Title: If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Eight]
Rating: M
Summary: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.
Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!
Word Count: 11k
Author's Note: I know it's been a long wait, and I do apologise. Got caught up and then had a block. But I now have a beta (who wants to remain a mystery) and she's awesome, so shout out and big thanks to her! Anyway, here's a long chapter-ish, and there's a little bit of everything in this chapter, I think! Hope you enjoy!
Santana wakes up in the morning, breathing out an airy sigh and feeling thickness coat the tunnel of her throat. After several minutes of stomach-aching laughter last night, she and Brittany managed to acquiesce to Rachel's request and smother the giggles with soft kisses and slow drags of tongues along the roof of each other's mouths. God knows how, but they also managed to keep their hands to themselves; probably due to the sheer embarrassment they felt for having Rachel call them out on sexy times.
But hey, they were enjoying it so fuck it.
"Britt?" she croaks out; blindly reaching with her left (and also injured) hand to meet nothing but cool sheets. Muffing a groan into her pillow, she inhales deeply and uses all the energy she can summon at this time in the morning – even though she has no idea what time that is – to flip herself over. Just in case Brittany's decided to snuggle the tent door instead of Santana.
But nope. She's the only one inside and it kind of pulls a whine to bubble from her lips. Waking up without Brittany sucks now; because she knows how fucking amazing it feels to wake up with her and stare at pink lips, creamy skin and then bright, piercing blue eyes hooded with fatigue. Even in the morning Brittany manages to be painfully beautiful.
"Babe?" She tries again, slouching forward and shuffling until she's sitting with her legs out in front of her; sleeping bag tangled around her thighs.
Rubbing the ache out the back of her eyes with her knuckles, she manages to push away the grogginess tugging at the back of her mind and listen to her surroundings. Sure enough, she hears that heavenly chuckle that makes Santana smile even when she's just woken up; and that's pretty hard to do. Just ask everyone that isn't Brittany. The only times she's ever smiled in the morning when she's just been woken is when the blonde is around her or kissing her into consciousness.
She seriously wishes that happened instead of what actually happened.
Throwing the sleeping bag off her legs – which actually takes longer than anticipated because somehow the zipper has sucked in the edge of her boxer shorts and now it's fucking stuck – she clambers to her feet, feeling her joints pop back into place and basically falls out the tent entrance. Stretching herself up to her full height, fingers reaching towards the sky, she yawns widely and paps her mouth together a few times to push away the dryness chapping her lips.
(She glances down quickly and thanks the lord that she and Brittany thought getting dressed last night before falling asleep was a good idea.)
"San!" Brittany calls from across the burned out fire pit; where she's sitting cross legged on the floor, huddled up in a blanket with Quinn and Rachel cuddled in front of her.
They're sipping on travel Thermos cups and as Santana heads closer, and notices that Brittany's is still basically full; she guesses it's probably one of Berry's herbal teas. They taste like crap; but Brittany's way too polite to ever say anything.
"Morning beautiful," Santana says, grinning as she steps behind Brittany and sits down, pushing her legs either side of her girlfriend's body.
Shuffling forward until there's no space between her chest and Brittany's back, she presses a quick, soft kiss to the piece of skin showing where Brittany's neck meets her shoulder and then rests her chin upon it. It's only now that she realises the strange, half-embarrassed, half-amused looks she's getting.
"What?"
Quinn looks to Rachel, who looks back and then towards Santana. "You are aware what happened last night, right?" The smaller brunette says, ears tinging pink.
Santana smirks, because hell yeah she remembered. She slides her hands around Brittany's waist, resting them upon her stomach and only seconds later pale fingers slide through hers; tangling together tightly. Her stomach flips almost uncontrollably but she keeps her cool, feeling Brittany lean back into her body and relax.
"Yeah, I do," she responds, cooly. "I'm assuming you two do too, perverts."
Quinn presses her lips together like she's trying not to smile and Rachel glares at her quickly; clearly more annoyed by the disturbance than the blonde is. "We're not perverts."
Santana grins, noticing the matching one on her girlfriend's face. "You were listening."
"You were loud," Rachel retorts, annoyance etching across her face.
Brittany giggles, leaning forward to break their embrace only to pull out the blanket from between them and throw it over both her body again; this time with Santana. Pressing a quick kiss to the space behind her girlfriend's ear as a small thank you, Santana returns to their original position and smirks at the other brunette. "I told you to put headphones in."
They all break into laughter; well, apart from Rachel who just lets out an annoyed huff and crosses her arms. Quinn pulls her girlfriend into an embrace, despite her body vibrating and shaking and presses tender, apologetic kisses to the crown of Rachel's head. Brittany leans back into Santana, lacing their fingers together again where they rest on a toned stomach; and turns her head until all Santana can feel is hot breath blanketing the sharp ledge of her jaw. It makes her squeeze her thighs tighter.
"That was mean," Brittany whispers; so low there's no way anyone else could hear.
Santana gives a small shrug, not wanting to disturb their position. "If that was mean then you're mean too."
Fair brows scrunch together, confused. "How?"
"You were the one making the noises."
"So were you," Brittany replies; her blue eyes darkening mischievously.
Nuzzling their noses together, Santana tightens her grip. "You're good at what you do. What can I say?"
Brittany chuckles like someone just whispered a dirty secret in her ear and Santana grins. They hear a clucking tongue from beside them and turn their heads, watching Rachel arch a brow and Quinn pull her lips down at the side apologetically. Rolling her eyes, Santana presses a quick kiss to Brittany's cheek and then moves away because she's getting that it looks like you're about to jump on each other glare from the dwarf. Although she can feel a comment begging to come up; and even though Brittany will probably exhale disapproval at her for saying it, and Quinn might possibly clip her around the head... She just needs to say it.
"Just because I can make my girl scream louder than yours," Santana quips, smirking.
"San!" Brittany's entire face turns red; ears tinging pink and cheeks blushing furiously.
Rachel stands, smoothing out her top to remove any crinkles and stares down at them with pursed lips. "I'll have you know I do a more than satisfactory job," she says, cheeks pinking. "And I've heard Brittany before so it's not a new thing, unfortunately."
