Warning: Lesbian sex, homie!

A/N: Hope everyone had a safe holiday, and sorry for the delay. Things to do and all that.

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, favorited, or whatever'd the first part of this story. And thanks to those of you who started putting yourselves through the loooong process of reading NSG. I surely appreciate all of you little sweethearts. :')

Here's the final part to this little holiday story. Enjoy!

"Come on, Puck," I plead. "I'll pay you. I'll pay you. I'll buy the suit and everything, all you have to do is just show up-"

Puck lifts his hand up to halt me. "Dude, no."

"Why not?" I demand, feeling all my plans crumbling right before my eyes with Puck's firm response. I need him to go along with my idea in order to bring the magic of Christmas to Brittany, which is why I'm currently standing in his penthouse trying to convince him.

"Because it's fuckin' humiliating, and besides, why would I want to spend my Christmas dressing up as ol' Fatso?"

"You don't even celebrate Christmas," I complain, crossing my arms. I hadn't forgotten that yamaka stint that got him captured all those many, many months ago, the Jewish bastard.

"Well maybe I want to start this year." He shrugs.

"And what better way to get into the spirit than by playing Santa?" He opens his mouth to protest again and I cut him off. "Look, I told you I'd pay you."

"So why can't you pay someone else? Why me?"

I shoot him an incredulous look. "Ew, no. I don't want some smelly old grandpa pedophile or a creepy drug-addict in my house, touching Britt's presents. It has to be you, Puck. You're the only one I trust."

Puck laughs. "You trust me?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, you moron. Thus why I'm standing here, asking you to do this favor for me." I can tell he's starting to cave- it must've been the word trust that I dropped on him- and so I really drive my point home. "C'mon Puck, it's for BrittBritt. Think of how happy she'll be when she sees you, dressed like Santa Claus, delivering her presents?"

Now it's Puck's turn to roll his eyes. He gives me a disapproving look. "She's not a five-year-old, Santana."

"No, she's not," I agree, "but she also never got to experience the joy of Christmas as a child- or ever- before. So even if it's just for this one year, I want her to have that feeling. That indescribable joy of waking up on Christmas morning and seeing the presents under the tree, and believing in the magic of Santa Clause- before some asshole kid comes along and tells you he isn't real," I mutter bitterly, and Puck looks at me curiously.

"Should I ask what-"

"Nope."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "It's just this one time, right?" I nod enthusiastically, giving him a hopeful look. He smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay. I'll do it."

I nearly jump up in the air with excitement before I realize I'm supposed to be an adult. I clear my throat. "Cool beans."
"You owe me so much, you don't even know," Puck mutters, but I don't even care. I'm too busy imagining the look on Brittany's face when she sees Santa for the first time.

Two days later, Brittany and I are at the Christmas tree farm picking out our Christmas tree. It's cold, and I'm finally starting to feel excitement about the upcoming holiday. I squeeze Brittany's gloved hand in mine and smile fondly at her. These are the moments I fought for during the war; these are the things I wanted to be able to do with Brittany. Normal, couple-y things. I'd picked out trees with my parents in the past, but being here, with Brittany for the first time, brought on a new sense of enthusiasm and a feeling of elation I'd never experienced before.

As I stare at Brittany, I can't help but think about how pretty she looks under the obnoxious spotlights. She's wearing one of her adorable hats, and she's so beautiful that it makes my heart ache. Combined with the feeling of excitement about the holiday, I almost feel like I'm in a dream, but the chill in the air reminds me that this is real. My smile widens, and I hold Brittany's hand tighter.

I'd explained what we were doing- what the purpose of collecting a Christmas tree is- on the car ride over, but as we walk up to the first eight-foot tree under the tent, Brittany pauses.

"I'm still not sure I understand," she admits, touching the branch of the Fraser fur fondly. "Every year, humans cut down hundreds of trees, drag them into their homes to let them live, decorated, for a short time, and then once the trees starve to death, they throw them away?" She shakes her head slowly, stroking the needles of the tree. "It seems... Wasteful. And sad."

