Rhythms Chapter 2: Negatives, a glee fanfic

Negatives

"Do not have sex with your ex-girlfriend!"

The shrillness of Kurt's voice makes her jump. She lets her eyes bug out of her head before she quickly closes her bedroom door and leans against it. If there was any human being whose voice could permeate three rooms and four walls, it's Kurt Hummel.

"First of all," she starts in a hissed whisper. "Keep your damn voice down, idiot. Second, how in the hell did you get from stuck in a snowstorm to don't have sex with your ex-girlfriend? Where did that even come from?"

There's noise at the other end of the line and Santana waits impatiently for Kurt to continue. She hears footsteps and some doors closing and then a sigh. "Sorry," Kurt says. "My folks were coming back and Finn is here and I didn't want anyone over-hearing."

Santana doesn't say anything. She's too busy waiting and panicking that Brittany might come in or overhear. Plus, she's exhausted and she doesn't have time for this shit.

A further two minutes go by—Santana counts—and Kurt still hasn't said anything.

"I'm waiting, Hummel," she says lowly. It's enough.

"Santana, I love you, you're the most ridiculous, mean yet incredibly fabulous bitch I've ever met, but you're so clueless," he sighs softly. "Do you not realize what your current predicament means? It means that you and Brittany are going to be stuck in New York on your own until God knows when. Stuck in your incredibly small apartment where a soft surface is only five feet away at all times. I mean, if you even make it to the end of the day before having your first accidental make out I'll be incredibly surprised but—Santana?"

Santana feels her cheeks blush and doesn't say anything. She figures that if she doesn't do anything to excuse the sharp intake of breath she just took then he can't accuse her of something. He can't see her or smell her fear or anything like that. She could be gasping in horror or scoffing quietly or yawning. She'll appear completely innocent.

Turns out she's wrong.

"You already almost made-out, didn't you?" Santana remains stubbornly silent. Kurt snorts and Santana's sure she hears a sigh. "When?"

When the line has been silent, from both their stubborn refusal to give in, for longer than a minute, Santana decides that she really is too tired for today. She gives in.

"Almost two weeks ago," she whispers before flopping back onto her bed.

Kurt chuckles quietly, almost fondly. Santana can almost hear the Oh, you that he wants to give her. She rolls over and buries her face into her pillow, desperate to force away the blush in her cheeks and waits for whatever patronizing comment Kurt has next.

He starts with a sigh. "And what happened then to make you lose control so wildly? I mean… apart from than the usual."

The question gives Santana a smug sense of satisfaction. She turns her face on the pillow and smirks happily. "Actually, it wasn't me that lost control," she tells him airily. "It's a long story but… the short version is that I almost got murdered by this chick who talked her way home with me and Britt helped me to get rid of her and—somehow—we ended up on the couch and she leaned in."

"She leaned in?" Kurt repeats. Santana hums the affirmative. There's a pause. "Well, that's interesting. What did you do?"

Santana narrows her eyes. "I turned away before it could happen," she says even though it should be obvious. "She has a damn boyfriend, Kurt."

"Yet, she lives with you… and now she's trying to kiss you…" Kurt ponders quietly. Santana just swallows down all the things she's feelings, all the things that she hasn't wanted to think about. They just make her more and more confused and hurt.

"It was a mistake," she says quickly. She swallows again because, for some reason, she wants to cry. "It was just… a really, really dumb mistake and she hasn't really spoke to me since."

"Sure… Sure…" Kurt says and there's something softer in his voice, something that knows her and can tell what she's feeling. He pauses again and she's sure she hears a sigh. "Call me if anything changes, okay?" he says a few moments. "Call me if you need me."

Santana nods and clears her throat. "Sure."

"No, Santana," he says and she stops at the sound of his voice. "Call me if you need me. For anything."

Her hands feel like they're shaking and, weirdly, she's overwhelmed with the feeling of missing him, of missing Kurt. She wishes she were in Lima or that he were here, that he could help her understand and not judge her when she got confused and angry.

"Okay," she mumbles. "Merry Christmas, Kurt."

She thinks she can hear the smile in his voice. "Merry Christmas, Santana."