It takes a few seconds, but when the words sink into Santana's mind, she snaps her head up and glares at the other brunette. "What?" She asks through her teeth, baring them slightly more aggressively than needed.
Rachel widens her eyes as if she acknowledges she's done wrong. "Excuse me?"
"You said you've heard Britt before..."
Brittany stiffens in her arms and Santana can tell even from the side how her girlfriend's pleading with Rachel not to say something. Feeling like she's missing a piece from the puzzle, she shuffles back, moves to the side of the blonde and looks between them, back and forth about three times before settling on the small brunette again.
"What did you mean?"
Rachel clears her throat as if she's trying to forget what she just said. "Um, I just meant that Brittany isn't exactly the um," she coughs again, clearly uncomfortable. "Quietest of people whilst partaking in coitus."
Brown eyes narrow; knowing damn well they haven't had sex anywhere near Rachel bar last night. "With who?"
"With whom?" The short brunette parrots; nervously glancing down to Quinn who's pointedly avoiding the eye contact. "Well as you know... She was with-"
"Rachel." Brittany basically hisses, eyes sharp and Rachel's mouth snaps shut with a resounding smack that echoes through the silence.
"No," Santana continues to stare at the other brunette. "Let her speak, Brittany. You were saying, Berry?"
Rachel kicks her foot along the ground beneath her, rolling a few twigs. "Santana," she ducks her head but keep the eye contact. "I'm sure you don't want to hear about Brittany and her past lovers."
The name sends shivers down Santana's spine and she unconsciously moves away from her girlfriend until there's a good metre between them. It feels like miles. Quinn shuffles uncomfortably, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them like she's trying to disappear from this entire conversation. And then Santana feels something curdle in her stomach as she looks between all the other three, seeking the confirmation she doesn't actually need because she can feel the awkwardness and discomfort settle in the atmosphere.
Mike.
"Right," she says, looking to the ground beneath her. "Okay."
She just clenches her jaw, and glances around to see Quinn staring down at the ashes of last night's fire, Rachel with shit written across her forehead and Brittany trying to find the right words to say with her lips sucked into her mouth and brow furrowed. After about a minute or so, Brittany lands on the decision to reach out, trying to comfort Santana by brushing her bicep but she dodges, quickly manoeuvrings herself to her feet.
Brittany looks up at her with an expression Santana really doesn't want to see right now. Apologetic and hurt. "San..." she whispers brokenly.
"Yeah," she tries to break the silence lingering between them. "We should probably get going," she manages to avoid the blue eyes boring into her skull. "I've got to get some work done at the studio."
Quinn narrows her eyes quickly as if to say "no you don't"but she's wise enough not to say it. Without Quinn saying anything, Rachel and Brittany can't question it so she forces a smile and heads back to the tent; the sound of her feet crunching against broken twigs and dirt amplifying the silence.
The last thing she hears as she zips the tent up is the sound of Brittany dropping her head to her knees and Rachel muttering soft apologies.
Santana's standing by the jetty, throwing the duffel bags into the boat with a little more force than necessary. It's been two hours since Rachel blurted out all those times Brittany's had sex with Mike and was mega loud. Okay, complete exaggeration but inside Santana's veins (which are burning with anger, jealousy, hurt and regret) it feels like Rachel might as well just have said that. She might as well have said "Mike and Britt used to fuck all night long" or "Brittany couldn't possibly keep quiet whilst she was riding Mike into oblivion" because this is exactly what it would feel like if she had said that.
Even though yeah, she's pretty sure she'd be punching holes through walls if Rachel had actually said something along those lines.
"Hey."
Gritting her teeth together, she throws the last of the duffel bags into the boat – where it lands with a loud thunk –and claps her hands together before turning. When she does, Brittany's standing there, fiddling with her fingers in front of her nervously and biting on her bottom lip like she's not sure what to do.
"Hi," she answers with a tone she's only ever used on Brittany like, twice.
Brittany's face sinks, eyes flickering down to her shoe which she's scuffing along the ground. "Are you mad at me?"
Santana inhales deeply, feeling her chest basically double in size as she crosses her arms and turns back towards the boat to untie the rope so they're ready to go. "Nope," she answers, even though her tone totally says yes. "I'm fine."
"Santana..." Brittany's tone is that one she's been doing ever since they met.
It's the one that dips in the middle and basically misses out the vowels so it's more of a 'Sntna.' The way she says it just screams condescension and a distinct edge of seriousness and Santana really fucking wishes she wouldn't do that. Saying her name like she knows what's going on inside her head and how truly fucked up she is because even after their confessions of love and relationship so far; she still can't seem to let go of the past or the jealousy she feels.
"Just leave it, Britt. Seriously. I'm fine."
Fingers curl around her wrist, stilling the movement but she doesn't look back; just keeps her eyes trained on the thick rope still wrapped around the little metal. "Can you just tell me why you're angry, please?"
"I'm fine."
"Santana," Brittany repeats a little harder, tugging on Santana's wrist until they're facing each other.
"I said I'm fucking fine!" Santana half-yells, yanking her arm away and widening her eyes when she sees Quinn and Rachel slow to a walk with half-quizzical, half-confused expressions. Her eyes dart between the three girls as she notices her own clenched fists, rapid heart beat and sharp, intakes of breath that makes her chest rise and fall quickly. She can just imagine how pissed she looks; and how bad it seems considering even she knows how pathetic she is for being angry.
When she finally manages to calm herself a little, she looks back to Brittany and finds watery blue eyes staring at her. Something heavy drops in her stomach and guilt pangs through her body; strumming like the strings of a guitar. She fucking hates herself right now.
"Okay," Brittany says, lowly; her voice wavering since she's on the brink of tears as she swiftly breezes past Santana, making sure to jolt to the right so their shoulders don't brush as she steps onto the boat and disappears into the little room below deck. Rachel follows quickly, shooting her a look that says "look what you've done now" and Santana rolls her eyes; even if inwardly she's repeating the same thing.
Except she doesn't feel like that right now. She doesn't get why Brittany's pissed and why she shouldn't be. So when Quinn opens her mouth to say something, Santana lifts a hand, hold it out and says, "leave it" before heading back to camp to pick up whatever is left.
