So basically, I love the Fourth of July, and shockingly, I had some feelings. Enjoy Brittana celebrating the holiday, and if you're American, enjoy celebrating it yourself! Also, just a note, in my head, this takes place in the same timeline as No Matter Where In the Sky, so post-season 5, post-Brittancedes mall tour.
The bright sun streaming through the big windows of our bedroom in the rental house on Fire Island woke me earlier than I would have liked, but as I stand naked in front of said windows, looking out at the bright blue ocean before me, I'm glad we decided to take this trip, take this week away from the sweltering heat of the city and our tiny studio apartment, glad, even, that I'd agreed to partake in a house share with Rachel Berry and her harem of Broadway performers (even if she does have a knack for knocking at the most inopportune times). It's peaceful in our bedroom, the biggest one in the house, bigger, actually, than our entire apartment in Manhattan, and as I watch the waves lap against the shore, I feel content, the sound of the ocean never failing to remind me of the early days of our new beginnings, the sense of completeness that being with Santana never fails to bring me. When I hear the sheets rustle on the bed behind me, I turn slowly and am greeted with crinkled brown eyes, Santana's morning eyes, shaded from the sunlight by her hand. When she smiles, I smile back, that special smile, only for her, and no matter how many mornings we wake up together, no matter the apartment we share back in the city, it's impossible for me to not be forever grateful for every single waking hour with the gorgeous girl of my every dream.
A nearly imperceptible arch of Santana's eyebrow summons me back to our bed, and I crawl over her, capturing her lips in a lazy morning kiss. She sighs into my mouth, so sated, so happy, and I press my forehead against hers, communicating without words just how much I share her sentiments. When my bare nipples brush against the cotton of the sheet that haphazardly covers Santana, I'm reminded of just how little separates me from the the naked woman I love, and suddenly, I realize that even though it's only been mere hours since we'd finished our last round of lovemaking, I need to have her again, need to press my lips to every inch of sleep-warm skin, need to feel her body hum with pleasure beneath mine. The darkening of Santana's eyes tell me that she knows without words what I'm thinking, and though anyone else would miss it, I can see just the slightest curl of a smirk at the edges of her mouth.
"I love you." I murmur into her skin, as my lips linger at the hollow of her throat, feeling the thrum of her heartbeat against them, recalling for me the pulsating beam of the lighthouse we'd walked hand in hand to at sunset last night, like an omnipresent call toward home.
"I love you too." She whispers back, her pulse quickening beneath my mouth at her own words. "And I love that it's the first thing you tell me every morning."
"For the rest of our lives." I promise her, feeling, for some reason, even cheesier than I normally do when I first wake up.
Slowly, I peel back the sheet that covers her, revealing the beautiful expanse of skin, the body that I swear sometimes might be one of an actual goddess, and I kiss her shoulder, slightly pinked from the sun, before dragging my teeth across her collarbone and down to the space between her perfect breasts. When I take a dark nipple between my lips, I feel her fingers weave through my tangled hair, and a low rumbling begins in her chest. Lifting my eyes to meet hers, I'm greeted with my favorite combination of adoration and want, and I take my time where I am, savoring each and every taste of her skin. My hands wander on their own, caressing her cheeks, running down her side, creating contrasting sensations on her body, making her buck and wriggle with every touch, every kiss. Eventually, I move lower, kissing each rib, her flat stomach, and eliciting a tickling shiver when I dip my tongue quickly into her naval. Her thumb has taken to rubbing against my cheek, and I know she's doing so in an effort not to tighten her grip on my hair (though I won't mind if she does, I never mind if she does) as I suck and nip at the skin that covers her protruding hipbone, and move lower, lower, just above where she needs me the most.
