Author's Note: I want to apologize like crazy for leaving you awesome people all so high and dry. I'm in the process of moving big time to Seattle. It's happening in a matter of days and I haven't had internet. There were a number of drafts in work for this damn chapter but after a minute I just said screw it, write whatever the hell you want to write so that's what I did! I want to thank you all for your reviews on my last chapter. You're all wonderful. This chapter was supposed to be longer much longer so I guess the next chapter will be a continuation? I just wanted to throw this out to you, to give you SOMETHING. Won't have internet for a bit but I plan on continuing to write even without it so I'll be expecting to hear what you have to say (through my phone of course, the wonders of technology). This chapter was meant to show a change through time for Santana and Brittany. I love backgrounds. Takes place a few weeks after the wedding. Hope I made good on this one.

Chapter 10. The Word 'Best Friend' Redefined

To say I enjoyed stealing was an understatement. Stealing was an art, a passion, and a challenge to never get caught. No one ever caught Santana Lopez. Emilio Lopez once told me, "if you want something, take it. Don't let anyone tell you you're incapable of having it." Now that I think about it I'm pretty sure he directed that statement towards my mother, which is gross, but I'm choosing to ignore that part. The point is I began taking my father's advice in the early stages of my childhood. Shit's addicting if you ask me.

It all started at age seven when I took my first candy coated, rainbow necklace—a thief who knew no bounds, I was only taking Daddy's advice. What was so wrong about that?

Age 11, turned out to be an interesting year for me. Settling into middle school as a 6th grader was difficult and making friends proved even harder. I had just managed to scoop up a circle of girls from my soccer team as friends and I needed something to push me to the front of the pack. Apparently swiping a pair of earrings from a local boutique showed boldness—a conflicted thief with a developing conscience but it couldn't come fast enough. Popularity mattered more. Santana Lopez was a trend setter, a leader at birth. First impressions were everything.

At 12, I spent my time in the dressing rooms at like, the only mall in our town, fitting "borrowed" summer clothes inconspicuously underneath a thick hoodie—an amateur thief who still couldn't figure out how to remove those damn security tags. So annoying.

By 13, I was that girl; the one who waited on the balls of her feet for the opportunity to sneak into her parent's wallets—a rebellious thief who often claimed she was just rising to Lima Heights' expectations when really all she wanted was Daddy's attention.

At 14, I managed to steal a sterling silver Tiffany & Co. bangle and I can say for once in my life my intentions were beyond pure when I fit it into a decorated Christmas box and handed it over to Brittany—a thief who would do anything for a certain blonde's smile and approval. I got both of those things that night. The look on her face made the hassle worth it. So worth it.

By the time Britts and I settled into Mckinley, I wasn't just a thief anymore; I was an expert fucking larcenist. Boys were the new Tiffany bracelet. We wore them on our arms and dangled them shamelessly with a sense of ownership and pride—just the pretty ones of course. And if you were too pretty, we used our bodies to "degay" you. And if you refused to be "degayed", we disposed of you. Simple as that.

Now fast forward a year's time to present days. I'd made a full transition into HBIC at Mckinley. Sure I had competition from Q but that never really shook the influence I already had over the other kids. Although my reputation had experienced a series of mud facials in the past, it never cracked. Santana Lopez never did either. People feared what they didn't understand and they were smart to clear the way for me. But of course Brittany understood more than I expected her to. Fear had no place in our friendship even with all of the titles I had acquired over the years. Santana The Slut (how predictable). Santana The Bitch (obviously).

Santana The...Girlfriend Stealer?

I didn't know how I felt about that one.

I shared my adolescence with Brittany. I had the privilege of watching her transform from a young, naïve, Disney adoring girl with stringy limbs to a stunning, ripened, young woman with a body that had grown in all the right places. Her silky hair had slipped past shoulder length and all of the girls at school envied it; touching whenever possible. I was one of them. After her braces had been removed, Brittany's teeth gleamed like the sun in every instance that she grinned. I made it a habit of making her laugh whenever the opportunity arose itself because well...look at her. Rainbows and fucking sunshine burst free every time she opened that pretty little mouth. That kind of shit was utterly contagious.