It's pretty much silent the entire trip back.
Santana stays at the back of the boat, looking at the waves cascading over each other and the fishes tailgate their boat, and she thinks Brittany's somewhere in the cabin. Every few minutes she hears Rachel say her name loudly to ensure Santana knew they were talking about her. But to be honest she couldn't really care.
They get out the boat, Santana faster than the others as she grabs the bags and and throws them carelessly into the back of the trunk of the car. Brittany watches her the entire time. She can feel those fucking blue eyes burning a hole into her skin as she moves around, pointedly not looking back and finishes by kissing Quinn on the cheek, glaring at Rachel and then climbing into the car, slamming the door louder than necessary behind her.
She drums her fingertips along the top of the steering wheel as she watches Brittany hug both Rachel and Quinn, thank them by the looks of it and then nod sadly as the dwarf points towards the car. Anger gurgles in the back of her throat and her nostrils flare in reaction. Fucking Rachel. Thinking she's making it better when actually she's probably making it fucking worse.
The door clicks open and Brittany slides in wordlessly. Santana switches on the ignition, shoots a half smile towards Quinn as she twists around, throwing one arm over the passenger seat and reverses out the space and then proceeds to drive out the car park. When she pulls her hand back, fingers curl around her wrist and tugs until her hand is in Brittany's lap. She tries to flinch out of it, because the skin touching hers seems too hot and heavy, but Brittany just clutches on with strength Santana always forgets she possesses.
"You're mad."
Santana lets out a snort that kind of sounds like a scoff. "No, shit."
Brittany ducks her head, her bottom lip trembling and dropping into a pout. Santana feels guilt flood through her but bites it back. She has good fucking reason to be pissed. She's not going to feel bad for something she didn't do, or for something Brittany did.
"What did I do?" Brittany asks in a small voice that curls around Santana's heart. She's such a bitch and is seriously starting to hate herself for being like this. Especially when Brittany flips up her palm and begins to smooth her thumbs along the lines, tracing every dip and curve like she's memorizing it.
"You should know what you've done."
"But I don't."
The car rounds a corner, and Brittany slides along the seat, giving Santana enough time to yank her hand away and grip the steering wheel tightly. She clenches her jaw, strains her eyes and focuses on the road instead of the watery blue eyes gazing at her like a kicked puppy.
"Well, you should," she retorts.
Brittany turns in her seat, facing Santana side on. "How am I supposed to apologise for something if I don't know what I've done?"
That's a pretty good point actually. Not that she'll admit it. Instead, she rolls her shoulder in a half shrug. "You'll just have to figure that one out."
"San..." Brittany's tone dips and Santana wants to bash her head against the window. That's the tone she's known and become to despise since they were 8 years old and she thought it was funny to push that Jewish, ginger kid over in the sandpit. In the past few years though, she hasn't heard it and now it just pisses her off more. Brittany's making her feel like the bad guy when she's done fuck all. How the fuck is this fair?
Brittany tilts her head, studies her for long moments and Santana seriously wishes she'd stop doing that. Looking at her and reading her like she's a fucking picture book. Using that skill to her advantage and not allowing Santana to have these few hours of being pissed off. It's fucking allowed. Especially after what she knows, now.
"Is it because of what Rachel said?" Brittany asks, her voice a little stronger and more knowing.
She could lie, and say no, but Brittany would call her out on it. Instead, she presses her lips together and continues to stare at the road. Ignoring the spiking jealousy pouring through her body.
"Santana, I don't get why you're angry." Brittany pulls her eyebrows together, "It's not exactly new that Mike and I were engaged. I left him to be with you."
It should make her feel better, and it kind of does, but she's still pissed. "I know," she grits out, even though she still gets a fluttering in her stomach when she remembers that Brittany chose her over someone else.
"Then why are you mad?" Brittany asks in that half-whiney voice that makes Santana hate herself that little bit more.
"Just because."
"Because what?"
She grits her teeth harder until a metallic tang slides across her tongue. "Because I fucking am," she hisses, her anger multiplying inside her until it's hot to the touch. "Alright?"
"No," Brittany almost laughs the word. "It's not alright."
The car turns into the parking lot and heads down the ramp until darkness surrounds the vehicle. The only light in the cab is the dim glow of the cheap bulbs dimly illuminating it, but Santana can still feel blue eyes burning a hole into her profile. She fucking hates that Brittany's just waiting and staring at her like she's about to give an answer. It's ridiculous that Brittany doesn't know why she's angry. Pretty damn obvious, if you ask her. She almost rolls her eyes at her own thoughts.
"Are you going to tell me?" Brittany's voice is a little harder than usual, and it kind of worries Santana.
She's only ever heard this tone once before, and that was with the whole Sophie and Mike fiasco. Fear creeps into her veins and heat builds around her collar as she begins to panic. But she doesn't show it. She won't show it. She doesn't want to give in and give Brittany the satisfaction of knowing that she can't possibly bare to be pissed off at the blonde for more than a few measly hours. Stubborn of her, she knows. But right now, she couldn't really give a crap.
In lieu of answering, Santana pulls into the parking space that's allocated to the Jeep and hops out the car. The door slams behind her and she winces at the volume of it. No doubt Brittany will take that for an answer, and will totally dramatize this whole argument. It wasn't supposed to escalate to this level. She was just supposed to be silently pissed off for a few hours, and take a breather from Brittany before falling to the girl's feet. But now it's turned into something different, something on a higher level and something that puts their relationship in dangerous territory. Mostly because of her, she'll admit that. But it still doesn't help at all.
Throwing open the boot of the car, she grabs their bags and lugs them over her shoulders. She slams shut the boot door, ignoring the way Brittany's sitting in the car, body still and gaze fixed at the brick wall they're parked in front of, and moves around to the car. She's pissed off, sure, but she's not rude. So she takes in a deep, aggravated breath and opens Brittany's door, gesturing for the girl to climb out. When the blonde doesn't, she huffs impatiently, taps her foot against the concrete beneath her boots about three times and purses her lips expectantly.
"Are you planning on getting out any time soon or shall I leave you here?"