When I finally reach her center, I nudge her thighs further apart, bearing her fully to me, and smile up at her as a tiny squeak escapes past the lips she's sucked inside her mouth when I kiss up the inside of each tanned thigh. She's begging without words, her need apparent in flushed cheeks and watering eyes, and when I bring my mouth down upon her, the wetness there only serves to confirm it. My lips wrap around her sensitive bundle of nerves, and her hand fists my hair, entirely giving up trying not to. It's what I love the most about making love to Santana, how her typically tight control snaps, and she becomes entirely unabashed in her desires. I know that she's needy for more, and I press the palms of my hands flat against her hips, holding her to the bed as I work my tongue inside of her. Her thighs squeeze inward, bracketing my ears as early tremors dance in the muscles there, and I slow down, wanting to let her build slower, wanting her to smolder and ache, because the end result will be so much better for her if she does, resulting in a high pitched whine from above me.
Soothing her, I remove my hands from her hips and trail the tips of my fingers down the tops of her thighs, reminding her in my own way that I know what she needs, that I know how to make her feel good, much in the same way she knows me. Slower than before, I resume my ministrations, twisting my tongue, searching deep within her, before removing it and attending to the rest of her sex. When I look up at Santana's upper half again, her right hand, the one that isn't currently full of my hair, is squeezing her own breast as her back arches ever so slightly off the bed and her eyes struggle to stay open, struggle to watch me. She's told me before, in whispers brushed against swollen lips, that there's something beautiful in it's own right about the sight of me creating magic between her legs, and she can't help but just watch me every time, even if her eyes have other plans. She is beautiful, it's indescribable what it does to me, watching her watch me have this effect on her body, and I feel such an intense surge of love for her. Needing to touch her in a different way, I reach up to lace the fingers of one hand with hers on her breast, squeezing with her, for her, as her extremities begin to jelly.
"Oh, Brittany, baby, please." She croaks, her words more of a prayer than a plead, and I know she's ready, know that I can let her go, know that I'll be there to catch her as she plummets.
"Come for me, honey." I breathe into her, flicking my tongue against her one last time as her body goes rigid, rising up off the bed with a loud, shuddering gasp and the string of jumbled almost-words I've long grown accustomed to hearing.
I don't immediately lift my head from it's place, instead I let my tongue make slow, massaging strokes, prolonging the intense orgasm that overtakes her body, before helping her come back down. When she crumbles on the now damp sheets, I move swiftly up her body, catching her up in my arms, letting my fingers run up and down her sides. It's one of my favorite things, the aftermath of Santana's orgasms, the way she clings to my back, the way she buries her sweating face in my neck, mouthing I love you's into my skin. I cradle her close to me, the way I always do, and pressed bare chest to bare chest, I feel her heartbeat and her breathing as they begin to slow. I kiss her forehead, her fluttering eyelids, the apples of her cheeks, red and tight from her conviction that she doesn't need sunscreen, and finally her lips. When she finally recovers, she makes to move on top of me, but I grip her wrist, stilling her motions as she gives me an inquisitive look.
"Later." I tell her, assuring her that for the time being, just making her feel like that has sated me. "It's getting late, and we should get in the shower before-" A rap, rap, rap on the door interrupts my words, and Santana and I simultaneously roll our eyes. "Julie the cruise director shows up with our daily schedule."
"She hates that you call her that." Santana laughs, pecking the corner of my mouth.
"I know she does. Why do you think I love doing it so much? I also think it's weird that she has two gay dads and she's never watched Loveboat."
"I kind of like that she hasn't. I think it's better that it's our thing, that we watched it on Nick At Night with your parents on Pierce family nights in high school." She smiles, so genuine in her appreciation for the things no one else would believe she really cared about. I love that about her, love that she can quote Loveboat and really bad black and white horror movies, because being part of those nights with my family were always so important to her.
"Santana! Brittany!" A shrill voice rings out. "I know you're awake in there, and it's time to celebrate our nation's independence from the oppressive monarchy of Great Britain. In honor of our forefathers, I've prepared a festive breakfast of red, white and blue pancakes that I'm expecting everyone to get up and share with me."
