Post-3x06 fluff. BtVS readers can look for an update next week; finals ate my writing time this past week. Sorry!
The store is warm, much warmer than the crisp refrigerator cold outside, and it's filled with the thick, humid smell of the aquariums lining the wall. Brittany pounces toward them, a high pitch arcing through her throat, and Santana bobs after her. "Look!" Brittany gushes, pressing her mitten against the glass in front of a big blue fish.
"I can't look if your hand's in the way," says Santana with a laugh as she tugs her gloves off by the fingertips. She presses her palm onto Brittany's knit cap and rustles it and the blond hair beneath. Brittany smiles bashfully, blushing beneath the cold-pink spilled over her cheeks and half-covered ears. She apologizes and her hand slips down the glass—the fabric makes a soft wub as it slides—but Santana grins at her instead of looking at the fish. Santana's eyes dance between Brittany's and down to her lips.
It's the look she gets when she wants to kiss Brittany, but Brittany knows she's not going to, so she grabs Santana's free hand. "Come on," she pushes as she flounces further into the store, Santana stumbling happily behind her, "I wanna get her a puppy, not a fish."
"I still don't think you should," Santana says, running into Brittany's side when Brittany stops abruptly in front of the dog beds. The collision feels soft—not just from their Cheerios jackets and thick sweatshirts—and Santana stays there, flush against Brittany's arm and hip, their joined hands caught between them. The red is fading from Brittany's cheeks, where the winter had wiped them raw in the parking lot, and heat from her belly is bubbling up to replace it. She loves the feeling she gets, as Santana's fingers coil gently with Brittany's; the feeling she gets when they look like they're together.
Santana's happy but hesitant—Brittany's been looking too long—and she tips her chin down and her eyes up, like her lashes can double as shields. "Britt? I said, you should probably get a dog before you get it a bed."
Brittany can feel herself beaming like an idiot and refuses to stop. "I was thinking about getting one for Lord Tubbington," she says.
"He's already got a bed," Santana points out, but all Brittany feels is their hands locked together. Her grip tightens; she moves away from Santana, like pulling a warm cookie into two parts, and leads her back toward the sound of yipping dogs.
In the back, hidden from the pack of bored employees loitering at the checkout counter, Brittany peers at each dog and pets them through the locked cage doors despite a sign saying not to. "I dunno," says Brittany, stressed from the thought of choosing just one. "They're all so cute. And none of them are blue."
When she turns around, lower lip caught between her teeth, she catches Santana staring at her. She looks tender and almost sad, the way her mouth and chin are so smooth and her eyes so big and full. "What?" asks Brittany, holding in her breath, like Santana is a Jenga tower teetering on the last brick.
Santana's chin rumples and her whole face folds in, like she's trying to swallow that feeling and it's making her want to cry. "You're so cute, Britt," she says helplessly, and she doesn't even look over her shoulder when she steps forward and pulls Brittany into a kiss by the collar of her jacket.
Brittany's body still hums and she can feel Santana's nails against her collarbone. Santana says, "You didn't really think they'd have Stitch, did you?" and the words are hot against Brittany's lips. She pouts at Santana and Santana smiles the way she does when Brittany unknowingly does exactly what Santana wants. "He landed in Hawaii," deadpans Santana, and she's so serious Brittany melts and laughs and shivers and hugs Santana tight against her, until she can feel that too-quick heartbeat through all their thick winter layers.
Santana's hands are flighty against her back, but they settle more quickly than they used to, sinking into Brittany's hips over her jacket. She still pulls back—and, yeah, they're in a pet store, so maybe it's not the best place to spend eternity in a frozen hug—and Brittany watches those dark eyes scan her face. Santana's smile is so sappy, like she loves everything she sees, so she can't pick one place to look at. When she glances at Brittany's hat, her eyes flicker and she reaches up to adjust it. Brittany can almost feel love soaking in where Santana tugs the cap over Brittany's ears, still bright and numbed from the cold.
"I'm not really getting one," says Brittany about the puppies, even though she's sure Santana already knows.
"I know."
"My parents wouldn't let her keep it anyway."
"Lord Tubbs would freak out, too."
Brittany laughs. Santana's tracing along the side of Brittany's face, and it's distracting, but Brittany tilts into the touch. She opens her mouth and says, "Thanks for coming with," even though she's thinking a thousand other things that are more important.
But with the way Santana looks at her—maybe Santana already knows those things.
"Of course, Britts," Santana says, and she's untangling their arms and hands out of habit as they wander toward the door. But just when Brittany's stomach starts to sink, Santana takes Brittany's right hand and plucks at the wrist of her mitten.
Brittany looks down, curious. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Nothing," insists Santana with a defensive glance, but she slides her left hand into Brittany's mitten and laces their fingers together. She doesn't look at Brittany when she grins and bounces through the automatic doors, but Brittany can see the tips of Santana's ears getting red again, even before the cold hits them.
On the curb, Brittany yanks Santana up against her side again by their cocooned hands, nudging with her elbow and giggling. "What?" Santana demands.
"You're so cute," Brittany says, "and I love you."
Santana looks at her, lovesick, and squeezes Brittany's hand. "I love you, too."