Making out with Brittany had become a habit.
At first Santana had wanted to stop herself, had told herself that it would complicate things, but soon she had figured out that Brittany and her could actually work like this. Brittany never expected too much from their sexual encounters, and if she did, Santana would make sure that the blonde understood that it didn't mean anything.
Only talking with their tongues super close. Only sweet lady kisses. Only sweet lady sex.
No eye contact. No talk about making lady babies.
She still wasn't gay.
No, Santana was not gay, Santana had in fact found a boyfriend, Sam, someone for a stable relationship.
And Sam was a really good guy, not entirely bad looking - despite his enormous mouth. Didn't ask too many questions, didn't push her to sleep with her, didn't seem to care that she'd rather spend the nights at her best friend's place. She also liked his blonde hair.
Then there was this night of Rachel Berry's party and Santana was looking forward to it. There would be liqueur and there would be Brittany and the two of them always used to have fun together when alcohol was involved. Lots of fun.
Santana herself was dressed up, feeling ready to get drunk and let herself go. She couldn't explain why, but alcohol often made her feel better, made her forget the things that were constantly confusing her.
When she was drunk, her boyfriends looked a little more attractive. When she was drunk and made out with Brittany in front of other people, then it was obviously the alcohol's fault and no one seemed to care. When she was drunk, there was this point of total happiness, relief, fun. The feeling not to give a damn shit about anything. Knowing that no one cared what you did.
Up to that certain point when all the good stuff suddenly disappeared, from one second to the next. When the tipsy light-hearted feeling was replaced with this weird realization that nothing was okay. When she looked at Brittany as she was making out with Artie and the alcohol made it hurt ten times more than when she was sober. When the alcohol made her see things that her sober mind managed to push away. When her mind, as blurry as it might be, showed her clearly that she was lying to herself all this time. That it wasn't the blonde boy she wanted, but rather the blonde girl.
In those moments Santana wondered if the fun part at the beginning was worth the pain that followed.
This night hadn't been different.
Brittany had entered the room with her douche of a boyfriend and Santana had felt her jaw drop at the sight.
A black hat.
A black tie.
Her mind immediately wandered to places that it shouldn't and Santana made herself focus on Sam again. Maybe soon, when she was officially drunk, maybe then it would be okay to drag Brittany's face closer with that tie. Just for fun of course.
When they finally started drinking, Santana made sure to make her drinks extra strong. She couldn't wait to get to the fun part of being tipsy.
She was straddling Sam who was groping her ass and already then she found kissing the boy much more appealing. She liked the taste of alcohol on his lips and his tongue.
When she was looking over her shoulder she could see Brittany sit on the washing machine as she was looking over to her, so Santana turned around to deepen the kisses with her boyfriend, grinding slightly against his hips and causing the blonde boy to groan. She could feel Brittany's eyes on her back. Or least she hoped the blonde would still look over to her.
The more Santana drank, the more she had to giggle. And Brittany was undressing. How much Santana loved parties. Brittany could never keep her clothes on when she was tipsy.
She had to smirk. That pink bra with those black dots. They had picked it together at the mall the other day and she had told Brittany how cute it looked on her. Well, it really did. Especially when it was emphasized by this tie. Oh this goddamn tie.
Then Puck brought the tequila and the lemons. One shot. Two shots. Three shots.
Such a nice warm feeling, though the tequila tasted kind of disgusting. After the fourth it got better though.
"Hey, Lopez, how about you take the next shot off Brit's abs?"
Brittany squeaked and clapped her hands, giggling even more as she laid down and exposed her bare stomach to Santana. Her toned sexy stomach.
Santana felt her body turn hot, excitement everywhere in her belly. She wanted to lick the salt off her friend's skin. She wanted more than anything to touch her and she wanted to do it for everyone to see. It was fun if she did this, right? People were cheering for her. Even Rachel Berry and Artie who stood next to them, even Sam. Sam would probably be turned on by this, so she was even doing him a favor.
"Do it!" Brittany slurred and Santana laughed, pouring some salt on the blonde's stomach. She was turned on, but alcohol always did that to her.
She leaned closer, wetting her lips before licking the salt away, biting into her lemon and drowning the burning liquid. Everyone else cheered in excitement. This felt so damn good. Oh my god, licking Brit in public, and people liking it. The thought was so damn entertaining and refreshing, the Latina let herself fall on the ground with laughter. She laughed so hard that her chest soon started hurting. She loved parties.
A little while later though, Brittany was back with Artie and didn't seem to care about any more bodyshots. Santana figured she wouldn't mind passing out completely drunk or puking into the toilet for the rest of the night if it meant she could lick more salt from the blonde's other body parts.
But no, Brittany didn't seem to feel the same way. She was focusing on a guy in a wheelchair who looked like her pimp. It was kind of disgusting.