She regrets the words as soon as they come out, and then it multiplies when Brittany snaps her head around, and shoots a narrowed glare towards her. She swallows thickly, hooks her thumb underneath one of the straps of the duffel bags, but keeps a stoic expression. Brittany can't break her, right now. She's determined to stay angry for at least another hour or two.
Brittany reaches out, and grips the door of the car with one hand to aid climbing out the car. Once a foot is pressed to the floor, Santana takes a step back and gestures sarcastically with a wave of her hand to continue moving. It's not received well. She thinks it's kind of good, because that was her intention, but when her girlfriend sucks her cheeks in and shakes her head as if to say you're pathetic, she kind of regrets doing it.
"You're being an ass," Brittany spits out as she slams the door shut, disregarding where Santana's fingers lie barely millimetres away from the hinge. About two over, and she'd be on her way to the ER right now. The blonde whips around, clenches her jaw and shakes her head when Santana just cocks a brow as if to say 'really?' "You know that right?"
Brave move, Santana knows, especially because she's been on the receiving end of Brittany being pissed off before and it's not a pretty experience. But she just keeps the perfectly shaped eyebrow raised and fails to respond, knowing any words may intensify this fight and it really wasn't meant to get this out of hand.
"Fine," Brittany grits out. "Be an ass. See if I care."
It hurts more than she thought it would, and when Brittany twirls away, crosses her arms and stalks faster than usual, with a hell of a lot more anger in each step, she begins to think that maybe this whole being pissed off at Brittany thing wasn't a good idea. There's still that stupid fucking part of her, deep inside her mind that's frozen in high school mode. Where she basically refuses to give in and say sorry when there's a tiny chance that maybe, just maybe, she has a legitimate reason for being pissed off.
She hopes she does anyway.
Slamming the door shut, she lets out a heavy breath she didn't know she was holding and begins to walk after Brittany, with her head ducked to her chest. She doesn't need a time machine to know that in about five minutes, confrontation will occur.
She fucking hates herself, sometimes.
Santana leans against the stoops railing, staring at her girlfriend's profile whilst Brittany unlocks the door. She can see the anger etched in the blondes features. Crinkling at her eyebrows, tightening around her jaw and narrowing her already cat-like eyes. The need to reach out, stroke a finger along the creases and watch them smooth out under her touch surges down her arm like a spark, but she doesn't do it.
Instead, she grips the handles of the duffel bags tighter and just continues to watch, hating herself a little bit more when Brittany struggles to open her apartment and her blue eyes gloss over with frustration.
The locks snap and click barely a second later, and Brittany barges her shoulder against the door, retracting the key and pushing it open simultaneously. Santana almost rolls her eyes, but doesn't, knowing how much shit she's in already. That gesture would just bump up the tally of how many nights the sofa will be her bed.
Even if there's a spare room.
Brittany's at that level of anger that she'd probably lock the damn door so Santana couldn't get in. It's not like she doesn't understand, she has been an ass. And still is being one, for that matter.
Throwing down the keys, which clang against the glass vase on the side table loudly, Brittany moves through the living room in long strides and heads down the hall and for the bedroom. Santana doesn't even get a word in sideways before the sound of a door slamming shut echoes through the apartment. Anger bubbles in the pit of her stomach and she grinds her teeth against the frustration she feels.
"Yeah, because slamming a fucking door is going to help!"
She doesn't even mean to yell it, it's meant to be a small muttering under her breath, but she doesn't quite think it comes out like that. Eyes widening, the breath catches in her throat and she stands idly in the centre of the living room, the duffel bags resting on the sofa cushions as she waits in anticipation for her girlfriend to storm out and scream at her.
Of course, Brittany does come out, eyes narrowed dangerously and features contorted with pure anger. Her lips are slightly parted, and her head is tilted with her ear perked up a little like she can't quite believe Santana just said that.
Santana doesn't even think the comment was that fucking bad.
"What?" Brittany hisses.
Being the stubborn ass she is, Santana just lifts her chin triumphantly like she meant to speak as loud as she did. "I said, because slamming a fucking door wou-"
"I heard what you said," the blonde cuts it, striding around the couch and planting a palm to the arm rest.
"Then why the fuck would you ask?" Santana throws her hands up into the air and they fall back down again, slapping against the jean of her thigh.
Brittany shrinks down, her eyes softening and lower lip drooping until she looks like a kicked puppy. Santana runs her tongue along her teeth and lets out a angered sigh because she really fucking hates when Brittany does that. Like really fucking hates it. It makes her want to lurch forward, wrap her arms around her girlfriend and drop thousands of kisses and apologies into the girl's hair and around her face.
"Don't do that, Britt," she sighs, lifting a hand and pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Don't make me feel bad."
"I'm not making you feel bad," the blonde says in a small voice. Basically fucking proving Santana point.
"Yes, you are!" Santana half-yells, twirling on her foot and stalking towards the kitchen.
She doesn't enter, though. Just leans against the frame and rubs her temple with two fingers. It's like a bad dream that she can't fucking wake up from. Although, the headache she feels kind of reminds her of a hangover. Except instead of alcohol overload it's fighting-with-Brittany overload. Even her damn body knows how wrong it is to be fighting with the girl. Doesn't do anything but multiply the guilt she feels.
She feels Brittany hesitate behind her, and can imagine the way blue eyes are glossing over with unshed tears that are because of her. Throat thickening, she swallows, pushes off the frame and spins again until she's facing the blonde. Usually, the image of Brittany crying would probably bring her to her knees and quell the anger bubbling inside of her. But this time, she just rolls her eyes and sucks in a deep, shaky breath.
"See!" She waves out her hand in the blondes general direction. "You're fucking crying, now!"
"Because you're shouting!"
Santana takes a step forward, thrusting her fist out. "I'm shouting because you're making me shout."
"If you told me why I'm 'making you shout'," Brittany mimics Santana, who clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in reply. "Then maybe I could apologise and we could sort this out!"
Hearing Brittany yell is definitely not something Santana's used to. Nor does she think she'll ever get used to it. Seeing her girlfriend angry is like seeing a volcano erupt. When it happens, it's actually pretty mesmerizing and beautiful in a strange way, but at the same time, it's pretty damn scary because it's like shit, where the hell did that come from?