Over the years our lives had simply melded together. We lived at each others houses. When we weren't listening to Bing Crosby play softly in the background over a serene Pierce Christmas dinner; Britt and I were getting buzzed at annual Lopez New Years Eve parties because everyone was too elated by the midnight countdown to monitor the champagne fountain.

Being Brittany's best friend offered me a chance to experience all of the liveliness she had to offer. We would hold hands in her mother's jeep on rides home from junior high parties in Matthew Bilson's basement; back when B's curfew was still nine o' clock. Those rides were always entertaining when every second became a struggle not to burst out laughing at Brittany's "focus face" because we were drunk off of wine coolers and she didn't want her mom to know.

As we approached our teens, things got even better. Brittany and I, we had matured significantly—especially her. Britt had grown out those gorgeously long legs which in turn made her look even more grown up than she already was. And I liked that. I must have used every excuse in my large book of bullshit to touch those legs. Brittany, you need more sunscreen. Hey Britt, you've got something on your knee. Are those your new leg warmers? Let me see. We started breaking Britt's already flexible curfew to hang out at real parties with real alcohol. And need I mention, older boys. Mrs. Pierce's driving services were no longer of use to us. That turned out to be beneficial for the both of us; Brittany didn't have to burst an aneurysm over playing sober and I could pretend to be as drunk as I wanted to get her to touch me. Cheap way to cop a feel, I know, but the younger version of myself had no idea how to turn the sexy on. But needless to say, by our teens, we had reached that stage in our relationship.

It all started at cheer camp. Doesn't it always?

Our first kiss occurred under a cabin roof, in front of the eyes of a young and very different Quinn Fabray. Britts and I were 13, on our second year at Camp Spirit and Quinn was the new girl who had just moved to Lima. Brittany had been reading an article in Cosmo about girls who bit their boyfriend's lips when they kissed and how it drove them wild. When we decided to test out this theory, I claimed all I had come out of it with was a bruised bottom lip. I dismissed the kiss, feigning sheer boredom. Later that night, Brittany crawled into my bunk and kissed me again just to show me how boring it really wasn't. Nothing remotely boring about it when she bit a little softer and a moan escaped my lips. That same summer we left camp in a hurry to avoid missing Nana Pierce's funeral. That was the year I vowed to protect Brittany from the pain I saw so evidently in those eyes. I never wanted to see it again. Melancholy didn't suit her.

I, however, did.

We tiptoed around each other for the duration of our camping experience (and then Brittany caved). Unbeknownst to Quinn, Britts and I experimented three feet away from her bed, all summer long after that. Things cooled off significantly as we eased into our first year of high school. We established our rank by joining the Cheerios and the rest was history.

By spring break, one could say that I was history.

The Pierces—well, Brittany mostly—invited me and my family to join them on their spring break trip to Florida. Daddy of course complained, announcing he didn't have the time for a vacation and that he was already dark enough and didn't need anymore tans. To this, Brittany concurred, claiming that my father bared a strong resemblance to Al Pacino in Scarface (The look on Daddy's face was priceless). Quinn and her family were invited as well, but Russell Fabray politely declined for his whole house. Something about not wanting his daughter exposed to the "hedonistic nature" of South Beach. I find that quite ironic since a year later The Fabray's pride and joy wound up exposing herself to the hedonistic nature of Puck's dick. Whatever. Long story short, where ever Emilio Lopez went, Eva followed, and so I took the trip with the Pierce's riding solo.

Britts and I spent our days lounging on the warm sands of South Beach. We flirted with lifeguards and devoted hours to making the perfect sand castle for Brittany (leave it up to her to want a life sized one). A good portion of my day was consumed with discouraging Brittany from topless sunbathing. It was for my sake, really. Dry humping ones daughter in public would not look good to the parents. I'd already had enough temptation with Britts and I sharing our own separate, adjoining room. It also didn't help that Brittany came in from the beach one day terribly sunburnt, further obligating me to smear Aloe Vera all over her body.

