Warnings: I don't own Glee or any of the characters or any of the songs I may use. This will include lesbian sex.
Santana huffed as she stood at the door, clad in her favorite leather coat, a pair of tight black jeans I knew fairly well hid the black stockings meant to keep her warm, and an equally dark scarf. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders as she prepared for the day ahead of us. I tucked her gloves into her coat sleeves, not bothering to hide my annoyance at the material and being careful not to knock over the small collection of boxes and other gifts in her hands. She tried to brush me away but I chuckled as she nearly managed to drop everything on her own. The final touch was tugging the plush red and black hat onto her head.
"I hate you," she groaned as I made sure her bangs weren't too disheveled by the hat.
"Only in theory," I smiled, stepping back to appreciate my handiwork.
"And in practice?" She wondered, shifting the packages in her arms uncomfortably.
"That's how I got you to do all of this, isn't it?" I smirked cheekily before patting myself down to make sure I had my phone, keys, and other necessities before going to pull open the door for her.
"That's how I got you to do all of this," she mimicked me bitterly as I led her to the elevator. "Mike's downstairs right?"
"Of course love, lest he face your wrath for even considering being late," I rolled my eyes and selected the ground floor as our destination.
She huffed again; really, it seemed to be all she did when she couldn't get her way. Her "wrath was not all it was cracked up to be. "You're mocking me," she pointed out.
I didn't bother to hide my smile as we finished the ride.
My own animal friendly faux-fur parka held up far better against the cold wind than Santana assured me it would where as her leather coat only did so much before I had to pull her scarf up over her face. Mike was waiting for us outside just as promised. He opened the trunk easily and let Santana drop the gifts in, despite my suggestion that she arrange them properly. He closed the trunk and we slipped into the backseat, choosing to huddle together rather than argue over who would sit shotgun in the heatless car. Mike drove for awhile before the post-office was in view. He pulled up in front of the shop, ignoring Santana's curses upon me, the holidays, and every single person in the line.
"Fuck this," she growled as she followed me out of the car, adjusting her gloves, scarf, and adorably enough, her hat. "Really, just fuck this. I hate Christmas anyway, why the hell do I have to sit in a cold ass line, just to send those greedy bast-" she scowled as I elbowed her, reminding her that my fathers were included in her rant, "people gifts?"
"Ignoring the fact that those greedy people are our friends and family, and that Christmas is a time for giving," I began pulling the packages from the trunk to stack into her hands, "You're the one who put off sending everything until the very last minute."
"It's not my fault that I'd rather sleep in during my break than send mail," she scowled.
"And it won't be my fault when your mother calls to ask why she hasn't gotten a postcard, a gift, or even word that you're still alive, not pregnant, and not homeless," I patted her cheek gently before moving onto the sidewalk.
She rolled her eyes but I knew she remembered the last two-hour phone call of that very nature. "Where's your stuff Bruce Lee?" She asked the shivering boy still watching us.
"I sent my stuff two weeks ago," I saw how hard it was for him to keep the smugness from his smirk.
"Then what the hell are you doing here? Watching me freeze? No me gusta," She snapped, almost ready to throw the packages at him.
"You didn't exactly give me a choice," he reminded.
"And we're grateful you valued your life enough not to waste it listening to her threaten to "go all Lima heights on your ungrateful ass," again," I moved to kiss his cheek before tugging Santana along by her coat sleeve.
"What are you going to do anyway," she asked, letting her glare on the back of my head ease before looking back to the boy.
"Heading to the coffee shop," he pointed across the street, the small café having about as much business as the post office.
"Fuck you," Santana deadpanned.
"What she means is," I pushed her into the line before reaching into my pocket to pull out a twenty, "Would you be so kind as to bring us back a couple drinks when you're done?"
"Of course," he grinned, pocketing the money. "Caramel latte, extra whipped-cream," he pointed to Santana and then to me, "Black, extra sugar?"
"Yes," I assured, waving him off before Santana had a chance to snap at him further.
"You owe me for this," she reminded, shifting the boxes in her amrs.
"I thought you were doing this because you loved me," I teased, pulling some boxes to place on the ground, glad the sidewalks had already been cleared of snow.
She placed the rest down and flexed her fingers gently before bringing them to my neck playfully, "You'd think so." I could only smile as her hands slipped past my throat and over my shoulders as she pulled me into a hug.
"How about we move the TV into the bedroom," I hummed into her chest, as I slipped my arms around her waist, "only for a little while, and enjoy our little fireplace for the night."
I felt as her arm lifted behind me to pull her scarf down as she kissed my hair, "I know that sounds like a treat to you, but who do you really mean when you say we move the TV?"
I shrugged into her and turned to see the line moving, "Well, considering we could have done this on a warmer day with less traffic if you'd been more willing, are you really deserving of a treat?"
She dropped her arms from me, shoving the packages forward with her foot and putting much more effort into her lackluster soccer skills than actually caring for my packages, "Remind me again why this works?"
"Why what works, love?" I leaned into her side when we'd caught up again.
"Us," she mentioned.
"Because I'm the only one who can keep you from mauling people," I pointed out.
"Funny, I thought it was because I'm awesome in be-"
"Santana," I hissed, glad that the flush in my cheeks could easily be blamed on the cold weather. "Let's stick with the simpler answer of being in love."
I felt a tickle as she leaned down, her scarf brushing gently against my ear as she mumbled, "I like that one better."
Another, deeper, blush overtook me as I tried to keep my eyes ahead and my smile at bay.