When she's calmed herself down enough to call her mom and leave her room, she's surprised to find Brittany sitting on the couch wearing every bit of her outdoor clothing but the coat in her hands.

She looks up at Brittany and Santana instantly can't get over how nervous and adorable she looks. She eyes her quietly for a moment before clearing her throat and narrowing her eyes.

"Did you call your parents?" she asks instead of the question she actually wants to.

Brittany nods quickly. "Yeah," she says and then clears her throat awkwardly. "They understood. My mom said that my dad checked the weather and that it's going to get worse, that there's going to be a big storm later on tonight and that we should go get as many supplies as we can because it's supposed to last all week." She pauses and shrugs her shoulders a little. Her face becomes uncomfortable and nervous. "I was going to go to the grocery store and I just wondered if there was anything special you wanted…"

Something in Santana drops and she doesn't know why. She feels disappointed and she steps a little closer before hunching her shoulders a little and clearing her throat as quietly as she can.

"You—you don't want me to come with you or anything?"

Shockingly, Brittany looks surprised by the suggestion. Her eyes grow wide and she has to nod because her words won't work.

"I—I mean… If you want," she mumbles quietly. "I just—I didn't think that you'd…" She stops and clears her throat, laughs at herself nervously before jumping up. "I need to use the bathroom," she whispers. "Give me a call when you're ready."

No public transportation is working and any cab that comes across their path is already occupied.

Brittany doesn't seem to care about this. She wears boots up to her knees, her socks poking out the top of them and she looks like she's wearing about fourteen layers of clothing. She has the huge pack she brought with her when she moved here hanging on her back and Santana wants to laugh because it's so empty that it looks ridiculous.

They trek through Brooklyn in a snowstorm that's slowly getting heavier to try and find supplies, heading for the grocery store and praying that they actually have something left.

Santana shivers a little from the cold and wishes she'd put another sweater on. She's not really used to wearing this much clothing and she doesn't really know how to. She's always worn dresses through winter for most of her life—it's an ability that comes from wearing cheerleading skirts every day—but weather like this is entirely out of her league. She has no idea what she's doing and now there's a chill in her back and she's shivering. She's pretty sure her ears are blue and she can't feel the tip of her nose.

Brittany's the opposite. She knows exactly how to dress for weather like this.

Santana should be more shocked when she suddenly reaches for her through the snow and drags her into a doorway before taking her bag off of her back.

"Britt, what are you doing?" she says over the whistling of the wind. "The snow's getting thicker and we need to hurry."

Brittany doesn't reply, just keeps on digging through the various pockets in the bag. Santana folds her arms around herself and can't stop the annoyance that creeps into her body alongside the cold. She looks down at Brittany, unimpressed, and shuffles on the spot to get warm.

"Britt, come on," she says when she can barely see three feet in front of her face. "We have to go. We have to hurry."

Brittany stands up quickly and it makes Santana stumble back a little when she realizes how close they are. She's confused when Brittany's hands reach up and fix her collar, rearranging the scarf around her neck and tucking it into her coat. She fastens the top button that Santana usually can't before pulling a second scarf from inside the bag. She's silent as she wraps it around Santana's neck, making sure it covers up to her ears. There's barely an expression on her face, just softness.

"What are you doing?" Santana asks and her voice is too quiet to be heard over the wind but Brittany still hears it.

She makes sure that Santana's hair isn't tucked uncomfortably into the scarf and brushes it from her eyes before shrugging softly. Santana's so busy watching her face that she doesn't see what she grabs from the bag next.

"You're shivering," Brittany comments and the only words to describe her voice are timid and nervous. "And your nose is starting to look a little blue." Hands reach up to her head and Santana's not ready for the thick hat that gets pulled over down over her ears. She startles a little and then her breath catches as she stares speechlessly at Brittany. "Plus," Brittany says much lower and softer, almost reverently. Something changes in her eyes. "Your little ears are cold. They're going red."