"It... is," I say, feeling like an idiot for bringing Brittany to the equivalent of a tree slaughterhouse. She'd told me stories during the war, at night in bed while we would cuddle, of the trees on her home planet, and how they could "speak" to them, in a way. Young Andalites had Guide Trees that they bonded with, and Brittany shared with me some things she had learned from hers. But even still, Brittany's always been especially sensitive to all kinds of life- of course she wouldn't want a real tree. I feel like an idiot, until I remember- "But some humans buy fake trees instead," I offer.

"Fake trees?" Brittany lifts her head, hopeful. "They aren't real?"

I shake my head, smiling encouragingly. "No. They're made out of plastic… or something. But they definitely weren't ever alive."

Brittany bites her lip, dropping her gaze to our joined hands. She makes circles on mine with her thumb, and my stomach flutters. "Could we, maybe, do that, San?"

I squeeze her hand, feeling like my chest is about to explode with how much I absolutely adore Brittany, and then lift it to my mouth to kiss her knuckles. "Of course, B. Whatever you want, honey."

Brittany smiles at me, and I wonder how my chest hasn't actually exploded yet.

Wordlessly, we hop back into the F-350 we'd borrowed from my father, then make the annoying drive over to the department store to pick out a fake tree. But Brittany's beside me, so I don't even think about how rude it is when an asshole cuts me off, or how frustrating it is when someone doesn't let me go even though it's my turn. All of the irritants I usually experience around the holidays just disappear- like magic- and I only feel the good things, like the pressure of Brittany's hand in mine, and the smell of balsam candles, and the sound of Mariah Carey singing over the low speakers in the store.

Once we have our tree, we begin the long task of picking out ornaments. I let Brittany pick out whatever she wants- and again, she wants a lot- and finally, when we basically acquire another truckload of stuff, we make the drive back to our house. Brittany holds my hand the entire way, and I feel like a big dork and way prouder than I probably should be for doing something as simple as letting Brittany have a fake tree. But making Brittany happy makes me happy, so I don't mind being a dork.

When we get home, we unload the truck- together- and unpack the tree. Brittany and I have always been an awesome team, so I turn on some holiday pop and the tree goes up in no time. Once it's standing tall in the center of our sitting room, I open up a box of lights and start decorating. Brittany helps- because she's perfect- by holding the end and feeding me the untangled lights as I go, and as I'm finishing up the first strand, the phone rings.

Yeah, we have a house line. Deal with it.

I move to answer it, completely unsurprised when I discover it's my mother, confirming our plans to have Christmas Eve dinner together as a family at my parents' house. I kindly remind her that, no, our plans haven't changed since the last time she talked to me about them literally five hours ago, and hang up the phone. When I make my way back to the sitting room, I can't help giggling at the sight that greets me; Brittany's tangled in the Christmas lights, which are now blinking. She shoots me a helpless look, like an animal in a cage, and my heart melts as I walk forward.

"Britt," I giggle. "What happened?"

"I was putting them on the tree," she says pathetically, struggling. I grab her chin and tilt her face up, then lean up on my toes and kiss her, grinning.

She smiles back and wraps her arms around me, forgetting for a moment that she's still covered in blinking Christmas lights, and then we're both giggling as she gets even more tangled. I keep kissing Brittany as the opening slow notes to one of the most overplayed Christmas songs of all time echo through the house.

"Ohh, Iiiiii… don't want a loooot for Christmas

There is just one thing I neeeed…"

I press one last kiss to Brittany's lips before I pull back and gently untangle the lights from around her, and as the instruments and Mariah Carey's voice pick up in intensity, Brittany pulls me close and spins me around, grinning.

I laugh as she twirls me into a dance around the living room, and I can't keep from belting the lyrics to the song to her, and soon she's chiming in with me and we're both singing and dancing and laughing and my heart is so, so full and warm and I can't believe that any of this is real because it's better than I ever imagined it. The lights on the tree glow behind Brittany, and she looks magical, and everything feels magical and beautiful and Brittany's singing to me-

"-all I want for Christmas, is-"

I cut her off with another kiss, and she smiles against my lips, pulling me close, and it occurs to me that we probably will never finish decorating the tree.

