MUSE
ERATO was one of the nine Muses, the goddesses of music, song and dance. Her name means "the lovely" or "beloved" from the Greek word eratos. In Classical times, when the Muses were assigned specific artistic spheres, she was named Muse of erotic poetry and mimic imitation and represented holding a lyre.
As expected, her manager fell for "This Year's Love" immediately. In fact, he'd called it the next "One and Only." Of course, Santana had predicted it. The song had just the right mixture of angst and hope, with an indie pop edge. Her manager had actually coined that term for her - "indie pop edge." Rather than straight-up pop, that would be the new approach for the label. No more dance tunes, a lot more ballads. Now that Brittany was Marco's full-time choreographer and not her own, the idea of writing a dance song just wasn't sitting well with her anyway.
Although it was tempting to run to the label straight away with "This Year's Love," she wanted to sit on it, let it linger in the air, add to it, subtract from it. She also wanted to put together at least one more song for the label to hear. Somewhere between five to seven tracks, she knew they'd make their decision about resigning her - if they hadn't secretly decided already.
The hopeful edge of "This Year's Love" drifted through her mind as she scrawled and scratched notes and lyrics in her notepad. Waves crashed against the shore below and a yellow fog light idled on the darkened horizon.
At some point early in the morning, she woke with crumpled paper at her feet and the seam of a pillow stamped into the side of her face. Still not a decent lyric written. Her mind wandered to her beautiful muse, Brittany. Her number was dialed before she realized she had the phone in her hand.
"Hi!" It was early, 5am and still before sunrise, and Brittany was practically chirping into the phone. Santana's head pounded for lack of decent sleep.
"Hi. I'm stuck."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't write anything."
"What do they call that? There's a name for it...block something. Is it cock block?"
"Britt!" Santana tiredly chuckled. "No babe. Close, I guess. Writers' block."
"Oh. Yeah that was close."
"What do you have going on today? Think I can see you?"
"I don't know, Santana. My yoga class is in about an hour. Then, I have to be at the dance studio at nine for backup dancer auditions. In the afternoon, Marco and I are going to sit down to plan out some of the choreography for the tour. Honestly, I think I'm going to be too tired after all of that to do anything."
"Well, we don't have to do anything, Britts. We can pop in some Sweet Valley High, like the old times, and just get our sweet lady kisses on." Her voice was quiet and hopeful.
"I don't know. What about tomorrow? I don't have anything in the afternoon or the evening. Can we do that instead?"
Santana's heart dropped. Spontaneity and excitement felt dead. The hopeful heat she'd felt in the pit of her stomach remained, but served only to taunt her with her inability to have Brittany like she once did.
"I guess. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Hey," the tone in her voice had given Brittany pause. "We're taking it slow, remember."
"I got it, Britt." There was an edge to Santana's voice that Brittany hadn't heard in a while. "I'll call you tomorrow," she repeated with the same strained tone.
The combination of sleep depravity and sexual longing was really what was getting to her. It had been months since she'd been intimate with Brittany, though truth be told, it had been much longer since they'd had a positive, loving encounter. Santana tried to remember their last time together. It was in some nameless hotel room, a practiced routine before a show, a secret. It was muffled and restrained. It was unfeeling.
Santana awoke a few hours later, fresh from her dreams, yet with a tepid warmth brewing inside for Brittany. Talking about sex, singing about it even, had never been something she was comfortable with, for obvious reasons. She had publicly been in the closet for years. Any song about sex would have been a lie - a man's scratchy face and rough hands. She would have rather sung about soft lips, piercing blue eyes, and smooth skin.
Still in her pajamas, she sat down at the piano, mind on Brittany and the longing she felt inside. She needed a song that voiced everything she wanted - no needed - from Brittany. Fears of the past be damned, the yearning, the hunger, the insatiable need she had was too strong.
She set out a slow rhythm on the piano.