And then it happened one day.

We had just come back from a midnight swim. High tides were in and the water like ice without the sun beating down over it. She caught me fresh out of the shower. Like, literally, I had just put the towel on. And then some how I found her hands in that towel. Her kisses were different. Mountains of confidence crumbled down into them. Before I could question the thick atmosphere, we were stumbling into the room, touching each other in a way that could never be passed off as experimental. We knew what we were doing. We were beyond studying now; we had aced that anatomy course long ago. We never even made it to the bed, our self control withering away right there on the maroon shaded floor. I came out of that experience with two things: my first orgasm and a hell of a lot of carpet burns to show for it.

Now with all of that history behind us, look me in the eye and tell me Artie had Brittany from the get go.

That's what I thought.

Santana The Best Friend Brittany's Ever Had.

Hm, I like that title a little better.

xXx

I stirred to the intrepid trace of icy fingertips and a whisper on my skin. I could feel Brittany's body heat emanating off of her from underneath the sheets. Her legs were tethered to mine in an effort to keep warm. The pads of her fingertips drew across my bare hip, up the side of my abdomen, over my shoulder, and past my neck. Her touch instantly warmed me.

After a gruesome session of Cheerios practice, I had decided to spend the night at Britts. We participated in our nightly massaging ritual and popped in some Sweet Valley High to fall asleep to. Neither of us were really that sleepy. Before I knew it we were tearing each others clothes off and Brittany's name became a mantra on my tongue for the remainder of the night.

"Wake up sleepy head," she breathed into the hollow of my neck while combing a path through my hair.

I reveled in her proximity and leaned in to her touch. Her cool feet tickled mine.

"Mm wake me later, B. I needs my rest," I mumbled incoherently. I didn't even bother to open my eyes. We were up the whole night. When did this girl sleep?

Brittany quit massaging my scalp all together and untangled our legs long enough to straddle me. That got my attention. My eyes fluttered open to meet the most brilliant shade of blue. I took in her morning appearance with curious eyes. A turquoise Mickey mouse tee she'd bought last summer at Disney World clung to her chest. Contact of bare thighs notified me that the only barrier between us came in the form of underwear. Perched over me with her eyes downcast in a smolder, Brittany had never looked sexier. Even her bed head was hot.

I reached out to bunch the hem of her shirt in my fist. "This is cute," I told her, staring at her chest where Mickey was; more than aware of her lack of a bra.

"You're cute," she responded almost immediately.

I didn't fight the smile that jumped across my features. Her fingers tip toed over my stomach and the black tank top I sported.

"So did you really just wake me up to compliment my gorgeous mug?" I asked with happy conceit while running my palms up and down her thighs.

She shook her head. Her hair spilled out over her shoulders. I gave it a playful tug. She smiled. I gulped.

"I want to play," Brittany announced with a new spurt of confidence that severed any willpower I had left. It was a demand, not a request.

I never had a chance to comply. Brittany struck hard and fast. Her legs squeezed my waist, effectively pinning me in place. She wasted no time unleashing her delectable assault on my lips. I curled my fingers around the nape of her neck to pull her over me completely. A faint darkness engulfed us as she pulled her comforter over our heads to shield our bodies from plain view. With each subtle adjustment of our bodies, her hips pressed into mine. Exactly what I was going for.

Brittany's lips parted mine with little effort and her tongue invaded in the most wonderful way. That pink muscle skimmed mine fleetingly with the motive to tease. There wasn't a soul on this earth that was better at that. With the lack of space between us under the comforter, I drowned in her scent. Couldn't have gone out a better way.

I laid my hands on her waist for support as I curved my hips up, lifting Brittany so suddenly that she broke our kiss and squeaked. Cutest sound I've ever heard. The gravity of her weight settled us back down into the mattress where she weaved her fingers through mine and pressed them on either side of my head.

Brittany directed her lips to my jaw where her murmurs tickled my skin. "You've got to stop moving like that. You're making me insane."