"Go away, Julie!" I call out, and Santana erupts in a fit of giggles that make me follow suit as we hear Rachel huffing behind the door.
"Berry, did you and Lady Hummel fall asleep watching America: the Story of Us on the History Channel last night? Because I've never known you to be even remotely patriotic. The Fourth of July is Britt's favorite holiday, and I think we're doing a fine job of celebrating it in here." She calls out, and then mouths to me even better than fireworks.
"But it's breakfast time, you know how I feel about breakfast being a precursor to a successful day."
"Let's just eat her pancakes." I suggest, and Santana shrugs, knowing that she'll eventually concede to her anyway, since we do have to eat. She's a good friend, probably the most loyal I've ever met, and now that Rachel has finally stopped treating her like crap, I find it the most endearing thing in the world how much Santana cares for her, even if I don't much care for her myself.
"May as well, especially because she did help me with the big exciting thing I have planned for us today. Just us, no spontaneously bursting into song, no vegan hotdogs, no lessons on American history."
"Seriously?" My eyebrows shoot up excitedly, and Santana gives me a wide, dimply grin.
"Seriously. I have a big surprise for you, Miss Pierce, one I think you'll love a whole lot."
"Well if you planned it, I'm sure I will." I hug her closer to me. "What is it?"
"Britt." She whines a little. "Don't ask me, you know I'll end up telling, because I suck at keeping secrets from you, and then it won't be a surprise."
"Breakfast is getting cold, and there's nothing worse than cold pancakes!"
"We're coming!" Santana calls out, and I hear the silent wanky that follows it. "Just give us a few minutes to take a shower, unless you want us at your breakfast table smelling like awesome sex."
"Ugh." Rachel groans, for probably the hundredth time already. "Must you be so crass, Santana?"
"Wouldn't be me if I wasn't, Berry."
After a quick shower together, where it takes a lot of effort on both of our parts not to touch one another, we dress in the bikinis we'd bought for the holiday, hers with red and white stripes, mine navy with white stars, and cover ourselves before heading down to the kitchen. Of course, Rachel is well aware that we never come down when called, and has actually just started cooking the pancakes when we arrive at the table, followed not far behind by Tully and Michele, members of the Funny Girl cast, who Santana knows from her brief stint as Rachel's understudy, and who are actually pretty tolerable. Kurt, who's actually pretty put together, in spite of his recent breakup with Blaine, stands dutifully beside Rachel, plating the pancakes (which I'm not really sure how she made red, white and blue, but I'm nervous to ask and be subjected to her long winded explanation) and setting them down before each of us. I desperately try not to inhale the food in front of me, but it's sort of impossible with all the excitement that's bubbling inside of my chest, and when Santana asks me to go pack our beach bag while she steps outside to make a call, I feel like it's entirely possible that I'll actually explode.
When Santana finally announces that we're ready to leave, and slips her hand in mine so she can lead me on her walk, she's intentionally silent, but years of speaking the secret language of Santana Lopez has taught me to read even to the smallest twitch in her body language. The way the heels of her flip flops barely touch the ground as we walk along the wooden walkway tell me she's excited, the way her hips shimmy just so tells me that she's so proud of herself for actually pulling her surprise off, and the way her eyes dance tell me that she knows that whatever it is she has planned, I'm going to absolutely love it. I can't help but grin adoringly at her before pressing a kiss to her exposed shoulder, letting her know just how much I appreciate whatever it is she has planned, even before knowing what it is, and she squeezes my hand just a little tighter, tugging me along just a little bit faster, until we're standing in front of the restaurant where we'd had dinner on our first night. I'm not sure what Santana is doing as she scans her eyes over the boats docked in the marina, but when she finds what she's looking for, she tugs me again, and then stops, nodding to herself in some kind of affirmation.
"So, do you want to spend our Fourth of July on a boat?" She asks me, shifting her weight between feet, like she's suddenly nervous.