Brittany's just one of those people that doesn't suit being pissed off. Her face is innocent with those bright blue eyes, perfect, pink lips and glowing, pale skin. Her brows shouldn't furrow in the way they do when she's angry, and her skin shouldn't tighten around the sharp ledge of her jaw the way it does when she's pissed. In some ways, Brittany being angry kind of makes Santana want to smile and tease her.
Probably not the best thing to do right now, though.
"Santana," Brittany says, lowly, in that same damn tone she used by the car this morning. That half-patronizing, half-knowing one that really fucking grinds her gears. "Tell me."
"No."
"Santana."
She moves into the kitchen, shaking her head because the truth is looping over and over in her mind and just pissing her off more. When she reaches the fridge, she yanks it open and grabs a carton of juice, throwing off the cap and chugging it down. It's one of those little things that she knows is going to piss Brittany off more, because back when they were teenagers, Brittany always used to say "use a cup, Santana." Although, now she thinks about it, she's pretty sure that's the reason she's doing it. Out of plain spite.
"Santana," Brittany breathes out, and this time it's a lot softer than her previous tone. Another thing Santana hates. A pale hand reaches out, curling around her forearm and squeezing lightly until their eyes flicker up and meet. "Can you just tell me?"
"Because you fucking slept with Mike!"
And there it is.
Not quite in black and white. But still lingering in the air around them like the black plague. Brittany's mouth drops into an 'o' shape and her fair eyebrows raise until they disappear into her hairline, and Santana shuffles, snapping her jaw shut and staring intently at the ground. Now that she's saying it out loud... She realizes just how pathetic it sounds and almost laughs at herself.
"Because I slept with Mike?" Brittany repeats like she doesn't quite know what she's saying. Her eyes are still burning though, and Santana gulps at the way she feels them penetrate her skull.
"See why I wasn't going to tell you?"
Brittany licks her quivering bottom lip. "You're angry at me because I slept with Mike?"
"Yes, Brittany. There's no need to fucking repeatit. Pretty sure we heard it already."
A heartbeat later and Brittany responds. "Did you sleep with Sophie?"
Santana stills, blinks and narrows her eyes at her girlfriend. "What?"
But Brittany stays strong with her question, lifting her chin, arching a brow and standing tall. "Did you sleep with Sophie?"
Not entirely sure where this is going, Santana takes a step closer to runs her tongue along the inner side of her teeth. A few answers run through her head, many of which end up with "what the fuck does that have to do with this?" but she knows that Brittany wouldn't bring it up without reason. Now she's intrigued as well as pissed off. Plus, lying isn't going to get her anywhere.
"Yeah," she nods, slowly. "She was my wife."
Stained tear tracks become obvious when Brittany twists her head, sucking in a sharp, shaky breath and tightening the grip on her arms around her chest. Santana almost gives in then, because she knows it's still a sore subject for both of them, especially now that they're fighting, but she doesn't. She won't. She has a fair point and wants to know where the hell this question is heading.
"And Mike," Brittany lets out through a long exhale. "Mike was my fiancée."
Santana almost scoffs, but then realizes just how true those words are and the will to argue sinks. As much as she hates to even think it, she is wrong. Brittany's right. Who is she to get angry at Brittany when she slept with Sophie? It's not like they're giving each other as good as they got, because Santana knows that technically, she was the one in the wrong.
Sure, Sophie was her wife, but the only reason they ever consummated their marriage was because she was retaliating against Brittany. After she thought she saw Brittany and Mike stumble out that stupid bathroom at the party.
Her mouth snaps shut when she sees Brittany begin to cry again, but anger flares inside of her once more. This time, it's not aimed at her girlfriend. But at herself, and it's really fucking tempting to head butt the wall or punch a hole through it or something to cause some physical pain to distract from the emotional one.
So instead of admitting to being wrong, or breaking down and muttering millions of apologies at Brittany (because she's still Santana, and still incredibly stubborn) she grunts; "I'm going to Barney's," and heads for the door, grabbing her jacket off the coat rack on the way.
As her hand reaches for the handle, Brittany steps in front of her, in between the door and her body and leans back against it to pull it out her grasp. Santana grinds her teeth together, flares her nostrils and feels her hand twitch with anger. Seriously, her girlfriend needs to fucking move now. This isn't exactly the best position to be in when she's angry. Especially considering the last time she was this pissed off, Puckerman received a fist to the face and a broken nose.
Not that it's the same, at all. She'd never hit Brittany. The mere thought makes her knees weak.
Santana breathes in deeply, eyes darting down to the pale hand covering the handle and back up to blue eyes. "Move, Britt," she hisses with as much venom in her. "I'm leaving."
"No you're not," Brittany responds shuffling her feet forward and pressing her shoulder blades harder into the door. "You're not leaving."
"Yes-" Santana yanks Brittany's hand away from the handle and covers it with her own to punctuate her sentence. "-I am."
"No," Brittany lurches forward and presses her body against Santana's. "You're not."
"Why the fuck not?" Santana yells as she steps back, knowing she can't maintain the level of anger, or the fight for the matter, if her girlfriend's body is pressed against hers. The two seconds it was has already made her heart pick up that little bit more.
"Because!" Brittany screeches, tears flowing freely.
"Because what, Britt!"
"Because I'm not Sophie!"
It rips the breath straight from her, and she blinks a few times, trying to comprehend whether or not Brittany actually said that. Her mind races. Her heart pounds. But she still comes to the conclusion that Brittany did actually say that. Legitimately.
"What!"
Brittany whimpers, crosses her arms and runs a finger underneath her eye to wipe away a tear. "I'm not Sophie," she repeats, quieter than before. "You can't just walk out and come back later, and everything will be fine and dandy."
"Britt..." It comes out as a whisper, and Santana tentatively steps forward, running her fingertips down a toned forearm until she reaches slender fingers. She slides them into the gaps and clutches, tugging until Brittany's body clashes against hers and her nose is nudging against a pale cheek. "Britt," she gulps and blinks away the heat pricking at her eyelids. "Look at me."
