Brittany's in Santana's house's front garden. Right now she's weeding the flower beds, which is actually Santana's job, but her little mouse is too weak to do it. She landed flat on her back the first time she tried. HBIC her ass.
Speaking of Santana, where the hell is she? She's supposed to be showering praises and kisses on her as Brittany saves her from the wrath of Maribel.
She stands up and wipes the sweat off her brow. The flower bed's about 80% weed-free. That should be good enough. She takes off her gloves and washes her hands with the tap near the front porch steps. She's feeling really dirty by now, and not in the wanky way, and she really, really wants to take a shower. Hopefully one for two.
But the problem remains: where is her girlfriend?
Brittany goes up and takes off her boots before going inside. She checks the living room, the kitchen, the closet under the stairs, the bathrooms, and every single bedroom. She even calls Santana's name out once or twice. No luck. She must be in the back.
Brittany walks out into the patio, and she hears something.
"Oh god, yes, there, ahhhhh. Yes—oh—mhhhmmmm."
She moves forward quietly, and yes, the sound's from Santana. She sees her, and she's wearing a sports bra and barely-there denim shorts; she's barefoot and her hair is everywhere, and it would have been so hot, except for one thing.
Her.
Girlfriend.
Is.
Making.
Out.
With.
A.
Shrub.
The plant is tall and lean, just like Brittany, and Santana's legs are wrapped around it midway and her hands are pulling the shoulder-like branches, just like what she does with Brittany.
But that isn't Brittany.
Brittany doesn't know whether to laugh out loud or be insulted.
Doesn't she satisfy her enough?
"God babe, when did you get so good—fuck, have you been going to a school or—"
"Oh my god, Santana?"
"Brittany?"
Santana's legs lose hold and she falls on her ass. She jumps to her feet, and Brittany notices leaves all over her hair, and—oh god—some in her mouth.
"Britt, this isn't what it looks like, oh my go—"
"So you weren't making out with a shrub?"
Brittany tries to hold on to her poker face, but it's hard because her girlfriend is blushing like a tomato, even though she says ethnic people can't blush, and she's all flustered and stuttering and it takes all of Brittany's willpower not to take her into her arms and kiss her right there and then.
"I—oh god—B, I'm so sorry, but, ugh, you were so sweaty and just so hot in my overalls, but, like, you were working on my chore and I knew I couldn't jump on you, but, ugh, I was so frustrated and—"
Brittany loses it. She kisses her mouth shut.
"Shhhh, I get it. But, oh god San, when you told Ms Holiday I thought you were joking."
Brittany sees Santana blush harder, if that's possible.
"So," Brittany smirks, "how many times have you done this before?"
Santana looks down and mumbles, "Once. Or Twice."
A small laugh escapes Brittany's lips.
"Shut up."
"Hey, I'm not the one who cheated on my girlfriend with a shrub."
"I—I'm sorry Brittbritt."
Santana's still looking at her feet. Brittany shakes her head and smiles.
"Nay, it's okay my little mouse. Now let's go clean us up."
Brittany takes her hand and leads her back inside.
"Do you forgive me B?"
Brittany kisses her cheek, "Duh. Just as long as you stop sexing the shrub."
"Promise."
"Or brushing with the bush."
"I—"
"Or tangoing with the topiary."
"Britt—"
"Or gallivanting with the greenery."
"Brittany!"
"Okay, okay, I'll stop."
Brittany grins wider and squeezes the hand in hers tighter. She thanks the universe for finally getting them together.
"Whaddya think your BreadStiX will say about this though?"
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