"You know it's on my list of things to do before I'm twenty-five." I sigh wistfully. "But I don't think we're just allowed to take the boats here."
"This one we are." She points to the one in front of us and grins so wide that she looks like she's five years old and has just been given the world's biggest ice cream cone, the same look that crosses her face every time she does something that she thinks will make me happy, every time I do something that makes her happy. "My dad has some doctor friend who owns a house here, but he like, never comes, and some young kid just keeps the boat clean for him while it sits unused in the water. He owed my Papi a favor, so he called it in for me."
"Wow." I breathe, in absolute awe of my incredible girlfriend.
"I know, my father knows a guy for everything. I swear, I should have become a doctor for all of the favors."
"You're not going to need favors after the album drops, and we're this super famous power couple." I tell her, and I watch the way her face changes at the mention of the album she and Mercedes have been so hard at work on, watch as a different kind of smile spreads across her face, the one she gets only when she remembers that even for her, sometimes dreams really do come true.
"I can't wait, baby. So what do you think? Ready to go?"
"Of course I am." I bounce on my toes, and then quickly snatch her up in my arms to give her a huge kiss right on the dock. "Thank you, Santana. This is really, really special."
Santana climbs aboard the boat with a practiced ease, and when she extends a hand to me, I give her a quizzical look, knowing there's more to this boat story than she's letting on. Sheepishly, she confesses that she's been taking the bus to Staten Island (the bus, to Staten Island, over an hour each way, she seriously is amazing) for boating lessons because she's cautious and thoughtful, and she'd never dream of driving a boat without having some kind of basic training to do so. I can't stop smiling at her as she unlocks the tiny cabin and climbs down inside, remerging in a bright yellow life vest and holding one out for me as well.
"Just while we're moving." She explains, opening the vest so I can slide my arms in. "I had to watch this horrible safety video, and I just…I want to make sure nothing happens to you."
"Thank you." I say for the dozenth time, letting her buckle and tighten the straps on the vest, and I kiss her forehead tenderly. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I can already tell, this is going to be the best Fourth of July ever."
"That's the plan, Britt. Let's do this."
After untying the ropes that tether the boat to the dock and very impressively winding them up again, Santana surveys the deck, clearly going through one of her mental checklists to make sure she's not forgetting anything. As she takes her place in her seat and adjusts her huge sunglasses, it becomes apparent how nervous Santana is, how tight her shoulders are, even beneath her life jacket, and she fumbles a little with the keys before sliding them into the ignition. She glances over her shoulder at me, who sits patiently off to the side, and I try not to stare at her, because I know it will make her more of a wreck. I give her a soft, reassuring smile, letting her know that I trust her fully, that I have all the faith in the world that she knows what she's doing, and though the muscles in her upper body don't fully relax, they do soften just slightly. When we're out of the crowded marina and on the open water of the Great South Bay, that's when Santana calms down a little, and that's when I feel comfortable standing and walking over to her, leaning over to rest my chin on her shoulder and my hand on her thigh. She's reading the instruments in front of her, and though I have no idea what they say, it's clear she has a destination for us in mind, and she's just trying to make sure she can get us there.
The vibration of the boat is soothing, watching Santana is soothing, and I feel so blissful in the summer sun as we cruise for the better part of an hour, under a bridge that connects Fire Island to mainland Long Island, and past dozens of other boats who blow their horns and wave to us. We're still on open water when the boat slows, then stops, but I don't question her, I just step back and take out my camera, snapping pictures of Santana looking so incredibly sexy as she works on dropping anchor. I figure I can find a way to make myself useful, so I reach into our bag and pull out towels, spreading them out on the deck, and when my girl finishes her task at hand, she flicks a switch on the dash, causing Jimmy Buffet music to ring through the air. I laugh, because it's absolutely perfect, absolutely everything I'd imagined about finally getting my chance to go out on a boat, and she smiles at me knowingly, clearly having planned it that way. It's then that she unfastens her life jacket and removes her sarong, watching me as I follow suit, and she closes the gap between us, placing her hands on my hips and pressing her warm body to mine.