Brittany looks up sheepishly, cowering slightly from the drastic change in atmosphere. Santana takes this moment to cup the girl's cheek, running her thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone and across her temple to the hinge of her jaw. She smiles, carefully, and strokes back a lock of hair, eyes following the movement until they land back on pools of blue.
"I know you're not Sophie," she breathes out, ignoring the urge to wince at the name. "And that's why I'm in love with you. You know me better than she ever did. You know what I'm thinking, even before I'm thinking it. You know how to cheer me up, how to make me smile and how to make me feel like I'm fucking flying," she chuckles out the last words, quietly. "You're the complete opposite of Sophie, and that's why I know how much we were meant to be together."
Pale hands find their way from the small space between their bodies to the lapels of Santana's shirt, and begin playing with them. Brittany focuses intently on the movement, clearly unsure of what to respond with, or whether she's supposed to respond, and so Santana just continues.
"You're everything Sophie's not, and everything I never knew I needed," she shakes her head, hoping the words don't come out negatively. "I should've just listened to my heart all along," she whispers, tilting until their foreheads meet and her words blanket Brittany's face. "Because it's always belonged to you."
She doesn't really think about what happens next, or how it happens, all she knows is that one moment blue eyes are roaming around her face, sparkling brilliantly, and the next Brittany's lips are on hers and they're staggering backwards, tipping over the armrest and onto the sofa. Their bodies collide with a "hmph", and Santana smiles against Brittany's lips when her hand glides underneath the hem of her girlfriend's top, nails scratching against abs, toned from years of dancing and slipping underneath the cup of Brittany's bra to thumb at a hardening nipple.
She feels Brittany smile against the kiss, and slender fingers glide down to the hem of her shirt, bunching it up underneath her bra because it won't go any further. Her hands move, slipping off Brittany's boob and push gently at the blonde shoulders until Brittany shifts, throwing a leg over her hip until she's being straddled by her beautiful girlfriend. Arousal surges through her, coiling tightly in the pit of her stomach as Brittany breaks the kiss, leans up and then smiles down at her devilishly with sparkling blue eyes.
Brittany slips her hands down the valley of her own breasts, lingering dangerously around the curve of them and smirking when Santana's mouth drops open and hands snap to strong thighs. Santana doesn't even have time to admire just how damn sexy her girlfriend is before a tank top and bra is being thrown across her head and dropping behind her. Her eyes widen, scanning over every inch of Brittany's body and she inwardly wonders how the hell she got so damn lucky to have a girl like this, smiling down at her and loving her.
Seriously, there won't be a time where she'll ever stop wondering that.
Lips press against her own, a tongue flicking against her lower one and then she becomes very aware of what they're doing. Not that she wasn't before. Just that she was kind of distracted by the hotness of her girlfriend that it maybe slipped her mind for a split second. Her body's always seemed to kick in before her mind, though, and before she knows it a tongue is sliding past her lips and stroking the inside of her mouth with practised ease. It pulls a low, throaty groan from the pit of her stomach and her hips jerk up in reaction.
"Off," Brittany mumbles against Santana's lips as her hands reach down to grip at her shirt. "Now."
She doesn't argue. They've done enough of that already. Instead, she sits up a little, stretching her arms above her until Brittany whips off her top and bra and then they're skin to skin, warm flesh pressing against warm flesh and an irresistible spark flashing between them. She kisses Brittany again, never being able to get enough of it and feels hips press down against her own, highlighting how hard she is already after a minute of making out.
The speed in which Brittany affects her is almost ridiculous.
"That was quick," Brittany smirks against her lips, grinding down to emphasize her words as her hand slips down the dip of Santana's stomach and underneath the tight band of her girlfriend's jeans. It's moments like this that Santana seriously wishes skinny jeans didn't make her ass look so damn good, but God only knows these stupid, tight pants won't stop her from getting it on with her mega hot girlfriend.
That's grinding down on her...
Rotating her hips...
Rubbing up against her bulging crotch...
Oh, God.
"You're seriously hot," she whispers breathlessly, tucking her thumbs into Brittany's leggings and pushing them down to her knees.
Brittany giggles, but she stops the sound with her lips and then they're kissing, hot and open mouthed and dry humping furiously like two horny teenagers. She's been with so many women, almost more than she can count. But there's never been anyone that can make her feel like this. No-one's ever made her feel so loved, so hot, so everything all at once. Except Brittany. It's almost insane.
Slender fingers make quick work of her jeans, and then they both realize how hard it is to remove their pants in this position, so they smile at each other quickly, kiss and then Brittany rolls off. Santana kicks her jeans off her ankles, and then shrugs down her boxers, and Brittany steps out her leggings and thong before they're moving back into the same position and kissing feverishly again, like they haven't kissed for years, not seconds. Her hips roll up, earning a low moan from Brittany and she grins, breaking the kiss when her cock twitches against her stomach and feels wet heat coat her shaft. She moves her lips down the long expanse of her girlfriend's neck, nipping gently and running her tongue over the space whilst her hand slides between their pressed bodies and her thumb rubs circles over Brittany's clit.
Brittany's hips jerk and twitch, her body buckling and falling on top of Santana's until her hands are grasping at tanned biceps and squeezing in rhythm to the movements. With her free hand, Santana glides it down Brittany's back, across her hip and down until her fingers are flexing against the flesh of her girlfriend's ass. Her thumb moves in slow motions, loving the way Brittany's hips try to move faster to quicken the pace and she knows just how much both of them want to skip too it.
But there's still that part, a tiny part, in the back of her mind that registers how she's not the only one to have her hands running across Brittany's body like this. How a month ago, the fingers touching Brittany would be a little rougher, the hands gripping at Brittany's perfect body would be larger and clumsier, and how the lips kissing her own would be pressed against ones that aren't soft enough, or worthy enough to be on Brittany's.
"San..." Brittany whines, pressing her forehead into Santana's shoulder and muffling small moans into the skin there. "Please..."
She sucks in her lips, smirking at herself when she dips her fingers lower and pushes two in until warm muscles are clenching around them. Brittany groans, her nails digging into tanned flesh and Santana smirks. Ignoring the ache in her dick that's practically begging her slip inside Brittany, she pulls back a little, staring up at her girlfriend and pushes their lips together as her fingers curl and strokes against wet heat.