The words make Santana's breath hitch with remembrance. She stares at Brittany and feels herself swallow as the memory washes over her. All she can think about is the winter before last, of late nights spent standing in Brittany's doorway and Brittany doing the exact same thing she is now. It was more intimate then. Brittany would kiss her forehead after she'd pushed her hair from her face. She would clutch onto the lapels of Santana's coat and pull her closer before she fastened the last button. Their noses would push together and Santana would feel warm enough to last the whole way home. A gentle hand would hold her cheek and stroke it softly with a thumb. There would be so much love in blue eyes that Santana didn't want to leave.

And, every time, Brittany would say the same thing as she pulled the hat onto her head, tugging it almost until it covered her eyes. She'd make sure it was over her ears and then smile so softly that it almost wasn't a smile anymore—it was something else, more perfect and nameless—before a hand cupped one ear and a nose nuzzled into the other.

"That's better," she'd whisper and Santana's skin would be warm all over. For a moment longer, she'd feel like she was under the same warmth of Brittany's bed, her blankets, her body. "We don't want your little ears to get cold, do we?"

Santana would shake her head and move closer. Her arms would wrap around a familiar waist. She'd laugh when kisses were overenthusiastically pressed against her face. They'd kiss longingly for fifteen more minutes before Santana left.

And this moment, right now, feels so different, but so similar at the same time, that Santana just stares at Brittany and remains silent.

Fingers toy with the hat, making sure her ears are covered. Two hands cup her ears after and Brittany smiles at her so softly, so reverently, that it feels like something else altogether.

"We better hurry," Brittany whispers and, just like that, she lets go.

The moment feels entirely too lacking of everything it should be, and Santana puffs out a breath before following.

She feels like she's left something behind the whole way there.

They're lucky the store is open but it's mostly empty. The three lone cashiers jump when they walk through the door and stare at them like they're crazy, covered from head to toe in residual snow.

Brittany grabs one of the carts by the door and dumps her pack onto the end of it before taking off her coat. She looks at Santana and Santana just jolts and follows, putting her coat with it, taking the cart when Brittany urges her to. She takes another cart after that and speeds off down the aisle without another word.

Santana follows, looking over at Brittany as she pulls up a grocery list on her phone. She waits silently for some sort of instruction and is happy when Brittany turns to her and asks her to find things. She spends the next hour walking around the store getting items to put in Brittany's cart and it's probably a good thing. If she was in charge, she'd forget everything they need and the cart would be filled with booze.

Plus, it gets her away from the look in Brittany's eye and the weird falling feeling she gets when she sees Brittany sleepily walking around the grocery store in her NYU sweatshirt.

A million things rush through her mind and she does end up filling the cart with booze but she thinks it's just as necessary as toilet paper and milk.

It might be the only thing that gets her through this snowstorm.

The walk back to their apartment feels longer but it's actually shorter. Santana guesses it's probably because of the exhaustion of having to last almost twenty-four hours on a four hour nap and the load they had to take back with them.

They collapse onto the couches when they get in but only stay there for a minute or two before moving to the kitchen. It takes them an hour to unpack and put away their groceries and Santana's sure they've never actually really gone grocery shopping before. They usually just buy what they need when they need it but now their fridge is full and things keep falling out of their pantry. On their kitchen table is a pile of DVDs and an array of alcohol mixed with a lotof candy.

They've got about enough food for a month and Santana wonders if they went too far.

She collapses onto the couch and groans, her eyes closing just as Brittany falls onto the adjoining couch.

"Are you hungry?" Brittany asks and it could be five minutes or an hour later, Santana doesn't even know. "It's almost dinner time."

Santana's head turns to the side and she blinks slowly at Brittany. If she's honest, she kind of feels sick.

"Are you?" she asks instead of answering.

Brittany swallows dryly a few times before shaking her head. "No."

"Me neither," Santana replies and she's not sure why she's smiling. "I'm really, really tired," she whispers.

"Me too," Brittany's eyes flutter and Santana's already shifting to ready herself to get back up.

It takes almost every ounce of strength she has left but she pulls herself up and stands. She reaches her hand out for Brittany and pulls her up too. They wordlessly stare at each other for a second before they part and as soon as their eyes catch Santana forgets what she's doing. A blush rises up her cheeks and her limbs freeze up.

Brittany must notice because she squeezes her hand and smiles at her softly.

"Goodnight, Santana," she whispers.