"Are you having fun?" She asks, though she knows she doesn't need to.
"So much. Watching you drive a boat is basically the hottest thing I've ever seen, Captain."
Her laugher tickles my entire body, and she kisses my lips before dropping herself down on one of the towels below us. I take a few pictures of her there, soaking up the sun's rays, and even with her eyes closed behind dark glasses, she poses for me. When I eventually lay down beside her, our hands find each other somehow, even though we never really consciously think about hand holding, it always just happens, and I fall asleep in the sun, lyrics about boat drinks, cheeseburgers and glitter rock and roll never completely fading from the corners of my mind. Aided by that, I suppose, I dream of the days after we're rich and famous (the after, is what Santana always hoped for, the validation and the comforts that come with it, never really the constant pressure of the public eye), when we buy a beach house on some island, buy a boat, and we spend our escape days drinking mojitos, making love and falling asleep to the sound of the sea. When I wake up again, I hear a steel drum laced cover of Brown Eyed Girl playing over the speakers, and realizing my brown eyed girl isn't next to me, I lift my head, finding her mostly bare back bent over the railing of the boat and a picnic spread out before me.
"Santana." I exhale, that pervasive happiness hitting me again. "Is there anything you didn't plan?"
"Nope." Her face is lit up as she turns around, and I push myself up on the heels of my hands as she sits herself back down. "I figured we could eat and then swim for a little while. But the best is coming later."
"I can't even think of anything better than this."
"Oh just wait." She gives a little cocky I know you so well smirk, and I laugh at her as she begins opening containers of food.
We're mostly quiet as we eat, exchanging flirty glances over lobster salad and fresh strawberries, and after I drain the two beers she nudges my way, having only one for herself, because even though she says she won't have to get us home until much later, she's so incredibly responsible, I pat my satisfied stomach and stretch out again before standing to clean up the food remnants. When I'm finished, and Santana assures me that it's just an old wives tale about not swimming after you eat, she shimmies her way down the ladder into the bay and floats on her back, beckoning me to join her. Of course, I can't help but take out my camera again before I do, and though she rolls her eyes playfully at me, always teasing that I have more pictures of her than anything in the world, she smiles for me and kicks her legs out in front of her. When I'm finally finished, I forgo the ladder and jump straight off the side of the boat, causing Santana to shriek with thinly veiled delight as the cool, salty water splashes across her face.
After the heat of the sun beating down on the deck, the water feels so, so good on my skin, and I feel like maybe this, the water, Santana's playful smile, the entire day is exactly what heaven is like. In the water, we play like two little girls, forgetting every responsibility in the world, dragging each other under by feet, splashing, climbing on each other's shoulders, trading innocent kisses, and mirroring each other's swim strokes as we stay in the safe little bubble around the boat. When our fingers and toes begin to wrinkle, and the sun is no longer directly above us, but slowly falling in the western sky, we climb back aboard and I reach for one of our large towels, wrapping both of us up in it. It probably takes much longer for us to dry that way, but neither of us care, we just stand on deck, my back up against the railing, and with her arms around my waist and mine around her neck, foreheads pressed together and peaceful.
"You're so beautiful, you know that?" I ask her, and she knows that I don't mean just how she looks, I mean everything, the way she's fierce and loyal, the way she's an amazing friend and an even better girlfriend, the way she manages to pull things off that no one else ever could.
"Britt." She blushes, and instead of saying anything else, she presses her lips to mine, kissing me deeply, like she's drinking all of me in.