The music was buzzing loudly in her ears, suddenly so much louder than before - almost annoying. What was Brittany doing there? Stripping? Did Mc Cripple Pants just put a dollar bill into her bra? Into the bra she had picked for her?
Santana looked over to Sam who was staring at Quinn for a second too long. She felt herself tear up. She felt furious. Why did she suddenly feel so goddamn furious?
Because no one wanted her. Brittany preferred dancing for her boyfriend over spending time with her best friend. Parties were their thing and Brittany just didn't care. She didn't want her. She would go home with Artie and have sex with him - things Santana didn't want to imagine. And Sam didn't want her either. Why would he? He had been with Quinn. Miss Perfect Quinn Fabrey. Everyone would prefer Quinn. She had slept with Puck, but Puck had preferred Quinn. She had slept with Finn, but oh, surprise - Finn had preferred Quinn. And yes, of course, Quinn was Sam's ex. He clearly wasn't over her. Santana was second choice. Always second choice. Never number one. Never the one and only.
She was making a fist, her nails digging into her own skin as tears started streaming down her face. Everything seemed so fucking dramatic. Damn this fucking alcohol.
She dragged Sam closer to herself.
"You like her more than me! She's blonde and awesome, and so smart..."
Santana looked over to Brittany once more who was waving her tie at her boyfriend. So blonde. So awesome. So smart. In her own way.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts, grabbing Sam's shirt.
"Kiss me!"
She kissed the boy forcefully, pressing his lips on him until she couldn't breathe anymore. And again. And again.
When someone suggested playing 'Spin the Bottle' Santana wasn't in the mood for stupid games anymore. This party sucked.
She waited a few steps away, observing the scene. Everyone was having fun. Everyone was still stuck in that happy phase. How did they do it? What was she doing wrong? Fuck this party.
Then it was Brittany's turn to spin the bottle. It was spinning and spinning and Santana figured that wherever it stopped, it would piss her off. She hoped it would just point at Artie, since she had almost gotten used to the image of the two of them making out.
Then the bottle stopped spinning, pointing at Sam - and everyone was cheering again, the two blondes grinning like idiots. Who had come up with this ridiculous idea in the first place?
Brittany was leaning closer and smiling into the kiss with her eyes closed. She looked so casual, so confident. Did Brittany ever look like that when she was kissing her?
And they kissed and kissed and it felt as if minutes had passed already. This was a game! A goddamn game! There was no rule that said you needed to add extra tongue and drag it out as long as possible.
"Hey honeys? This is not a Big Red commercial!" she heard herself yell at them, slapping Sam's blonde head hard so he'd finally pull away.
"No me gusta!"
Everyone went back to the game, having fun, making out with random insignificant others. Santana needed more alcohol.
Somehow Rachel ended up singing some silly duet with Blaine and somehow Brittany ended up sitting on top of Artie again. Wearing his glasses. Weren't they just fucking adorable? Santana had to roll her eyes.
She straddled Sam's lap again who was looking back at her, his eyes red from all the liqueur, smiling at her goofily. Her boyfriend. Her attractive boyfriend.
Santana kissed him again, rubbing herself against his crotch as he was slapping her ass to the rhythm of the music. Couldn't she go back to liking this party again?
Alcohol. Music. A strong bass. His hands on her.
Her vision was so blurry by now that she actually managed to block out everything else, to only focus on the fact that anyone was touching her and it felt kind of good. At least she wasn't alone. At least she didn't have to sit in the corner of the room like Quinn and feel sorry for herself, right? She was desired. She was hot.
Slowly everything started to get dizzy and Santana needed a break, sitting down next to Sam on the sofa.
Some guests were leaving already and Santana knew she needed her bed.
Brittany had fallen asleep with her head on Artie's shoulder. She wasn't going to go home home with her that night.
Some silly part inside of her had hoped they'd spend the rest of the evening together. That they'd dance together. That they'd leave together.
That they'd kiss, maybe, when they were in bed. That she'd get to tell Brittany how good the pink bra looked on her. That she'd get to open it for her. That she'd get to kiss those breasts.
Cause they were drunk, it was okay to want this.
When they were drunk, it was even okay to look Brittany in the eyes when she fingered her. To laugh and smile and giggle when they were fooling around.
Cause she could blame it on the alcohol, right?
But Brittany went home with Artie, Santana went home alone.
Even the next day in Glee Club, the damn alcohol would be blurrying her senses. Even then it would mix up her emotions. Even then, when the stupid alc made her see things again that her sober mind constantly pushed away, Santana would feel as terrible as the night before.
She would start crying in front of everyone. Cry about being who she was. Cry about seeing her with him. Cry about always being second choice. Cry about being alone, even if she wasn't. Cry until Brittany would hug her closely, pet her hair and tell her everything was going to be okay.
She would break down in public, but no one really cared.
She could still blame it on the alcohol.