Love me, love me
Say you do
Let me fly away
With you
We are creatures of the wind
Wild is the wind
Give me more than one caress
Satisfy this hungriness
She felt the power of persuasion in those words. If she could just allow herself to open up, she could fly away. She could be freed to truly experience the love she'd felt with Brittany on the night of their official first date, all those years ago in New York City. Their "It's better with feelings" night, when Santana realized that it truly was better. She didn't know how she'd regressed.
We are creatures of the wind
Wild is the wind
You touch me
I hear the sound of mandolins baby
You kiss me
With your kiss my life begins
Life a leaf clings to the tree
Baby please cling to me
Despite their recent arguments, Santana's flame for Brittany still burned strong. The kisses they'd shared recently, although few and far between, had served to fuel a flame that had been ignited many, many years ago. Each kiss doused the flame in recent weeks, burning it stronger. And yet, Santana felt so uneasy. Brittany seemed so restrained. She wanted Brittany to cling to her, like she once had.
We are creatures of the wind
Wild is the wind
You touch me
I hear the sound of mandolins
And you kiss me
With your kiss my life begins
Love me, love me
Say you do
Let me fly away with you
This song would get no revisions. It was perfect. It was private. So private, in fact, Santana didn't want to share it with Brittany. It felt too revealing. And she was too hurt by Brittany's restraint. And by Brittany's choice to make big decisions without consulting her. They may be taking it slow, she thought, but that didn't erase the fact that they'd been in each others' lives for more than ten years and they told one another everything.
She tapped out and erased the message about fifteen times before she sent it.
We need to talk tonight. I'll come to you, if I you want me to, but it has to happen tonight.
The wait nearly killed her. She tried to go on a run, but ended up jogging about a mile before turning around and coming back to check her phone. She tried a nap, but thought only of Brittany's face hovering above her own, strands of blonde hair tickling her cheeks and nose.
Close to dinnertime, Brittany texted back.
I'm not far from you. Is now ok?
Immediately, Santana felt relief. Soon, though, the feeling was taken over by an immense wash of anxiety. She had always planned ways to get what she wanted from Brittany - quiet song in the darkness of her room, a serenade in the dance studio, a dedication at a recital. She had no plans. This was going to be a disaster. She fumbled with her fingers, brainstorming a plan for winning Brittany into her bed. In what seemed like minutes, a knock echoed through the house.
"Hi, what's wrong?" Brittany's hair was pulled into a sloppy bun, her body covered with dance rehearsal spandex. Santana licked her lips as she admired the curves and tone of Brittany's body. "Santana!" Brittany's hand and sharp tone startled her out of her appreciation.
"I wanted to talk."
Brittany pushed passed her and dropped onto the couch. "What couldn't wait until tomorrow night?"
"I...I'm having all...these feelings, Britt. I'm so confused and I just need to talk about them with you. And some of them you really aren't going to like, but you said you wanted to see that side of me, so..."
Brittany's face relaxed from frustration to concern. "I do, babe. What's going on?" She reached out and pulled Santana by the hand into the seat next to her. Her fingers continued to stroke Santana's.
"I'm not sure where to start. There's a lot and they're getting all mixed up. Shit, maybe this wasn't a good idea." Panic rose in Santana's eyes.
"Hey, no, I'm here. Say what you need to say, Santana. We can figure things out." Brittany moved her free hand up to stroke Santana's cheek and pulled her into eye contact.
"More than anything else, I'm angry." Ashamed tears hit Santana's eyes as she looked away. While the anger had boiled inside of her earlier, face to face with Brittany she couldn't hold onto her anger. Though she knew that had Brittany not been there, the feeling would have quickly bubbled to the surface again.
"About the Marco thing?" Brittany's brow scrunched into confusion.
"Sorta. I'm probably most angry that you just went and did something that affects us both without even talking to me about it."
"You're talking about signing to be his choreographer?"
"Yeah babe," Santana looked back into her eyes and let go of her restraint. "Look, I know you want to start fresh and everything, but that can't erase all this time that we've been best friends and telling one another everything. That can't erase that with your dancing, you helped me build my career. I was in the middle of writing an album - one that could have been filled with dance songs - and it feels like you abandoned me."