Her hands slide slowly until they're resting just above the very top of my bikini bottoms and she twirls one string around her pointer finger. It's obvious what she wants, what both of us want, and I begin to wonder just how feasible it is to make that happen. I can tell that of the many things Santana planned for, surprisingly, this isn't one. I see arousal clouded mischief in her dark eyes before I'm taken by surprise when her skilled left hand slips almost unnoticed down the front of star spangled fabric. I'm so shocked by her motions that I have no time to stifle the groan that releases from somewhere deep within the pit of my stomach as she just barely brushes the already there wetness that waits for her. Of their own accord, my legs spread apart, granting her further access, and she doesn't hesitate to tease her fingers through, stopping to press the tip of a finger against my entrance before resuming her previous path.
I'm vaguely aware that we're standing directly out in the open, where only the towel that my fisted hand is barely keeping wrapped around us hides our actions from the view of passing boats, but as two of Santana's fingers dip inside of me and her thumb finds my clit, I realize that I actually can't bring myself to care. My head threatens to loll back as she works in and out, her thrusts growing increasingly harder with each passing second, so I drop it forward instead, biting down on her shoulder, tasting salt, sun and Santana as I muffle my moans with her skin. My legs feel weak and my whole body burns as my orgasm grows closer, and Santana knows, knows my knees will buckle under the force of it, even with the railing behind me, so she tightens her grip on my waist, holding my weight with her body. One of my hands grips the railing, and the other remains on the back of her neck, as a twisting heat burns at the pit of my stomach. I manage to lift my head again, wanting so badly to kiss her, wanting to look into her eyes, burning intense. Her mouth finds mine before I can find hers, and when my tongue swipes across her bottom lip and makes it's way inside, she inhales my ragged breathing, swallows my every pant and whimper. While her fingers inside me scissor, she slides her arm up my back, still holding me tight as she reaches around to pinch a hard nipple through damp fabric, knowing how to drive me absolutely crazy.
"San-ugh-tana." I choke out, so close, and as she bites my lower lip, her fingers curl, giving me one final push over the edge.
As I come violently, my whole body shaking, she walks us the few steps back to her seat, easing me into it so I can sit and recover, keeping her mouth on mine. The towel around us slips, catching on the arms of the chair and falling around my hips, still keeping the fact that Santana's fingers remain inside of me concealed. It's the perfect height so our faces are level, and she brings her lips to my forehead, kissing the sheen of sweat that's formed there. Eventually, she eases herself into my lap, and I play with the hairs at the nape of her neck, occasionally trading kisses back and forth with her. She doesn't move her hand from between my legs, we just remain as sort of one whole being, so caught up in each other, so caught up in our shared world, that if it wasn't obvious by the close proximity of the sun to the water, I don't think either of us would be aware of how much time we'd passed like that.
"I'm not going to lie." I say finally, a smile curling on my lips. "I was half expecting Rachel to drive by on a speedboat and start yelling about dinner being ready,"
"Gross, babe. Please don't say her name while I'm still inside of you." She laughs, and I give a small shrug. "I'm really glad for a day with you away from everyone else."
"Me too." I tell her, and resist the urge to speak another thank you.
"Almost time for the best part." She promises, slowly easing off me, out of me, and I shiver at the loss of contact, then groan as she brings her fingers to her lips, sliding them in between before offering me a hand up. "Let's go change, it's starting to cool off."
When we go down to what is basically the equivalent of a small closet below deck, I watch as she drops her bikini to the floor, and my eyes rake over her body, noticing the purple bruise I seem to have left on her hipbone during our morning activities. My thumb brushes over it, and she smiles, teasing me about my never ending tendency to mark her skin and then worry over it later. I smile back, pecking her lips before dropping my own bathing suit and sliding shorts up my legs and a sweatshirt over my head. She's finishes first, since I'm still a little shaky, and I brush and braid her long, thick hair, letting her do the same to me (one of our favorite, simply intimate things, fingers massaging scalps, fingers caressing necks and cheeks) before we climb the stairs again, emerging on deck as the sun begins to turn orange and it seems like it's mere inches from being swallowed up by the sea.
"Dance with me?" Santana asks, and my body fits itself to hers with little effort. We've danced at sunset dozens of times, on cobblestone streets in Greece, on the warm sand in Hawaii, on Manhattan rooftops, but this, all alone, with the rippling water rocking the boat is a first, for sure.