And I'm totally okay with that.

"Mow."

I look down at Lord Tubbington, who's waiting by the door for us as we enter the house. He rubs against my ankles before waddling over to Brittany to do the same, and I chuckle at his eagerness as I tug my scarf from around my neck and set my purse down on the key table. I smile fondly at Brittany as she crouches to pet Tubbs, and he meows again at the affection, purring so loudly I could probably hear him across the room.

It's Christmas Eve and Brittany and I have just returned from dinner with my parents. We'd done our gift exchange- we bought them a trip to Tahiti or something, I don't know, I let Brittany pick the place. Hopefully I wasn't sending them to a warzone. They'd gotten me and Brittany a really thoughtful blender… no, I'm joking, they bought us matching tennis bracelets- aren't we just the cutest?- and keeping with our Christmas Eve tradition, new, matching pajamas to wear to bed tonight. It's absolutely precious that my parents think Brittany and I wear clothes to bed, isn't it?

It's Christmas Eve, and I'd bought Lord Tubbington the best gourmet cat food money can buy for his Christmas Eve dinner. He seems to know it, too, because he hasn't taken his eyes off of the little bowl in my hand. Let's be real, he eats pretty top-shelf cat food as it is, so I won't be surprised if there's legit an actual roasted bird in that plastic container, or a fileted fish. Lord T meows excitedly as I pop open the lid, and I don't miss the way Brittany's watching me like I'm the best thing she's ever seen. It makes me blush and feel proud of myself for sharing some holiday spirit with our adopted cat.

"You're beautiful," Brittany tells me softly, and I blush harder as I bend down to place the food in front of His Royal Highness. He meows gratefully and then he might as well be dead because I know he's not going to be paying any attention to us for the rest of the night.

Which is kind of exactly my plan.

Because it's Christmas Eve, and, to put it bluntly-

I'm nervous as fuck.

I keep telling myself there's no way Puck is going to pull off being Santa. He's Puck, and Brittany's too smart, too observant, too clever to fall for some stupid disguise. Although, honestly, I paid a small fortune for the costume, so I'm going to be pissed if it doesn't fool her for at least a minute.

Once we are changed into our pajamas- we decided to humor my parents, and anyways, I'd rather she not be naked when Santa actually arrives- and I have a nice fire lit in the fireplace, we snuggle down on the couch and just enjoy the feeling of Christmas all around us. The tree isn't real, but whatever, I bought a scented candle and some high-class air fresheners so it still smells like it is. The lights twinkle, the fireplace crackles, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas croons softly from the radio, and Brittany's tucked into my side, tracing lazy patterns on my fleece-covered thigh.

"So Santa's coming tonight?" Brittany asks, and all of a sudden, I realize that I haven't exactly explained Santa Claus very well to her.

But I have just the thing in mind to remedy that.

After pressing a kiss to Brittany's temple, I get up and walk to our bookshelf, then tug down my worn copy of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. (Oh, come on- like you don't have a copy?) Then I settle back down beside Brittany on the couch, handing her the book. She holds it like she's holding something fragile and precious, and she studies the cover, which has some super-dramatic depiction of Santa Claus riding an overly-majestic sleigh straight up into the sky. I mean, I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't so completely head-over-heels in love with the girl in front of me staring at the book so closely.

"Do you want to read it, B?"

She shakes her head, a soft, shy smile on her face. "Will you read it to me? I like the sound of your voice."

My heart melts again, because how could it not? Brittany's absolutely perfect, and as I crack the book open and read the first line, I try to put as much enthusiasm as I can into my reading. It's not hard. Knowing it's Brittany's first time ever hearing the story makes it seem like it's my first time ever reading it, even though I practically know the tale by heart.

As I turn the pages, Brittany stares, enraptured, at the vivid illustrations and it makes my heart pound as I imagine our future together, with her reading this story to our kids someday-

Okay, I'm getting too cheesy.