"I'm still here, sitting next to you, listening to you." Confusion was still etched on her face.
"But I used to have that other part of you, too. The professional part that only Marco has."
"I just think it's better if I keep us and my job separate, though, Santana. One of our problems before was that we'd get into fights and then we'd have to see one another for work and everything would explode. Remember all those tour dates when we were fighting and your fans were demanding refunds because you were such a mess on stage?"
"Maybe you're right, that things would be better if we keep them separate, but that's not even my argument, Britt." Santana's voice pitched up as she felt frustration. "More than anything else, I'm angry that we never even sat down to talk about it. And I feel like you decided not to talk to me about it because we're trying to start fresh, but I think it's impossible to start fresh. There's so much history with us that I can't forget everything we've been through. If this were the old us, you would have come to me and talked to me about Marco and we would have made a decision that was good for both of us. Together."
Brittany looked over the back of the couch, out of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. The sun had begun to set, washing the living room with purples and oranges and reds. Her jaw clenched, then opened, stretching out. Her breathing was heavy and irregular. Santana looked back at her face, studying her, trying to predict a reaction.
It felt like an hour of silence had passed before Brittany spoke. Her voice was quiet. "I'm sorry."
Santana wanted to push it. She wanted to figure out exactly what Brittany was sorry for, whether she would have taken back her decision, whether Marco was really worth Santana being so angry. Instead, she settled for 'sorry.' The drama of the past few weeks - the drama of starting over - had been enough. She wanted to feel less on edge and for now, after Brittany's apology, she settled back into the couch and breathed a little easier.
"What else, Santana?" Brittany quietly asked. "You said 'more than anything else,' so there's something else. Some other feeling. What is it?"
"Nothing." She knew exactly what it was, but following such a serious conversation, it felt inconsequential to bring up. "Never mind."
"No, I told you that this was the Santana that I wanted. I want you to tell me what you're thinking. Please."
"Really, Britt, I can't talk about it." A flush crept up Santana's neck, to her cheeks. She pulled her hand from Brittany's and absentmindedly ran it through her hair.
"Santana..." Brittany grabbed the hand back and squeezed.
"Fine." She took a deep breath and looked away. "It's been so long. I need you."
"What do you mean? I'm right here..."
Before she could finish, Santana nearly pounced on top of Brittany, pushing her into the couch and pushing her body into Brittany's. Her lips pressed hard against Brittany's. The kiss was chaste and awkward in its first moments, the result of such a surprise attack. Slowly, Santana deepened the kiss, tugging Brittany's bottom lip into her own and sliding her tongue against Brittany's. Forgetting to breathe, she pulled back and looked down at Brittany. "I need you," she whispered.
Brittany could only nod and whisper, "Bedroom."
Santana pulled her off of the couch and led her by the hand into her bedroom. It was a scene played over hundreds of times before and yet so different. There was a fluttering nervousness in Santana's stomach, a dryness to her mouth, and a sheen of sweat already coating her skin.
When they reached the bedroom, Santana's eyes were panicked. They darted from the bed to Brittany and to the floor. Her chest constricted and she couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a breath. Brittany looked to be in nearly the same state - her mouth slightly ajar, her cheeks and ears flushed crimson colored.
"I don't know why I'm so nervous." Santana finally choked out as her eyes met Brittany's. They sat on the edge of the bed, facing one another.
"I think..." Brittany's voice was just a whisper. "I think it's because this is what it's supposed to feel like. It feels like our first time."
Santana chuckled nervously, "I hope I'm better than our first time, Britt."
"You know what I mean."
Santana leaned in close and whispered against Brittany's mouth, "Like our first time, but better." Brittany leaned the rest of the way and kissed Santana tentatively, soft lips against soft lips. Her fingers reached behind Santana's head, trailing down to her neck, where she lightly let her fingertips dance across Santana's sensitive skin - one of Santana's favorite spots. A gasp slipped out of her mouth at the feeling of Brittany's fingers trailing against the nape of her neck.