It really wasn't that long before Santana was moaning and groaning again. Roughly fifteen minutes had passed before we were one person back from the drop-box, our first stop. In that time, in that time, one passerby had manage to give her "a look," she caught another checking me out, and the child in a stroller behind her had thrown it's teddy bear at her back enough times that she turned to give the mother a look of her own. I'm sure she would have shared more than a look with the woman had I not moved behind her, sliding my arms around her waist and pressing my cheek to her back. It calmed her enough that we actually made it to the big blue box.
"Do you have anything you need to send?" I wondered as I placed the postcards into the slot.
She fished in her pockets before pulling out three envelopes and dropping them in as well, her familiar scrawl obvious on the backs.
I looked over the pile on the ground curiously, realizing those were only my gifts to be shipped, "That's all you got?"
"Gift-cards," she winked, slipping her hands into her pockets.
"Santana, gift-cards aren't a gift," I chided, letting the envelopes and postcards drop into the bin.
She rolled her eyes, "Of course they are. Abeulita's going to Macy's, Mom's going to Victoria's Secret," she scoffed at that, "and Papi's going to Champ's, he's had his eye on some stupid football jersey."
"Why couldn't you just buy him the jersey?" I wondered.
"Because he'd have worn the jersey whether I got the right one or not, and I know I would have because there's no way in hell I'm dragging Jackie Chan or Gene Simmons to Champs just for the sake of getting the right Jersey. This way, he has the excuse he needs for mom to let him go, and he gets the right Jersey."
"That almost sounds sweet," I sigh and shake my head.
"Almost," she nods.
"You're getting real gifts for everyone's birthdays," I warned.
"Fuck," she put extra emphasis on the words, "That."
I glared at her.
"You can go ahead and pay the shipping fees for all that," she waved carelessly towards my packages.
"At least I put some thought into it," I pointed to the largest box, "I know my Daddy will love his new laptop bag with the fan to keep his computer cool and Dad will absolutely adore his book of love letters full of pressed flowers."
I could feel this escalating into a full on argument, but Santana took it into her own hands to ease the tension. Rather, she took the front of my coat in hand as she pulled me toward her, "If I just say you're right, can we cuddle instead of you glaring stubbornly ahead? Because if you do that, I'm leaving you and hunting Chang down for my coffee."
If anyone else said that to me, well, I'd have glared stubbornly ahead. Instead, I sighed and pulled my love's scarf to down to kiss her gently, accepting this was as close as I was getting to a victory on this matter.
"I'll be fine with you hunting him down soon enough," I nodded against her chest.
"I know," I heard her slight smirk.
Mike did eventually show up with our coffee, apologizing profusely. Santana was going to tear him a new one until she saw the scribbles along the back of his hand beneath the name Alicia. Her irritation quickly turned into harassment as she prodded him for details but he muttered out some excuse before going to sit in the car, sipping his own coffee. I knew she was texting him but he seemed to be ignoring her texts as he huddled in the car with a blanket while he awaited us. Caffeine always seemed to do wonders for Santana's mood, no matter the season, but especially as it warmed her.
We finally made it inside after about forty-five minutes. Santana was mumbling about her lips being chapped, but that was resolved with a few quick kisses. Even I had to admit I was less tense inside the small building. The line actually didn't even seem as bothersome inside. When we reached the front of the line Santana couldn't have been more relieved. She lifted everything onto the counter and waited while the girl worked on the computer.
"So, are we shipping these out?" The girl asked in an overly cheerful tone.
"No, just send them back to my place," Santana sneered.
"Santana," I chided.
"Um, well…" the girl tried to keep her smile in place, "I see you already printed your shipping labels and attached them."
"Oh, really, because I can still point them out if you'd like," Santana jested, enjoying herself more than she had during any other part of this day.
"Well, I'll just weigh them," the girl's lips twitched.
"Thank you," I smiled before glaring at my girlfriend.
The chipper girl tapped something into the computer before telling us the price, "And how will you be paying?"
"Are you currently accepting my arm and leg, or will debit do?" Santana surprised me as she clapped her card onto the counter, ignoring the girls outstretched hand altogether.
"Santana, that's too much," I reached for the card but she stopped me.
"You said debit, right?" The girl asked, looking between us in confusion.
She waved the girl on, "Just shut up and stop pouting."
The pout did melt away at her command, replaced by a grin as I hugged her, kissing her cheek as I mumbled, "You're not nearly as big of a bitch as you let on."
"You say that now," she muttered, a smile small tugging at her lips.
The girl behind the counter cleared her throat, sliding Santana's card, receipts and a pen.
Santana was glad to get out of there, making the girl behind the girl just a touch more uncomfortable as she assured her she'd be having a very merry Christmas as she did. We slipped into the car right away. Mike had gotten us more coffees and Santana polished hers off right away. The drive back to the house was definitely more pleasant. We teased Mike about his new friend while he blushed and assured us it was no big thing. Santana had to agree. I had to hit her shoulder.
"Mr. Han come up," Santana encouraged the boy.
He looked between us uncertainly, "Is this a trap?"
"Technically no," I shrugged.
"I need help moving some stuff," Santana supplied, "And since you aren't getting any right now, maybe you can be useful."
"Say please," I scolded.
She rolled her eyes, "Please be useful."
"I'll make coffee Mike," I tried.
The boy looked skeptical before shrugging and following us up.
He wasn't the slightest bit shocked, or even upset, when Santana all but forced him out after the television was set up in the bedroom, one of our coffee mugs still in his hand.