When I finish the book, Brittany looks impressed.

"But how does Santa make it around the world in one night?" she asks curiously, without a trace of skepticism. I love how trusting and imaginative she is. "I thought humans didn't have that technology yet."

I smile mysteriously at her. "It's magic, Britt. Santa has special Christmas magic."

Brittany doesn't answer, but instead settles down against me, contemplating my words and the story we'd read. We continue to snuggle on the couch, just listening to Christmas music and enjoying the ambience, before my eyes wander to the clock and I realize it's getting late.

"Britt, we'd better get to bed," I say. "Santa won't show up if we're awake."

"Why not?"

"Uh." Well, shit. I have no fucking clue. "Because the presents are a surprise."

Brittany accepts my answer, and we trek into the kitchen to make a plate of cookies and pour a glass of milk, for Santa. Then, once everything is set, we go up to bed and climb under the covers. Brittany curls up to me, pillowing her head on my chest, and as my eyes slip closed, I can't remember a single moment where I've been happier.

I wake up to Brittany shaking me.

"San," she whispers urgently.

"Wha," I mumble, forcing my eyes open. It's dark, but I can hear some shuffling downstairs. I look at the clock on our nightstand and fight the eye roll that comes- Puck's late, but I'd be lying if I said I'm surprised. At least he's here.

"I hear something," Brittany says, sounding half worried and half excited. I try not to grin at the idea of my plan actually working, and impress myself with my ability to keep a straight face as I say,

"It must be Santa Claus, Britt."

Brittany's eyes widen. "Santa?"

I nod, and she climbs out of bed, walking cautiously to the door. She pauses and looks back at me, and I nod again, encouraging, and she licks her lips nervously before turning back to the door.

I follow her downstairs, and this time I can't help but roll my eyes as I see Puck, dressed in a really expensive Santa costume, bent over the plate of cookies we'd left out for him. He's decked out in a full-on white beard and mustache, and long white hair down his back. He's even got on a fat suit, and I have to admit, I'm a little impressed, myself.

"Santa Claus?" Brittany asks uncertainly, and at the sound of her voice, Puck snaps up. When he sees Brittany, he smiles, and clutches his stomach.

"Ho, ho, ho," he chuckles in a voice that's much, much deeper than his normal voice, and I sigh at the sound. You have got to be kidding me. "Sup, little girl. What's your name?"

"Brittany Susan Lopez-Pierce," Brittany says, and I smile a little. Brittany always likes to say her full name- I think because she's so used to saying her full Andalite name. All the same, I'll never get tired of hearing my last name attached to hers. Never.

Puck sits down in the recliner and pats his lap. "Well why don't you come on over here and tell ol' Santa Claus what you want for Christmas?"

I shoot him a murderous glare over Brittany's shoulder- because what the actual fuck, this is not part of what we discussed- but Brittany's already eagerly moving to sit on his knee, and Puck just better hope that a situation doesn't pop up or-

"Yo- what do you want for Christmas?"

Brittany smiles. "I already have everything I could possibly want for myself," she says, and again my heart pounds from how perfect she is. It's a constant thing. The struggle is real.

"So I just hope that my Andalite family has whatever they want," Brittany continues, "even though I know you probably don't travel that far into space, nor does your sleigh have space-travelling capabilities, considering your reindeer probably breathe oxygen and would require-"

"Ho, ho, hooo," Puck laughs gruffly, cutting her off, and Brittany stands from his lap. "I'll see what I can do, Brittany. But Santa is a very busy, old man."

She stares at him for a moment. "Santa, you look a lot like my friend, Puck."

I freeze; my stomach tenses. Fuck, she knows. Fuck, fuck, fuck- "Well he's definitely not, so-"

"Nope. I'm not," Puck agrees quickly, nodding his head. His beard wiggles off his chin slightly and I want to slap my forehead, but a quick glance at Brittany reveals she's busy looking out the window and missed it. Okay, she doesn't know. I follow her gaze and can just barely make out the form of a reindeer- how the fuck?- and I look at Puck, who's smirking arrogantly.