She pushed Brittany onto the bed and pulled her t-shirt off, willing Brittany to do the same with her skimpy spandex attire. When both of their upper bodies were exposed, Santana made a move that she knew would drive Brittany crazy. Pressing bare skin against bare skin, she trailed her fingers from just beneath Brittany's backside, up over the front of her thighs, and danced to her bellybutton. A sharp intake of breath released from below her as Brittany pushed up into her.
At that moment, Brittany's thigh pressed up against Santana's center and she felt embarrassingly like Finn Hudson - ready to explode without any restraint. She pulled back, unwilling to let things end too soon, and trailed kisses down Brittany's exposed stomach. It took a moment to pull off Brittany's spandex pants, but in time, Santana's mouth was hovering above Brittany's center.
"Don't tease, San." Brittany whined as she felt Santana's breath on her thighs. It was another one of Santana's favorite moves - to hover above Brittany, taking in the glisten against her sensitive skin, as Brittany's hips rocked fruitlessly in the air, seeking contact.
Santana's head trashed from side to side as her tongue swiped delicately through Brittany's exposed center. Her nose and chin dampened against Brittany, as she thrashed Santana between her hips. What started as a quiet hitch in her breathing changed to gentle moans and then a full-on chant of unintelligible mutterings. Santana's head was firmly between her thighs, muting anything coming from Brittany's mouth, yet the gyration of her hips was enough to let Santana know that she was close. So she stopped.
Brittany nearly shouted in frustration as she saw Santana's sticky face rise from between her legs.
"I just needed to see your face." It was a line that Brittany usually loved. She lived on eye contact and feelings. Santana figured she would prefer the sex with feelings too, and being buried in the abyss of Brittany's muscled thighs was not allowing for any eye contact. And yet, Brittany didn't seem pleased by Santana's decision. Her hips continued to rock deftly against Santana's thigh as she climbed up Brittany's body.
"I need you. Now." Brittany muttered between clenched teeth as her hand grabbed Santana's and forcefully slid it between their bodies. As Santana's fingers slipped into Brittany, she pressed her forehead against Brittany's, catching a moan that escaped from her mouth with a searing kiss. She pulled back again as she worked her fingers inside, watching as Brittany's face twitched and her eyes watered - a sure sign that she was close.
At that moment, Santana decided to forget about her own restraint. The climactic look on Brittany's face, the way her hips had lost control, the way her eyes seared into Santana's soul; she pressed her own hips down and rocked against the back of her hand. Feeling Brittany's thrusts lose control, Santana allowed herself release, pumping her hips once, twice, three times and holding herself against Brittany. Their eyes closed for a moment in ecstasy, their bodies strained and moving of their own volition.
Santana's heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Her breath echoed off of Brittany's neck, her face just inches from Brittany's glistening skin. She thought she felt Brittany's face turn toward hers. Then a kiss on her forehead. She may have heard a whisper from Brittany. I love you. But her body was wracked with exhaustion and she slipped into a dream state.
When she woke, night had fallen, but she wasn't sure exactly of the time. As her tired eyes opened, she saw Brittany's eyes shine in the moonlight, meeting her own.
"I wanted things to be different. I was tired of being hurt."
Santana was reminded of their earlier conversation. Of Brittany's apology. "And you had a right to be..."
"Let me finish, please. I was tired of being hurt and I wanted to feel in control of making things right. Everyone always says that taking things slow will make it better. I wanted to try that."
"And?" Santana looked across the sheets at Brittany.
"With each of our dates, I was waiting for things to feel better, but I could never really tell if they did. But after tonight, I feel so much better."
"Me, too, Britts."
"I love you, Santana. Rather than try to do this or that in our relationship, let's just do what feels right. I promise I won't try to make us something we're not any more."
"I love you, too, Britt. And I promise I'll do more to make it better with feelings."
Cat Power, "Wild is the Wind."
