Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
It was Brittany and Santana's weekly movie night, and this week it was the dark haired girl's turn to choose a movie. She had a certain one in mind.
You see, Santana loved to cuddle Brittany; it was her favourite thing to do with her blonde dancer. Even better - but repeat this and she will hunt you down and cut you - than sex. Although...
The person occupying her thoughts came back into the room with popcorn, and slowed down as she reached her girlfriend.
'She's drooling a little bit... Oh My God! She's having a STROKE! Think Brittany!'
Unfortunately for Santana, according to Brittany, the cure for a stroke was to slap the victim hard across the face.
"OW! OW OW OW OW! Mother eff! Why Britt? Why?" Santana cried, rubbing her sore cheek, more than a little confused because a few seconds before, Brittany had less clothes on, and her hand was occupied on a very different body part then her face.
Realising she was zoning out again, she quickly snapped back to reality, where the blonde was winding her hand back for another slap.
Santana quickly caught her arm, and was again confused when she found herself tumbling back onto the sofa, landing awkwardly in a position that could probably be found in one of Sue Sylvester's light reading books such as, 'Torture – Isn't it Fun?'
No word of a lie.
She saw it on the bookshelf in her office.
Although she wasn't complaining about her position when seconds later, Brittany landed on top of her with a thud, and then proceeded to wrap her arms tightly round Santana.
"Oh my God San! I thought you were DYING!"
The Latina is an expert at decoding the riddle that is Brittany Susan Pierce. She should write a frickin' book or something. But at this point, she was stumped.
"Umm... Why?" She asked, honestly curious and a little scared of the answer.
"Well, I came back in and you were drooling a little bit and your eyes were sorta blank. So – obviously – I thought you were having a stroke, so I slapped you." The blonde explained slowly, as if Santana was a crazy who had recently escaped from somewhere locked and padded.
The dark haired girl blinked.
And then she blinked again.
She decided to store that little incident in the overflowing filing cabinet in her brain, marked 'Brittany – Just why?' In this cabinet lurks the time that Brittany decided that a bear in the zoo looked unhappy, so she tried to climb the fence and give it a hug. There was also the time that she decided that Lord Tubbington was lonely, so she 'borrowed' (see: stole) 17 cats and took them to her room.
Have you ever tried to get your mack on with 18 pairs of eyes staring at you, unblinking?
Heads up; don't bother.
Especially when some of those cats are on heat, and they decide that they wanna go. If watching Lord Tubbington practically crush a poor, defenceless tabby in an effort to pass on his fondue-lovin genes isn't a mood killer, Santana doesn't know what is.
It is the very opposite of sexy.
Like Finnocence.
She snickered inwardly, giving herself a mental high five (she's not a dork; she just appreciates her genius, and likes to reward it).
Brittany rolled off her girlfriend, tilting her head curiously as she muttered things about bears, cats, getting her mack on (how those 3 are linked she doesn't know), and finally smirks proudly, like she'd just insulted someone.
And people say that Brittany is the crazy one.
"Sooooo... What we gonna watch?" The dancer snapped the Latina out of her internal celebration.
"Umm, 'Saw'. We haven't seen it before and I thought it'd be cool." Santana figured that when Brittany gets scared, she would cuddle into her for protection.
"Sure!" The blonde responded enthusiastically, bouncing on the sofa happily.
Santana untangled herself and walked over to the TV, sliding in the disk and then hastily returning to Brittany, immediately sliding in between the dancer and the sofa.
As the film began, a terrifying thought drifted through her mind:
'Shit, I hate Clowns...'
This was not the way she pictured she would be spending her Saturday night with her girlfriend. She envisioned holding Brittany in her arms, being all protective and badass.
There is nothing less badass than jumping so much that she actually fell backwards over the back of the chair.
She also squealed.
Squealed...
She was hiding her head in the crook of Brittany's neck, attempting to calm down, when she felt her girlfriend shake.
The dancer had begun to shudder so much that Santana lifted her head to see what was wrong.
Brittany was laughing.
She hoped it wasn't at the movie because that could mean that she had fallen in love with some sort of psycho sadist who got off on blood.
Yes, Santana will get kinky for Britt.
Just not that kinky.
It was only a second before she realised that Brittany was giggling at her.
The dark haired girl pouted.
Now the blonde was outright laughing.
The Latina was interrupted in her pity party by a scream from the screen. She jumped, and then grumbled incoherently, pouting and burrowing into Brittany's neck.
"Aw, San! You're so cute!" The dancer beamed, pulling her girlfriend closer and wrapping her arms around her like a protective shield.
The Latina looked up, "Cute isn't really the angle I was going fo-AAAHHH!" Once again, the girl screamed and pulled herself closer to Brittany, who chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, running her fingers through dark, wavy locks of hair soothingly.
"San... San... SAN!"
"Huh, what?" The brunette looked up – startled – having fallen asleep part way through the movie, listening to the blondes' heartbeat.
"The movie's over silly! But it's only 11, so it's still early for us" The girl responded.
Santana nodded at this. Usually, their movie nights lasted until at least 3 in the morning, with them watching films until about 12 or 1-ish, and then doing other things until the early hours.
She smirked, her mind drifting back to earlier, pre-slap.
She wound her arms around Brittany's neck. The blonde also began to smirk as she realised where this was leading.
They locked eyes, darkening blue staring deeply into deep brown, and the brunette pulled the fair haired girl encouragingly down towards her. Their lips finally met, and they immediately began brushing together, softly at first, but becoming more and more passionate.
Brittany gently rested her body on top of her girlfriend, moaning slightly when she felt a tongue sliding across her bottom lip. Opening her mouth slightly, she allowed the Latinas tongue to gently stroke her own, both of them whimpering at the feeling.
They pulled apart gasping, and the dancer rested her head on Santana's shoulder, trying to take in oxygen so she didn't faint.
They stayed there for a few minutes, holding each other, until Brittany spoke up:
"San, I'm sorry I didn't let you hold me."
The Latina frowned, confused.
The blonde continued, "I know that you picked that film so that you could be all protective and stuff, but I feel bad that you didn't get to do that." She explained - brow furrowed in what looked to Santana like guilt.
"Britt, it's okay, honestly babe." She felt her girlfriend smile at the term of endearment, "I loved that you were all tough and badass for a change, I felt safe." She finished gently.
Brittany beamed a toothy grin, happy that she was able to do that for Santana.
A mischievous glint then appeared in her eyes.
"Hey San, I see all that Cheerios training has pulled off."
The brunette narrowed her eyes, suspicious, "Why?"
"Because that was a perfect back flip that you did over the back of the sofa before..."
"Shut up!"