"Santana..." Brittany warns, breathing shakily as her hips rotate around tanned fingers and lips quiver against lips. "Just..."
"Just what?"
The blonde pulls back, narrowing her eyes as she sees the clear intent of teasing Santana knows is flashing across her face. She grins, one side of her lips curling further than the other and Brittany bites on her bottom lip when Santana flicks her thumb against a hardened nub. It's almost worth prolonging the magical experience that is sex with Brittany if she gets to do this, and see Brittany like that. Creased eyebrows, knowing glare and utmost pleasure in dark, blue eyes. Teasing is like, seriously hot.
A hand wraps around her cock, and her stomach muscles tighten, back jerking forward slightly and back down again. Brittany's grinning down at her and she bites her lip, grinning because she knows that they're now both playing the same game. Shouldn't really come as a surprise though. Brittany knows her better than she knows herself and if she starts something, Brittany will be only tiny step behind.
They begin to move together, fingers curling and hands stroking in swift motions as they stare each other out. Waiting to see who'll give in first. Santana can't help but groan at the feeling of Brittany's hand working wonders on her rock hard cock and she swears she could come right now. It's kind of embarrassing, but they've been through way too much shit to even be the slightest bit of embarrassed and she kind of loves how they both lean in, smirking and smiling against each other's lips because they're thinking the same thing.
She decides to get one up and ducks her head, circling her tongue around a pert nipple and then taking it in her mouth. She resumes the movement, flicking against the peak and feeling the effects shudder at her girlfriend's muscles.
"Mhmm," Brittany moans. "Fuck, Santana."
Santana grin widens against the flesh because both of them know exactly how to push each other's buttons. Even if this is only their fourth time having sex together and that just intensifies everything by like, a thousand. It's just a little more proof that they were always meant to be together, really. Probably what makes this entire experience so damn special.
She narrows her eyes when the heat gets a little too much, and pulls away to bite on her bottom lip hard. Because Brittany's increasing her pace, and squeezing lightly at the tip of her dick which makes her fingers move a little faster. Even though she's pretty sure she could come, the way Brittany's mouth falls open, nose scrunches and eyebrows crease is enough to know that Santana won't be the first one. Her hips grind up, rolling to add extra pressure onto the back of her hand as her fingers twist and curl inside of Brittany's, touching that spot. Her thumb skims once, twice across Brittany's clit and then the warm, wet muscles clench and tighten around her fingers and then Brittany's face is falling forward, crunching together and body shaking and shuddering as her orgasm punches through her.
The movement on her cock stills, but she doesn't really care. She just watches. Watches in awe at how Brittany bites on her bottom lip and squeezes her eyes shut, a small smile playing at her lips like she knows Santana's watching her.
"God..." Brittany breathes out, panting heavily. "You're so..." she gulps, falling forward to press her forehead to Santana's shoulder. "So good at that."
Santana chuckles throatily and then grins. "I'm not finished yet," she says and feels Brittany smile against her skin, hand gliding down to grab at her abandoned dick that's still as hard as it was a moment ago.
Brittany pulls back, her blonde hair falling forward to curtain their faces. "Who said I was?" She smirks and begins her motions again, rubbing up Santana's shaft and tightening at the top.
However, just before the blonde leans forward and presses their lips together, hips rocking forward to accommodate Santana's cock, tanned hands shoot up, gripping a bicep and shoulder and rolling to flip them. Except, turns out, Santana didn't quite anticipate the width of the couch, and they both tumble down off the edge, landing with a thud on the floor. Both of them giggle, Santana pressing her forearms into the carpet of the floor beside Brittany's ribs to prop herself up a little.
She should be used to this now. Being so close to Brittany. Sure, they may have only been together for a matter of days, but in other ways, they've been together for years. The way Brittany looks at her with such adoration and love, shouldn't make the breath catch in her throat. Nor should she shudder at the way Brittany's legs part like she's offering all of herself, because they've done this before. But it does anyway.
"What?" Brittany mutters, shyly, turning her head to hide the blush.
Santana sees it anyway and leans forward to nuzzle her nose against her girlfriend's cheek. "Britt," she whispers, lips brushing against the ledge of Brittany's jaw as she moves down. "You are so beautiful," she begins pressing soft kisses to the underside of the blondes chin and then moves up and around until they brush over the corner of Brittany's lips, soft and sweet. "And you're everything I'm ever going to need and want."
She hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Brittany twists back towards her, fingers coming up and stroking against her cheek as they're cupped. Their eyes lock, searching and pushing past every defence mechanism and emotion until the only thing left is their souls. Naked and bare for each other to see. It should be a vulnerable feeling, and in some ways, she guesses it kind of is. But it's not a dangerous vulnerability. Not like when you tell someone a secret and hope to God they never take advantage of the knowledge. More like when you've been with a person for so long that you don't care about all your insecurities, and you could stand in front of them with scars and God knows what else... And they'd still think you're beautiful.
That's the way Brittany makes her feel. Every single time blue eyes look her way. She can only hope she makes Brittany feel the same when she looks at her.
"Te amaré por siempre (I will love you forever)," she whispers, a second before bringing their lips back together in a tender kiss.
Her hand strokes down Brittany's side, as pale arms wrap around her neck to bring her closer and then she's touching her girlfriend again, dipping into slick heat and stroking gently. She can feel herself grow even harder against Brittany's stomach and groans when hips roll up and ripple down her shaft.
"Condom," she whispers against Brittany's lips, hoping that one's going to magically appear because moving from her place between her beautiful girlfriend's thighs is not something she feels like doing right now.
Brittany pulls back, brow furrowing like she's thinking of the nearest place and then an idea sparks in Santana's head. Without shifting her lower half, she pushes her palms either side of Brittany's head and stretches up to reach for the sofa.
"What are you doing?" Brittany whispers from beneath her.
Santana giggles, ignoring the hot breath travelling over her breasts and tugs on the strap laying across the sofa cushions. "Getting the duffels," she replies, pulling until one lands on the floor and the zip pops open.
"Were we lying on those the whole time?" Brittany says through a chuckle.