I suddenly became a little more aware of the fact that this was the morning. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were most certainly still dozing down the hall or preparing to start their routines. We weren't doing a good job of being discreet.

"I'll stop if you want," I told her seriously. I half expected her eyes to mirror my concern but instead I received bedroom eyes. Damn those bedroom eyes.

"It's okay. Everyone already thinks I'm a little nuts. Nothing wrong with speeding up the process," she said with a hint of mischief breaking through her gaze just before she crashed her lips back into mine.

The kiss made all my worries shrink up and fizzle out onto the floor. She gave my hands one final squeeze before releasing them to busy herself other places like under my shirt. I inhaled sharply at the invasive cold but soon began to broil from the familiar ache she triggered between my knees. I spread my legs to welcome her wedging thigh right where I needed it most. Her stroking tongue did nothing to relieve me of the heat. I played with her tip and circled around the den of warmth, making myself at home, exploring her mouth with some new confidence that had soaked through my shirt in the past ten minutes.

Brittany's hand skimmed over my ribs, abs, and chest where she tended to a nipple long enough for me to bite her lower lip with a carnal need that had begun to take its toll. I had forgotten how good it felt to breathe when we finally broke apart. By that time, we were gripping for anything and everything of each others, needing to be closer, needing to just melt like burning wax. Brittany's wedged thigh did wonders when she undulated herself against me. The look in her eyes told me she was ready and I imagined the look in mine told a similar story.

"Put your hand in my underwear," I whispered so hushed that the words probably fell away before they could even reach her.

"Now?" She asked much too innocently.

I rolled my eyes to the top of the comforter. "No Britt, tomorrow, yes right now."

She smiled down at me with a teasing glint in her eye. I got the feeling that she only asked me that so I'd be forced to say it again for her hearing pleasure. The fucking Buddha of teasing, I swear.

The encroaching hand that disappeared into my underwear shut me up fast. My brain had scrambled and reverted until I was just a babbling mess underneath Brittany. She used her index and middle finger to split my folds gingerly, exploring an inner fire that threatened to consume the entire bed. She stroked the length of me slowly, noting each time I gasped, memorizing each pitch when she crossed over something sensitivity. I loved it. I loved how she knew what to do. I loved how she looked so fucking brilliant doing it. Brittany was so smart. Sexy librarian smart. Hot for teacher smart. Did I mention she's really sm—

"Oh my fuck," I groaned with my entire being as she wasted no time inserting two fingers.

She stilled briefly to allow my body an adjustment period. But I wasn't having any of that. I reached up to pull her close and nip her lip hungrily.

"Move for me, B," I practically growled.

And she did, skillfully so. Her fingers pulsed through me with excessive speed. I felt everything. The way she slid past my walls and circled two fingers over my clit had my body humming tunes. I licked my lips just in time to meet hers for a kiss I wasn't willing to end. I teased her mouth open and stole everything I could take. My hand snuck up the front of her shirt where I left a trail of nail marks over the taut stomach. I'd kiss it better later.

A familiar tug began to control my movements. My body no longer listened, it just did. I bowed my hips off the bed with her strong thrusts. I felt the orgasm approaching and all I fucking wanted to do was ride it out until my body couldn't feel anymore; burnt out like an old fuse. I wanted Brittany to burn me out. But I was already on fire. Like, literally. Our enclosed space became suffocating. Brittany was too caught up with grinding my thigh to notice but with my breathing already coming out in gasps, how could I ignore it? Too fucking hot under here.

"I'm all for the kinky shit, Britt but I really don't plan on asphyxiating before I come," I panted.

"I love it when you talk dirty," she breathed into my ear.

I ignored her comment and threw the comforter back to inhale fresh air.

A cold draft suddenly wafted over my blazing skin.

"Holy fuck." My voice deadpanned and I froze.

There at the door stood a pint sized Brittany clad in a green soccer jersey and the shorts to match.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asked me, utterly confused.

Her eyes followed my line of sight and she gasped before tousling the covers around us to block her sister's view.

"Alison Nicole Pierce." I had to wince at the severity in Brittany's voice. "What do you think you're doing in here?"