"Of course. How could I deny a dance with the captain of this fine ship?"
Her arms wrap around my neck, and mine fall to her hips, pulling her close to me. We only sway at first, even with my years of practice, needing a moment to get used to the unsteady ground beneath us, but it's perfect, the song that plays for us. It's bigger than the both of us, deeper than the sea. Santana kisses me again, and I can't help but dip her, chasing her lips with mine, and then spinning her around, making her giggle with how quickly I've abandoned the swaying and figured out how we could really dance. We're dancin', our souls are dancin', infinity. We dance like that, alternating between silly and serious for the entire duration of the song, and as it begins to draw to a close, the sky is streaked red and pink, the sun halfway gone. The colors reflect in Santana's dark eyes, those eyes that serve as a mirror of our past, a window of our future for me, and she takes my hand, bringing it up to her lips and holding it there. I know this isn't just a fairy tale, it's a one in a million paradise, I know love is the light in your eyes.
We end up nearly hanging over the side of the boat as the last sliver of sun slips below the bay's glassy surface, my arms holding her waist from behind, and her fingers playing with mine, my chin on her shoulder, the back of her head against my chest. The music keeps playing, but we don't dance anymore, we just watch the sky darken, the moon and stars brighten. With the first spattering of fluorescent color in the night sky, I realize that the best part Santana spoke about is just beginning, and I can't help but squeal a little bit with excitement, unable to believe that I'd nearly forgotten about my favorite part of the Fourth of July. Santana tears her eyes away for only a moment, her face reflecting my joy as she gives me a quick kiss to my lips, and I squeeze her tightly, murmuring another thank you, and an I love you so much, this time, my voice thick with sheer awe at both the scene in front of me, and the beautiful woman in my arms who manages to make it all the more special. She says the words of affection back to me, and I nudge her cheek with my nose, not wanting her to miss any more of the glorious explosions that ignite the clear skies.
It's the biggest fireworks display I've ever seen, reds, whites, blues, and every other color of the rainbow shooting into the sky, bursting open and raining down into the water, appearing like we're actually surrounded by the shimmer. I can't help but release some of those cliche oohs and ahhs, and it makes my heart speed up to hear them coming from Santana's lips as well, the same way my heart always quickens when I watch her see the simplest magic before us. When the display is over, there's a hush between us, and even when the other boats who'd anchored to see the show begin on the courses home, we don't move from our position at the railing, we just stare at the smoke streaked sky with eyes still color marked inside, before she turns in my arms, and our every ounce of attention falls back on one another. She's so happy, so proud that she gave me something so special, and my chest literally aches with the love and gratitude that only Santana Lopez is capable of making me feel.
"This was the perfect day, Santana, really. It was amazing and special, you are amazing and special, and I just...I don't even know if I know what words to say to you."
"It's okay, Britt, I know how you feel, it's how I feel, every single day that I'm with you." She kisses me, slow, sweet, and I smile into it. "Let's head back, the Fourth of July is almost over, and even I know that as awesome as this day was, it totally won't be really celebrated until we find a hot dog and some potato salad."
"And apple pie, obviously." I laugh, knowing that she's teasing, knowing that we both are aware that we need nothing more. Admittedly, I'm a little sad as Santana starts up the boat again, that weird, wistful, ending feeling that I get in sometimes after we have the best kind of day, building in the pit of my stomach. Santana knows what I'm feeling though, and when she cocks her head just slightly to the side and blows me a kiss, I'm reminded that it's not the end, it's just another in what's to be a long line of best days ever, best holidays ever, and I wink, and return the gesture to her, grinning as vestigial fireworks burst above our heads.
The song they dance to (and where the title comes from) is Jimmy Buffet's Bigger Than the Both Of Us- at least where I come from, July 4th doesn't really exist without A LOT of Jimmy Buffet :)