"Yo, these cookies were off the chain," he says, reaching for another, but the plate is empty. "You got any more?"

"Sure, Santa!" Brittany says with a grin. "I've got a whole bunch-"

"Santa," I snap pointedly, "don't you have a ton of other houses to visit?"

"Nah, I got elves to do that shit for me." He puts his booted feet up on the coffee table and shakes his empty plate at me. "I need some more cookies or I won't be able to get my reindeer off the ground." I snatch the plate from his hand and then turn from Puck, fuming, but I pause when he says, "And some milk, too. Need something to wash those bangin' cookies down, ho, ho, ho…"

I make my way into the kitchen- lividly- and catch a snatch of their conversation as I go.

"You control the reindeer?" Brittany asks in awe.

"Hell, yeah- those lazy shits don't just fly on their own. I use my magic staff to-"

"Oh, my god," I breathe, trying not to flip my shit. I grab a handful of cookies, don't bother to even refill the glass of milk, and take a deep breath, trying not to rip out my hair. Then I quickly return to the living room, where Santa is still explaining to Brittany about the mechanics of his flying reindeer. I panic- she has to know- and toss the plate of cookies in Puck's lap. He looks startled, but a pointed look from me has him eating the cookies in a rush.

When he finishes, I grab him by the arm and haul him to his feet. "Okay, Santa, it's been a pleasure but it would be just rude of us to keep you all to ourselves, you've got a ton of other houses to visit on the other side of the world and we want you to make it through the night." I practically drag Puck by the elbow to the door, and he holds on to his stupid red hat as he stumbles after me.

"Okay, okay, jeez," he mutters. "I'm just having a little-"

I yank the front door open and I'm greeted with an angry reindeer.
[It's about fucking time,] Arty snaps, pawing the snow with his hoof, and I shoot Puck an incredulous look.

He smirks mischievously at me, his eyes twinkling- like fucking Santa Claus, I swear- and grabs his stomach.

"Ho, ho, ho," he laughs over-exaggeratingly and he walks to the sleigh that's attached to Arty's harness. Like, an actual sleigh. I blink in disbelief at them, wondering how in the fuck Puck convinced Arty to be a reindeer for this event, but as I cast a glance to Brittany and find her beaming, my expression softens and my heart pretty much melts into a puddle. I don't really care. I'm just happy that Brittany is so happy.

"Don't be too naughty, ladies," Santa Puck says, wiggling his eyebrows at us, and yep, the warmth is gone, replaced by an overwhelming urge to smack the fake beard right off his-

"Thanks, Santa!" Brittany says excitedly, waving, and Puck waves back before urging Arty to pull him away into the darkness.

We watch them go for a moment, and I wonder if Brittany has figured out how fucking pathetic we are, but then she turns to me and wraps her arms around my neck.

"Wow!" she says breathlessly, and I stand there, stunned, as she hugs me tightly. Does she know, or..?

Another glance to her face, and I honestly can't tell. She could just be playing along. She could be-

Brittany smiles a genuine, happy smile, and suddenly, I really don't care if she knows the truth or not. She's happy, which means-

We just pulled that off.

I let Brittany pull me inside, gushing about Santa and how amazing he is, and when we reach the Christmas tree, Brittany looks at me.

"Can I open my presents?" she asks, and my heart thumps madly with how adorable she is.

I shake my head. "You have to wait until the morning, B," I say softly, and then I add, to counteract her look of disappointment, "but I do have one present you can open now." I guide her to sit on the couch, and then lean down to kiss her forehead. "I'll be right back."

When I'm back on the couch and holding a small square box in my hands, I suddenly feel nervous, even though I know Brittany's going to love the gift I got her.

I hand her the box, and she looks at it for a moment, but we celebrated her birthday over the summer, so I'm confident she knows what to do.

She carefully pulls the ribbon from the box- don't judge, I'm actually a fantastic present wrapper- and then begins methodically tearing the glossy wrapping paper from the box while I chew my lip in anticipation.

When she opens the box, she pauses to inspect the thing inside, and then her eyes get really shiny and I know I've done good.