Santana nods and stares at her hand when Brittany lets go and heads for her room.

"Night, Britt," she says but everything still feels wrong.

She's too tired to figure it out so she heads to her bedroom.

It takes her longer than she would have thought to fall asleep.

She calls their boss the next morning, probably earlier than she should.

It doesn't really matter. Santana knows that she's been working at that bar for so many years that she doesn't go to bed until noon regardless of whether she's working or not.

"You got stuck here too, huh Lopez?" is how she greets Santana when she picks up. It makes Santana stop for a second and her boss laughs before continuing. "Why else would you be calling me at 8am on Christmas Eve?"

The information throws Santana off. She'd completely forgotten what day it was but it's not the first time, not since she moved to New York.

"I was just wondering if you needed anyone at the bar," she eventually says. "I mean, Britt and I are stuck here and we've got nothing better to do."

It earns her a laugh. "Lopez, you live in Brooklyn. The bridges are still closed and the snow is so thick that it looks like Frosty the Snowman just took a dump on the city. The bar's closed and it will be until New Years' Eve at the earliest. Have a damn rest."

"But I mean…" Santana says, trailing off when she realizes she doesn't have anything else to say.

A sigh and then the click of a tongue sounds through the speaker. "Just talk to her," she chuckles airily. "Whatever bullshit is happening between you, she's your best friend…"

The words shock Santana at first. She doesn't know what to say because she didn't really think that anyone at the bar had noticed the weird energy between her and Brittany the past couple of weeks. They'd obviously both been trying hard to make things appear normal. But then, she guesses, it's this woman's job to make sure the girls who dance on her bar are okay, that they're safe and that there's no bad blood between anyone. She was bound to pick something up.

What Santana says is weirdly not the thing she wanted to. "She wasn't always just my best friend," she whispers.

The laugh that crackles through the line is one of the harder things to listen to. It makes her wince.

"No shit," she chuckles. "This isn't my first rodeo. I've been doing this twenty years. I'm no dumbass and you two are fucking obvious." The line goes quiet. Santana's sure that she's waiting for a reply but Santana doesn't have one. "Shit, Lopez, just talk to her, kiss her, fuck her, whatever. Do something but do it before December 31st or I'll kill you."

The line cuts off and Santana just feels more confused.

It's 11am by the time that Brittany wakes up. She still looks tired and Santana watches her quietly as she wanders around the apartment, aimlessly attempting to remember what it is that people do in the morning.

Her fingers scratch at her head as she walks into the kitchen and Santana listens as she opens all the cupboards. Something falls out of the pantry and a low groan sounds as she bends down to pick it up. A bowl hits the counter a few seconds later and Santana finds herself smiling a little at the sound of cereal being poured into it.

She comes out a few moments later, her bowl piled high and one eye still refusing to open. She drops into her seat and then a whimper leaves her a second later.

"I forgot to get coffee," she mumbles and Santana acts without thinking and gets up to get it for her. She puts in the right amount of sugar and milk and gives it to her without a word. Brittany whimpers again and takes it quickly. "Thank you," she mumbles.

As she drinks it, her eyes start to open and it's totally worth it.

Within an hour and a half of being awake, Brittany's doing her homework.

She sits on the floor in the gap between the couch and coffee table and Santana has no idea what she's doing. All Santana knows is that Brittany's laptop is in front of her, her cameras are beside her and she's surrounded by textbooks, engrossed by whatever they say.

She also knows that she's bored. She's really fucking bored and totally envious of Brittany for actually having something to do.

She never thought that she'd miss having homework but now, when the service on the TV is completely out and the electricity keeps cutting off every time she manages to get to the good parts in movies, she really does. She wishes that she had chapters of Freud and Simone de Beauvoir to read again because at least she'd be wondering what the fuck they were talking about rather than trying not to stare at Brittany.

But she doesn't so she's stuck with being privy to this new, learned and driven Brittany who's content to sit quietly with a pencil and a photography book, scribbling down notes.

"What are you reading?" she asks after too long of being intrigued by the furrow in Brittany's brow and the part in her lips.

Brittany struggles to tear her eyes away from her book and barely glances up at her. Her elbows rest on the coffee table and her chin rests in her hand. She moves a finger to keep her place before looking up at Santana again.

