The world is over but I don't care
'Cause I am with you
Now I've got to explain
Things, they have changed
In such a permanent way
Life seems unreal
Can we go back to your place?
Santana's world was over. Her best chance to wipe that superior smirk off that bitch Berry's face was gone. As she picked the lock on her dad's liquor cabinet with practiced hands, she reflected on the Troubletone's performance that night, replaying every detail in her mind, every harmony and every step, until she couldn't focus on anything anymore.
This was my chance. To prove to everyone that I was a star. To prove to Brittany that I was a star. And now it's all gone to hell.
Santana fished a half-full bottle of tequila out of the back of the cabinet (her dad's least favorite, he'd never miss it) and retreated back to her room, not even shutting the door completely before she settled on the floor, her back against the cool wood of the bed frame. Her parents were out of town at some kind of medical conference in Chicago where her dad was speaking or something; not that being home alone was a rare occurrence for her. After all, how do you think I got so popular?, she muses. Lots of free time and a liquor cabinet with a cheap lock, that's how.
Raising the bottle to her lips, she closed her eyes as the smoky amber liquid slid down her throat. She resisted the urge to cough as the familiar burn settled in the back of her throat, and resumed her thoughts of Sectionals. Of course New Directions would find a way to outshine her. Of course. Even without Berry, they managed to make Santana look like a fool. She was sure Brittany hated her for suggesting that they leave New Directions and join the Troubletones. She was sure that Brittany hated her for being such a failure. She was pretty sure the world was over, and she was certain that the tequila was helping her not care as much.
She was just contemplating getting up to change out of her Sectionals costume (these goddamned sequins itch something awful) when she heard a tap on her window. Getting up to see what it was proved a challenge; the tequila seemed to have evaporated into a cloud inside her head. Shaking herself a bit, Santana made it over to peek through the blinds, only to find herself face-to-face with the one person she had been so sure hated her right now. Brittany.
The blonde was tapping on the glass of the window, talking away happily as if Santana could hear her through the panes. Santana heaved a sigh, her breath fogging the window as she pulled the cord to raise the blinds. Brittany still chattered on as Santana set the bottle of tequila on the windowsill and pried the window open with both hands, swearing as she felt one of her nails break.
"… but I knew he wasn't a real clown because he told me that I smelled pretty and everyone knows that clowns can't smell because of the disease that makes their noses swell up and go all red," Brittany finished, as a rush of early autumn air invaded the space between them. Santana looked at Brittany, and again at the driveway, wondering how she hadn't heard the other girl drive up. Oh, that's right. Tequila.
"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be mad at me after my grand plans failed so miserably," Santana said, her tone biting and bitter, like the tequila on her breath.
"What plans? You have plans, too? Like, for a building?"
"No, Britt. My plan to show all of McKinley just how amazing we are. My plan to show the New Directions that Santana Lopez is meant for way more than signing backup for Off-Off-Broadway Barbara and Gay Hair Model." Santana sighs again, retrieving the bottle from the windowsill and taking a long swig.
Brittany hoists herself up onto the windowsill, swinging her legs onto the floor and closing the window behind her in one smooth motion. Santana can never get over how graceful she is; her eyes graze up Brittany's legs and settle on her hips, watching them sway as Brittany reaches to close the blinds. Santana licks her lips, the pleasant tequila fog lifting just enough for one thought to get through – God, Santana, drunk you is such a creep. You're like a sober Puck.
Brittany turns around to face Santana, a slightly confused look in her eyes. "But Tana, you are amazing. Nothing can change that. And being in the Troubletones with you was fun, sure, but you should know that it would take a lot more than losing Sectionals to make me mad at you." As she finishes, the taller girl crosses the remaining space between them and slips one arm around Santana's waist, the other hand extricating the nearly empty bottle from the brunette's grip. "I love you."
Tears prick in the corners of Santana's eyes as she leans into Brittany's embrace. "I just wanted everyone to notice me for once – for something good. Not just for being popular, or easy, or a dyke, or a bitch. I wanted everyone to see that I am just as good as Berry, as anyone."
"But baby, you are. I noticed." Brittany places her finger underneath Santana's chin, encouraging her to lift her head and face her – "I always notice." She gently brushes away the one tear that managed to escape, dragging the pad of her thumb along Santana's cheek bone.
Santana sniffs once, twice, and then raises up on her toes just enough to capture Brittany's mouth in a kiss. It's sweet at first, soft and gentle, and neither girl is sure whose tongue seeks claim first. Brittany can taste the salt and smoke of the tequila, and a small moan escapes into Santana's mouth as her tongue runs across the brunette's full bottom lip.