"Santana…" she breathes as she pulls out the ornament I made for her. I don't need to tell her that, though- she already knows. She stares at it, smiling as she inspects all the details. It's a pretty involved ornament, but I'm proud of the way it turned out. It's a little platform, and on it sits a cheetah, a gorilla, a bear, a hawk, a white lion, a tiger, two wolves, and a tiny Andalite figurine- a real pain in the ass to make, by the way- all of which I painstakingly painted by hand. Behind the little figures is a lenticular photo of the Earth, and on the other side of it is a very specific section of space- the section of space which includes her Home Planet. I'd had to get information from Lauren for that little section, but Brittany's smile when she sees it lets me know it's worth all the trouble I went through to get it for her.

"This is incredible, San," she says, holding the ornament like it's made of glass. Which- it is, so I'm really glad she's so careful with it.

"Thanks, Britt," I say, and then I hold my breath as she finds the piece of paper- her real present- in the box.

"What is…?" She trails off as she unfolds it and reads it, and then she places her hands over her mouth. "Oh, my-"

"It's permission from the Fleet to visit your planet, Britt," I say softly. "I contacted the Andalite High Command and-" I'm cut off by Brittany's lips on mine, and she pushes me down to the couch, wrapping her arms around me, and I hold her close, hoping that her response means she likes her present. She kisses me for long moments, burying her fingers in my hair, and I hug her tightly, enjoying the way she makes my heart pound in my chest and my stomach fill with a million butterflies.

Okay, maybe not a million, I doubt they could all fit, but-

"I can't believe you did this for me," Brittany whispers when she pulls back for air.

"Why?" I ask, reaching up to cup her cheek. "I love you, Brittany. And I want you to be able to go home to see your family. And," I say, feeling my nerves coming back, "I'd like to meet them- if you want me to."

"Of course I want you to meet them," she says firmly. "I want them to see how happy you make me, how good you take care of me." She kisses me softly. "So good." After a few more kisses- not that I'm complaining- she lays her head on my shoulder and nuzzles her face into my neck, settling down on top of me. "When do you want to go?"

I shrug a little, making Brittany's head wobble. She giggles and I smile. "I don't know. Sometime over the summer, maybe?" I take a deep breath. "I'm going to be cutting back on my work hours. I-" I pause, stroking my fingers along her arm. "I really miss you, Britt."

"I miss you, too." I feel her smile against my shoulder, and she draws a heart on my chest with her finger, making me grin.

"Thank you for spending the holidays with me," Brittany says softly after a while, and I squeeze her closer to me, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

"Of course, B," I breathe into her blonde hair. "I'm sorry I've been so busy. I know it must suck hanging out around the house-"

"No, Santana," she says honestly. "I don't mind. I've been getting a lot better at being human. But something Blaine said the other day made me think…"

I chuckle nervously. "Oh god, do I want to know?"

I can hear the smile in her voice as she answers, "I think so..."

I kiss her head again, grinning wider. "Of course I do, Britt. I always want to know what you're thinking."

"Well," she starts softly, "Blaine mentioned that he wanted to create Transformers: The Musical, and while I think that's the worst idea ever-"

"I love you so much."

"-I do think that something celebrating our battles in a positive manner would be beneficial."

"Okay," I say slowly, contemplating what that means. "What did you have in mind?"

Brittany takes a deep breath, and I feel nervous for her for a moment, wondering what she's thinking, and then she says, "I want to be a morph dancer, Santana." She lifts her head, turning to look at me, and her blue eyes are fervent and impassioned as she continues, "I want to bring the art of transforming to life, and, I don't know, humans usually get a career, right? And I've always had my heart set on being a clown- bringing joy to others- and I really think that I could do that, and I know it will cost a lot of money and I'm not asking you to pay for it, I can get a job and-"

"Britt," I interrupt. "I think that's a genius idea."

Her eyes widen. "Really?"

I nod. "Really, really. You've always wanted to do this, and nothing would make me happier than helping you achieve your dreams."