The smaller blonde's eyes were saucer sized with fear. She looked so much like Brittany the day I had first met her that I could have sworn I was watching the past.

"I know you said not to come in if the door's closed but it's your day to take me to soccer practice and if we don't leave now I'll be late and coach will throw me off the team and then I'll—"

"We get it," I snapped, effectively stalling out her Rachel Berry-esque rant. "I'll take you myself so you can go all Bend It Like Beckham or whatever on your teammates, alright short stack?"

"We'll be ready in 15." Brittany nodded eagerly, encouraging her younger sibling's dismissal.

Ali grinned up to her ears at us. I stayed stock still. An awkward air spread through the room. My heart bounded. Fucking hell, just go goblin.

"What were you guys doing anyway?"

The question made my stomach drop. She had directed it at me. I glanced over at Brittany but found no safety there. I tried to avoid the penetrative stare of the 8-year-old. I worried Ali's eyes were just as inquisitive as her sister's.

"Um...we were just...wrestling."

I watched the girl's eyes inflate even more with size. I wanted to slap myself. We were so fucking busted.

"Who was winning?" Miniature Brittany asked enthusiastically.

"Me," Brittany answered smugly. I shot her a disapproving look.

Alison moved deeper into the room. Nervously I fidgeted with my hands. Don't come any closer.

"I love wrestling! We should do a handicap match. Me and Santana versus you, Brittany."

What? No. God, kids are so ADD.

The girl approached Brittany's bedside, excitement alight in those baby blue eyes. It took me a minute to realize she planned on belly flopping into the bed with us.

"No!" Brittany and I yelled simultaneously.

Alison froze and took a step back to place her hands behind her back with that kicked puppy look Brittany wore when she wanted her way. Definitely share the same genes.

"You have your cleats on, Al," Brittany reminded her gently. Even I softened a bit. She had that effect.

"Okaaaaay," the smaller girl bemoaned and proceeded to stomp away.

"Be ready for us when we beep the horn, blondie," I called after her retreating figure.

"And Ali?" The little girl turned in response to her sister. "Don't tell mom and dad about this. They hate it when Santana and I wrestle."

The 8-year-old gave her a resolute nod and shut the door on the way out.

I collapsed back on the bed and released a long held breath.

"I really need to remember to lock that door," Brittany muttered before dropping a kiss on my forehead and bouncing off the bed.

I listened to the tap turn on in the bathroom. The streaming sound of water echoed into the bedroom where I remained, still in my underwear. I took to filling my lungs with the deepest breaths to control the anxiety swimming throughout my chest. Sure we had covered okay but an inkling of panic stuck to the roof of my mouth as I voiced my concern.

"Do you think she saw anything?"

The gushing water of the facet ceased. Footsteps padded out from the bathroom. Brittany stood at the door with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. A collection of toothpaste foam had smeared over the side of her cheek. It was distractingly adorable.

"Nope." The confidence in her voice failed to put me at ease.

"How do you know? You weren't even paying attention," I said irritably.

"If I recall you weren't either," she replied sheepishly before slipping back into the bathroom to rinse.

I placed a clammy hand over my forehead. Brittany returned to me moments later. I watched her dress out of my peripheral vision. And then I sat up quickly realizing she was getting dressed.

"Britt, you can't just leave me like this."

"Leave you like what, silly?"

I gestured towards my body. She cocked her head to the side. I bit my lip out of irritation. "Frustrated."

Her mouth opened to make a little "O" shape and then she smiled at me.

"Well there's always the drive to the soccer field. We can be all naughty in the front seat while we blast Ali's Hannah Montana cd," she offered nonchalantly.

I couldn't help smiling. Leave it up to Brittany to find a plausible solution. I searched around me in circles before turning back to her.

"Where are all of my clothes?"

Brittany shrugged. "I think Lord Tubbington has them. He's gone up a few pants sizes, you know."

"Don't see how I could have missed that," I mumbled to myself as I began rummaging through Brittany's drawers for a pair of pants.