist, moaning as you begin to move in and out, hard and fast.
You kiss lower, resting your head on her stomach as you fuck her into oblivion, and she cries out in ecstacy, pleading.
"Fuck, Santana," you pant hotly against her abs, which are tense and quivering beneath your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut briefly before you slip your tongue out to lick across her skin, pressing deeper, pushing harder, feeling the pain of her vice grip on your shoulders.
"Oh, god- oh, fuck- Britt, I'm-"
You hold her tightly, bracing for when her body arched beneath you, and you feel her muscles tighten and release everywhere, and it's the hottest thing ever. You don't stop the relentless, intense pounding of your hand until she collapses to the bed, shuddering. Only then do you slow your pace, but you don't pull out. You kiss her trembling stomach with an open mouth, sliding your tongue out along her skin again, closing your eyes and breathing in her scent. You kiss lower. And lower. And then-
"F-Fuck, Britt..." Santana pushes up to her elbows, reaching to fondly run her fingers through your blonde hair, her chest heaving, her body still shaking slightly. Sweat covers her skin, making it shine in the low light of the one lamp you'd managed to turn on in your craze; she gazes down, watching you intently as you slowly and gently swipe your tongue over her throbbing clit, feeling her muscles jerk at the contact, at the pleasure you know is almost too intense.
But she doesn't stop you. You grin.
She continues to watch, humming lowly, her fingers playing with your hair, pulling lightly, affectionately, and it spreads heat through you, a slow burn that connects you intimately. You lick lower and she twitches, sucking in a sharp breath.
"Fuck, Britt," she repeats, and you don't tease- you dive in. You use the flat of your tongue, dipping the tip into her, swallowing her wetness, until she bucks her hips up a little, telling you that she's ready for more. You slide your wet right hand up her firm stomach to play with her nipples, and her head tilts back slightly, her mouth falling open.
But she doesn't break eye contact, and her hips don't stop pushing against your mouth.
You use a steady rhythm on her clit, licking up and down, and feel her body tensing again. Her breath shakes, grows heavy. Her hand tightens in your hair. You feel your chest growing tighter, your breath hitching
She's going to come in your mouth, and you want it so badly.
Too soon, she's arching again, her muscles tensing and her hips bucking up tightly. You swallow her release and press your lips to her trembling inner thigh, and she cups your cheek, stroking her thumb over it softly.
"Wow," she breathes shakily, and you smile before crawling back up her body to kiss her deeply. You grin against her lips and she laughs, embarrassed. "Don't judge me, Pierce- you know it's been a while-"
You silence her with a burning kiss, still grinning. "Don't worry, Lopez," you whisper against her lips. "I'll get your stamina back up."
She bites her lip, fighting a smile, and then she's kissing you again, sucking on your lip, on your tongue, making your sex ache with want so powerful it nearly hurts, and before you can think or process anything, you feel her left hand slide up your thigh to cup you between your legs.
You both release heavy breaths as you discover how wet you are, and her fingers waste no time before they curl up into you, and you're sinking against her, burying your face in her neck as she fucks the shit out of you. You bite her shoulder, and she whispers dirty things in your ear, and you're actually not sure you're even still alive because your body is strung so tight you think your soul floated away. You've never felt so intoxicated, it's never felt like this before, and you can't even find it in you to feel embarrassed when you come faster than Santana did, crying your release against her neck.
She holds you while you shake, and then she's kissing you, laughing, and you mumble shut up against her lips; she flips you onto your back, and she's inside you again, fucking you so good, and you know it's going to be a long, beautiful night.
/
"This is the place, Britt," Santana tells you as she strides inside your new barracks assignment. She drops her duffel on the kitchen floor and you follow her inside, glancing around. It's quaint, only big enough for two people.
But you definitely don't mind- you don't plan on having anyone else there, anyway.
"We really lucked out on our room," you say, and you're right. You and Santana being assigned to the same room is really coincidental and incredibly convenient- almost too much so. You wonder if Beiste said something, or one of the other Commanders-
"It's only right- once we start our third strand, we'll hardly see each other," Santana mentions, and you smile at her, moving to slide your arms around her waist and pull her close.
"Then we'd better make the most of it now," you purr before you lean in and kiss her, and she cups your face as you hold her closer.
You're still scared of the war. You're terrified you'll have to make too many hard decisions. You're scared that training will change you.
But you also know Santana will be there to remind you of who you are. She'll be there to help you with the hard decisions. She'll be there to make you feel brave. And you'll help her be strong.
You'll watch each other's backs... because you are each other's home now. You'll go wherever she goes.
Besides- someone has to help Santana with her boots.
EPILOGUE
You catch brown eyes from across the table- they're dark and fierce, guarded, and you hope your blue eyes aren't revealing too much as you scan your hand. You're not worried- you're actually extremely confident- but you don't want your companions to know that.
Santana sits back in her metal folding chair, her booted feet propped up in the chair next to her. Her black hair is down, spilling over her bare shoulders, and she's wearing a ratty black and gray digital camo ballcap adorned with the words USND SPECOPS in blazing silver low on her brow. It's sweltering, and she's down to just her gray tank top and black BDUs, her tanned skin shiny with a sheen of sweat.
You absently lick your lips, and you know Santana caught you staring when you see the corner of her mouth turn up in the barest smile. You grin inwardly and dig your boot into the dirt beneath it, trying to keep your cool until it's time.