Brittany hugs me tightly, burying her face against my neck. "I love you so much, Santana."

"I love you the most," I breathe. "Always." Brittany lifts her head at my words, and we stare into each other's eyes for a long, intense moment. Her blue eyes sparkle with the reflection of the Christmas lights and the fireplace, and as I look into them, I think about how grateful I am to be alive. I think about how amazing it is to live the life I'm living, with Brittany. I think about how much I love the girl on top of me, and how I want to spend every day for the rest of my life doing exactly what I'm doing. I think about how this Christmas is so different than any other Christmas I've ever had- how it's better, and how I finally feel like it's regained some of the magic and mystery it had when I was a kid; somehow, I just know it's because of Brittany, and as the realization hits me I'm overcome by an intense feeling I've never felt before. It's a lot like love, but different, stronger. I don't even know-

And then Brittany's kissing me, holding my face gently but firmly in her hands, and she presses against me, grinding her hips down into mine and making me suck in a sharp breath. I slide my hands up her thighs, pulling her down into me while I roll my hips up, and she continues to kiss me as we start up a sloppy rhythm. I tug at her pajama pants, and she lifts up slightly, allowing me to get them down to her knees. I don't bother to pull them down further- she's not wearing underwear, and I have plenty of room to slip my hand between her legs.

I cup her center and she releases a shuddering breath before kissing me again. I push up against her, letting the heel of my hand put pressure on her, and her hips buck down in response, making me bite my lip. I curl my fingers up, finding her entrance, which is slick and so, so wet I can't withhold my moan of pleasure at the evidence that she wants me as badly as I want her. She grinds down, forcing my fingers inside her, and she's warm, and tight, and I want to go slow, but-

"Fuck, you feel good," she pants, and the sound of her cursing sends a shiver down my spine. It's still relatively new to hear her swearing, but I can't deny it's fucking hot. I drive my fingers up into her deeper, making her moan against my jaw as she kisses it. I can feel her hand slide down my body, across my stomach, beneath my pajamas, and then it's my turn to swear as her fingers slip inside me.

She nips at my jaw, and I meet her thrusts with my hips, trying to keep my own hand moving between her legs, because I want her to feel good, too. My heart's pounding; the heat from the fireplace combined with the overheated state of my body and the warmth radiating from Brittany is stifling. My breaths are coming in rapid, heavy gasps, and I feel my stomach tensing. Brittany kisses me, her fingers fill me, slipping easily in and out of me, and she keeps pace with my hand, so that I feel completely connected to her.

When she starts to get close- I can tell by the way she's strangling my fingers- her eyes find mine, and she cups my face, holding the contact. I slide my arm around her waist, keeping her pressed close as I move inside her, and when she comes, she arches against me, shuddering. The look in her eyes, reflecting the Christmas lights and the love I have for her, pushes me to the edge, and her breathless I love you sends me hurtling over it, and then my orgasm hits me, too, making me tighten my grip on Brittany as we continue to move inside each other, bringing ourselves down.

She kisses me, and I slide my hand up to cup her face, to tangle my fingers in her hair, and after a while, we melt into the couch together, laughing breathlessly at our impromptu lovefest on Christmas Eve. She wraps her legs around mine, entangling us further, and shifts into me, settling against my side. I can feel her warm breaths on my neck, her hand once again lazily stroking along my stomach, and I smile, feeling tired and content in a way I haven't felt since the war ended.

After a while, Brittany falls asleep, and I just hold her, pressing intermittent kisses to her forehead and thanking whatever powers-there-be that I'm alive; that Christmas exists.

But most of all, that I found Brittany.

(Isn't that what Christmas is all about?)

Awwwww~ super cheesy. :')

So obviously I set this up for a future one-shot about Santana meeting Britt's parents…. If anyone cares to see that, that is. Hahaha.

In any case, review if you feel like it, but if not, that's okay, I hope you enjoyed it anyway. :)

See you soon, pals!

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***for those waiting for a Savage! update, chapter 5 is done, I just need to edit it. I'm hoping to have it up this weekend, so stay tuned!