"Just an article," Brittany says almost thoughtfully and Santana has to swallow down too many feelings.

They're feelings of Sunday mornings and newspapers with too many sections, over-sized beds with too many blankets and pillows, a radio playing something old and soothing. They're feelings of things she's not going to have anymore.

"What's it about?" she asks to stop herself from pondering that thought any further.

Brittany blinks slowly and it's endearing and electric how she slowly glances back up again. "This guy who took pictures of this gang in Brooklyn in 1959. Everything looks so different."

Brittany doesn't show her the book but Santana moves to the edge of her chair to get a better look across the table.

"What's it for?" she asks.

Brittany turns the page. "I have to do a project next semester and one of the topics you could pick was visual changes of New York City but I wanted to see if I could do something different, I don't know…"

She shrugs and Santana's not sure what to say. She lays back on the couch just as the TV comes back on for the fifth time. She doesn't know what she's going to do when it gets dark.

"Whatever you pick, I'm sure it'll be great, Britt," she says and Brittany just hums her appreciation with a smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth.

When Brittany decides to take a break from studying and stretches out on the couch for a nap, Santana decides to call every friend she has in New York to see if they want to meet up.

She sits in the window seat in her bedroom, a cigarette clutched between her fingers, watching as the snow slows to a gentle flurry, and listens as every single person she calls gives her a reason why they can't meet up.

And sure, it's Christmas Eve and it's snowing and every mode of transport in the city is still forced to a halt, but she thought that people had more gumption, more drive, especially when offered free booze.

She sighs and stubs out her cigarette before flicking it out of the window. Ungracefully, she flops down on her bed and closes her eyes as she tries to think of something to do to get her out of this apartment, away from Britt, and back into the realm of the sane.

Every time she looks at her, she feels strange. A mix of confusion, guilt and hurt washes over her and she doesn't know why. Nothing feels right. Everything feels out of place and she can't figure out why. Their almost kiss hangs over her head like a dark, gloomy cloud waiting to rain because she knows the minute she mentions it or thinks about it, a torrential downpour of things she doesn't want to deal with are going to wash down on her. Who knows what will happen this time? Who knows what she'll lose?

When she opens her eyes, everything is pitch black around her.

"Britt?" she calls nervously. She can't even see her hand in front of her face. She swallows when Brittany doesn't answer and rolls over until she's facing the living room. "Britt?" she calls a little louder. "Britt, wake up."

Everything's so quiet that she can hear the moment that Brittany wakes up. She breathes in deeply, air releasing slowly from her lungs a second later. She shifts onto her back and groans, rubbing her eyes before there's a pause. Frantic shuffling follows it, quick and desperate, and Santana narrows her eyes in confusion.

"Santana?" Brittany says and she sounds terrified. "Oh my god, Santana, I think I'm blind!"

Before she can say anything, Santana hears a thud and a groan through the shuffling and stops entirely when she realizes what it is.

"Britt, did you just fall off the couch?" she asks but all she gets in response is desperate shuffling and terrified whimpering.

"Santana, I'm blind," Brittany whimpers. "I can't see. I can't see anything. Oh my god, I should have listened to that old lady in health class who said masturbation makes you blind! I can't see…"

A smile tugs at Santana's mouth and part of her wants to make this go on a little longer but she can't. She presses her palms to her forehead and takes a deep breath to keep the smile from her voice.

"Britt, the power's out."

Everything goes quiet as well as dark. Santana listens carefully, a smirk on her face as she waits for whatever comes next. It only takes a few seconds but it still makes her grin.

"Thank crap for that," Brittany breathes and Santana can imagine her, sprawled out in the same spot she was sitting earlier doing her work, gasping with relief. She smiles a little more because the image is adorable. Brittany sighs. "That was scary. Do you know how long it's been out?"

"Like… less than ten minutes, I guess," Santana tells her. "I was resting my eyes and when I opened them it was out." She pauses and waits for a response that doesn't come. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Brittany mutters and Santana can hear the embarrassment in her voice. "I fell on my blanket, so…" She trails off awkwardly. "Did you nap too?"