"Apparently so," she replies, reaching inside the back pocket of the duffel and fishing for the golden square. She catches it between her fingers, which she notices are still a little wet and smirks, pulling back to settle down comfortably once more. Leaning on her elbows, she brings the packet in front of their faces and grins down when a pale hand clutches around her wrist, and another takes the condom.
"Allow me," Brittany says, feigning a posh accent as she tears the wrapper between her teeth (which, by the way, is seriously hot) and then pushes both hands between their bodies to reach the destination.
Santana smirks, threading the fingers of one hand through splayed out blonde locks whilst the other pushes on Brittany's hip gently to lift herself, watching the condom roll expertly over her dick. Heat builds up in the pit of her stomach and when Brittany's hands slide up, along her back to curl around her neck to pull her into a deep kiss, she feels it tighten and coil.
She moves from Brittany's hip, and grips herself, stroking a few times before she shifts up and glides her cock between slick folds. She remembers the way it felt without a barrier, and her eyes flutter shut, fingers tightening and scraping gently against Brittany's scalp as their lips break.
Making love to Brittany without a condom was fucking incredible.
Not that this isn't, anyway.
Her eyes flicker up just in time to catch Brittany staring at her impatiently, her fingers twitching where they've taken residence on Santana's cheek in anticipation.
"Santan-"
Santana flashes a smirk before sliding inside and burying herself hilt deep inside her girlfriend. Brittany's eyes widen, mouth drops open and her back arches slightly until their bodies are pressed together so tightly, she's pretty sure even Sherlock Holmes couldn't figure out where one body begins and one ends.
There's no words to describe how unbelievably amazing it feels to be inside of Brittany. Of how hands clutch at her like they've jumped off a boat and she's Brittany's life saving ring. It's mind-blowing, and when they're together like this, Santana's not aware of anything but the way Brittany feels around her – warm, tight and welcoming.
She takes a deep breath, and begins to pull out at a painfully slow pace, before thrusting back in with all she has. It's deep, and emotional, and so fucking powerful that she's awestruck that she's able to do this after so long. The hand she has curled into blonde lock tightens, and she pumps her hips, sliding in and out with a practised rhythm that she knows Brittany loves and groans when thighs squeeze at her hips, begging for more.
Pressing their lips together, she feels hands grip at the small of her back to pull them tighter together and grins. They may have only done this a few times before, but she already knows exactly what Brittany's asking of her without the need for words. She fucking loves that. Rolling her hips, she slides one hand down the length of her girlfriend's body, skating down ribs and across the protrusion of Brittany's hip until her fingers can curl around the back of the blondes thigh and lift.
They bump slightly, but then Santana drops deeper between the V of Brittany's thighs and feels their hips press against each other tightly.
"Oh my God..." Brittany stutters out through ragged breaths as her nails dig into Santana's back.
"Mmm..." Santana groans, ducking her head to run her tongue along her girlfriend's pulse point. "You're so fucking..." she picks up the pace, pounding into Brittany as she keeps a hold of her girlfriend and clenches her eyes shut at the heat that pricks at her skin. "You feel... so... maravilloso..."
When Brittany muffles a moan, Santana pulls back and sees her girlfriend's face screwed up and chest heaving heavily. Not because of the thrusts, either. She grins, open mouthed, because this is like, one of the best things she's ever witnessed and will ever witness, and pants when Brittany's body twitches at a particularly deep thrust. Hips jut into her own, and she feels her own orgasm approach fast with the combination of tight heat around her cock and Brittany enjoying every pump of her hips.
She slides a hand between their bodies, pressing two fingers into Brittany's clit and rubbing in circles that match the pace of her thrusting hips. Sweat builds upon her brow, and she buries her face into the crook of Brittany's neck as she works double time, the muscles in her forearm aching as she flicks her tip against a hardened nub and stills, buried deep inside of Brittany to hold for a few seconds.
"Saaan..." Brittany groans, lifting her other leg to wrap until her ankles lock at the small of Santana's back, urging the brunette on.
Santana grins, knowing what Brittany's asks and pulls back, bracing herself on one hand beside her girlfriends head whilst the other resumes on the circular motions. Her eyes focus on flat abs, twitching as she rolls her hips, stomach rippling with the movement and grins when Brittany answers the combined movement with breathy moans and tightening fingers that have a grip on her waist.
"Santana," Brittany pants, hips rolling with every thrust. "Santana."
The feeling of her orgasm rapidly approaches Santana and it spikes her veins, sending pleasure spiral through her body. Brittany's breathing picks up and she doesn't forgo her movement, only picks it up until she's pounding into her girlfriend, thumb swirling around her clit and pressing until Brittany's body stills and breath hitches.
The warm, wet grip around her cock tightens and tugs slightly until she's groaning, falling forward and coming hard. She feels herself roll as every last drop spills into the condom and continues to grind, despite her body arguing from exhaustion, to prolong both their orgasms. Fingers tighten against her flesh, gripping on for dear life until she's pretty sure there's going to be marks there as Brittany jerks and twitches in the aftermath of her orgasm.
Santana buckles when both of them stop shuddering, and grins against the glistening skin of Brittany's neck, salty from sweat, when she hears her name roll of Brittany's lips through a moan. Leaning up, she steals a sloppy and quick kiss because there's no way in hell anyone can ever make either of them feel the way each other do. And when her kiss is returned, she knows that Brittany knows the same.
It's later, when Santana's summoned enough energy to grab the blanket from the back of the sofa to tug over their bodies, that she realizes just how pathetic she is. She doesn't care that Brittany slept with someone else, or that she herself slept with other people, because the past is the past. It doesn't matter who was their first, or second, or thirteenth or whatever, because all that matters is that they're each other's last.
Because this is what happiness is.
Lying beside the person she loves, watching Brittany sleep and feeling the heat of her skin tingle her own. This is what happiness is, being able to just gaze at Brittany as the blonde's in her most peaceful, innocent and vulnerable state. Being able to smile, and lean in to press her lips to Brittany so gently that she doesn't wake her girlfriend. Being able to shift and slide her hand across the warm skin of her girlfriend's waist, rest her forehead against Brittany's and breathe in each other like they depend on it.
Because Santana knows that it doesn't get any better than this.
And even if it did, she wouldn't ever want it to.