You admit, you would've never pictured yourself holed up in a crappy tent in the middle of what your command calls The Wasteland- a desolate, blackened stretch of practically desert- with Santana and three guys two years ago, but you can't really picture your life any other way now. You've come to think of them as family- after all, you've been on this team with them for the last two years- training, saving each other's asses, patching each other up.
They were skeptical at first about having girls on the team, and Puck had tried to hit on both you and Santana, but you'd both proven your worth a million times over in the two years you'd been together. You've spent the last few weeks holed up in a scorching tent out in The Wasteland, awaiting the call that will cue your next mission, and it's been a lot of downtime- and a lot of fucking Santana.
Not that you mind.
The wilderness has been an interesting place to explore, and by explore, you mean find a place away from your buddies where you and Santana can have some privacy. You think there must've been a vast fire at one point, to make the earth so dark, but you don't know how to explain the inconsistent colors of the vegetation around you. You wonder if maybe the disease that started the war also infected the plants and wildlife- aaand you try not to think about it.
Puck draws a card beside you, then spits. "Fuck."
"Not what you were hoping for, eh, Noah?"
"Fuck off, Karofsky, let's see your fuckin' hand."
Karofsky smirks and lays his hand down on the table, and you can see that he doesn't have shit that will beat you.
"Three of a kind?" Puck moans. "What the fuck?" He slams his hand down to reveal that he has one pair and shit else.
"Sucks to suck," Karofsky laughs, and then they both look expectantly at Chang.
"Whatcha got, Chang-y?"
Chang, keeping his straight face, sets his hand carefully down, and Puck and Karofsky both sputter when they see it- a Straight.
You meet Santana's eyes as the boys gripe and complain, and she grins at you before she clears her throat, and Puck suddenly looks afraid.
"Don't fuckin' tell me-"
Santana triumphantly tosses her hand on the pile, and you scan it. Not a threat- but, you're proud of her hand. She did really well.
"A Full House? Are you fuckin' kidding me?"
"She's cheating, bro, she's gotta be-"
"I was waiting forever for that fuckin' Queen!"
Santana only laughs and repeats Karofsky's earlier line, "Sucks to suck." She looks at you and jerks her head, and you can't help the way your heart skips a beat at the guyish move. "Britt?"
Expertly containing your confident grin, you carefully set your cards down, waiting a few seconds for the realization to settle in-
"No FUCKIN' way!" Puck shrieks at your Royal Flush.
"Every damn time," Chang mutters, shaking his head. Santana doesn't look surprised, only pleased and proud, and you feel warmth spread through you at the thought that you both kind of root for each other.
"How the fuck?" Karofsky demands, and you only shrug as you scoop the pile of money and random items towards you, catching Santana's eyes. Some of her money is in there, and one of her lucky rings- but it's not like she won't get it back, anyway. You share everything with her, after all.
You might make her beg for it, later, though...
"These fuckin' females, man, I swear..."
"Puck, don't blame the chicks, dude, you fuckin' play cards like a blind geriatric."
"Geriatric? Who the fuck taught you to speak, asshole?"
"Again, B?" Santana grins, shaking her head in amusement, and snapping you out of your filthy thoughts on how Santana's going to earn her ring back. "That brain of yours-" She reaches across the table to muss your hair, and you snatch her ballcap from her head and put it on, mimicing her by pulling it low over your eyes with a smile, and Santana bites her lip.
The crude phone you'd set up for communications rings, surprising everyone- it's been days since you'd heard anything, but you have an idea what this phone call means. Chang, your commy, stands to answer it, and he's on the phone for less than 20 seconds before he hangs up; when he does, everyone's eyes are instantly on him expectantly.
"We're go for Tango Tac Seven," he says, and Puck mutters a finally before he scoots his chair back. It scrapes against a rock, and you flinch at the harsh grating sound.
Carelessly, you climb to your feet, snatching up your gear, your tactical vest, and your pack, which is strewn in various places around your seat. Once you're loaded up, with your TAC COM radio settled into your ear, you turn to Santana, who's slinging the black strap of her automatic rifle over her shoulder.
"Ready?"
She smirks. "As I'll ever be."
You lean forward to press a brief kiss to her lips, but she grabs your vest and tugs you closer, deepening it; Puck and Karofsky catcall behind you, and you offer them the finger behind your back as Santana's tongue slips against yours.
You pull back, your heart racing, and smile. You adjust your gear one more time, licking your lips, and take a deep breath. You steal one last glance at Santana. "Got my six?"
"Always, Britt. Always."
And that's a wrap! :D
Thanks for reading!
Review if you want to tell me what you hated or loved, but if not, then stand by to stand by! XD
And for those of you waiting for a Savage! update, it's being worked on! Soon, my lovelies!
/
AND NOW A WORD FROM ~PETTY OFFICER SAFETY:
DON'T HAVE SEX IN BOOT CAMP.
EVER.
It's not a good idea unless you WANT to get kicked out, but nobody wants to call their mama and tell them they're not in the military no more because they got caught fucking some bitch in their division. Right?
Besides, bruhh, you're only allowed to shave once a week and you take 4 minute showers.
Let that sink in.
Okay, I think I've proved my point. DON'T FUCKING DO IT!
And that's all I have to say about that!
STAY SAFE AND PLAY SAFE! 8D~
See you soon!