Hands begin to wander, and Santana's swirl beneath the hem of Brittany's t-shirt, skating along the waist of her jeans, fingers counting out each bump in her spine as they travel upwards, until she is pulling Brittany's t-shirt over her head before quickly removing her sequined Sectionals dress (finally).
Brittany pulls away, just for a moment, and leads Santana to the bed, the bottle of tequila still clutched in her hand. She rests the bottle on the nightstand, and reaches around to unsnap Santana's blue lace bra. "Lie back," she whispers, as she tosses the slip of lace aside and reaches again for the bottle, settling beside Santana on the bed. Squinting slightly, she tilts the bottle, checking to see how much of its contents remained. "Looks like you had quite a bit of fun without me… Guess I'll have to fix that."
She takes a long swig, raising herself up on one elbow to face Santana. She tilts the bottle again, this time just enough to release a small stream of the amber liquid into the hollow of the other girl's collarbone. Santana hisses at the cool feel of the alcohol, but it is soon replaced with the warmth of the blonde's mouth, lapping the tequila from her skin. Brittany tilts the bottle again, allowing rivulets of tequila to run down Santana's chest, pooling in her belly button. She follows the path with her tongue, lingering to place a kiss on the underside of each of the girl's breasts. Santana's breath hitches as Brittany's tongue laves her stomach, "Fuck, Britt."
Brittany swings one of her long legs over the girl, settling her knees of either side of Santana's hips and leaning down to claim her lips again. This kiss is rougher, and the salt of Santana's skin and the smoke of the tequila seem to deepen the pleasant fog settling in both girls' minds. Brittany breaks the kiss to run a trail of nips down Santana's neck before abandoning the now empty bottle to bring her hands to Santana's breasts. She takes a nipple between her fingers, teasing it to a point before capturing the smooth brown bud between her lips as Santana begins to whine. A little too tipsy to play coy, Santana bucks her hips against her girlfriend's, trying to take up some kind of friction, but Brittany lifts her hips just enough to deprive her. She lifts her head, fixing her gaze on Santana's flushed face, and trails a hand down the smooth plane of her stomach, stopping to dip a finger into the waistband of the girl's thin panties.
"Fuck," Santana whimpers again, her hands scrabbling against her comforter as her hips buck again, "Please, Britt." The blonde girl lifts her weight off the bed, sliding to the floor and settling between Santana's spread knees. She pauses to admire the growing patch of wetness on the lace of the girl's underwear before easing them off and tossing them aside. Brittany wraps her hands around Santana's hips and slides her closer to the edge of the bed. She trails a single finger up the inside of Santana's thigh, relishing the slickness she finds. She stops just before she reaches Santana's center, teasing, and continues her meandering path back down the other thigh.
"Promise that next time you won't get drunk without me?" she wheedles. Santana props herself up on her elbows and looks down at Brittany, one eyebrow arched. "You keep doing what you're doing, and I'll promise you I'll never get drunk again." Brittany laughs lightly, a musical sort of sound, and replies, "Not necessary, Tana. Just remember me next time you pick the lock, okay? Because come on, you have to admit I am pretty fun to get drunk with."
With that, she replaces her finger with her lips, and begins a journey of light kisses up the side of Santana's knee. Santana leans her head back again, a sigh escaping her lips as her eyes fall closed and one hand works its way into Brittany's hair. Brittany can smell salt and smoke and tang, but it's not the tequila this time; it's her. She places a gentle kiss against Santana's folds, darting her tongue out to taste her again, and settles a finger at her center. As she slides it inside, she finds Santana's clit with her tongue, kneading small, slow circles as she builds a steady rhythm. She can feel Santana's muscles begin to tense, her breathing becoming ragged as small sounds of pleasure escape her mouth. Brittany smiles against her beautiful pussy as she adds another finger, building up speed, drunk on her noises and her taste and the tequila and her. Always her.
Brittany can feel Santana's pussy tightening around her fingers, the brunette's noises long since developed into a near-constant stream of curses and cries. She wraps her lips around Santana's clit, sucking hard as she drives her fingers into the deepest part of her and holds them there as Santana comes apart around them, her back arching off the bed and her hand tightening in Brittany's hair, her nails scratching her scalp. As Brittany waits for Santana to float back down to earth, she feathers kisses along her thighs before straightening up to rejoin Santana on the bed. The brunette rolls over to her side, looking into Brittany's eyes. "You know," she says, still slightly out of breath, "You are pretty fun to get drunk with."