Santana shakes her head even though Brittany can't see and swallows. "No, no… I decided to call some people and see if they wanted to meet up but I didn't want to wake you up."

"Are you going out?"

At the sound of disappointment in Brittany's voice, Santana's smile falls from her face. She clears her throat awkwardly. "Everyone's out of town," she says. "Or with family, or stuck in the snow… it was kind of pointless."

"Oh…"

"Yeah," Santana breathes.

Things become awkward fast but they're saved quickly by the electricity coming back on. The TV, the radio in the kitchen, all the lights that were on before, all come back on at once and it's kind of overwhelming after the peace they'd just been in.

Santana gets up and goes to the kitchen to turn the radio off before she moves over to the living room. Her smile returns to her face when she finds Brittany still sprawled out on the floor, her blanket tangled around her legs and her hair all over the place. She turns off the TV before staring down at her fondly. A smile tugs at her lips but Brittany just looks at her with parted lips and serious eyes. Her cheeks are a little pink and she plays with the ends of her hair before speaking.

"The snow looks like it's stopped. Do you… want to go do laundry with me?" Brittany asks. Santana frowns and tilts her head to the side, not quite sure why she looks so nervous. "Do you want to go do laundry and then maybe go explore in the snow with me?"

Santana takes a deep breath because, all of a sudden, it feels like her lungs are failing. She stares down at Brittany for a second longer before moving to the other couch and sitting down. Brittany instantly sits up to look at her.

"You don't have to or anything," she goes on. "I wanted to go take pictures of the city in the snow for this project and I just thought that… you're bored and everything… It would be nice to have some company."

Santana looks at her, from her blue eyes to the way that her hands clutch at the blanket wrapped around her waist. It feels like certain parts inside of her are melting, becoming liquid and warm. She takes another deep breath and manages to nod.

"Sure," she says quietly. "Of course."

Williamsburg is kind of pretty in the snow in the dark.

The snow is practically up to their knees and it's freezing but, everything looks so different from how it normally is that it's kind of jarring. The snow is so thick that it forms little slopes over cars and sidewalks. Snow drifts line the streets and everything is so perfect and white that it almost doesn't feel real. It's weird not to see Williamsburg without it's dirty sidewalks and trash-filled gutters.

It makes Santana smile and she helps Brittany carry their laundry to the laundromat with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

She's kind of surprised when they get to their usual laundromat and it's actually open. There's nobody in it but the lights are on and the neon sign in the window flashes that it's open, the sign on the door reminding everyone that it's open twenty-four hours a day, every single day of the year.

It's just another reminder of why Santana loves this city so much: it caters for everyone, even the crazies and the insomniacs.

They step inside and the first thing Brittany does is throw her huge bag of clothes atop one of the washers before heading for the jukebox that sits in the corner. It's the same thing she does every time they come here and the fact that they have a jukebox is the only reason they picked this laundromat to begin with. She puts one of her quarters into it and picks something fast that Santana can't remember the name of. She spins her way back to the washers and opens up two of them before sorting her clothes into each one.

Just like normal, Santana picks the two washers opposite Brittany's, just so that she can watch her.

"It should snow more often if it means we don't have to wait for washers," Brittany comments and Santana smiles.

She can think of better reasons.

When Santana hears the click of a camera, she looks up in confusion.

Her eyes peer over the top of her magazine and she narrows her eyes as she tries to find the source. Her cheeks pink when she finds the lens of Brittany's camera pointing at her.

"I thought you were taking pictures of the city," she says shyly and she's glad when Brittany's face flushes for a second.

Her shoulders shrug and she returns the camera to her face so that she can look through the viewfinder.

"I got bored," she says and Santana doesn't move from where she is, just looks directly at the camera from over the top of her magazine as Brittany presses her finger to the shutter-release. "And, with that face, you look grumpy enough to be a New Yorker."

The words make Santana smile and she's not ready for the next click of the shutter. Her eyes aren't watching and her smile is hurting her face.

Brittany giggles and Santana just keeps laughing as she hears the shutter click and wind, click and wind, over and over again until—

"Beautiful," Brittany comments and it makes Santana stop. Her face relaxes and her eyes open. She looks over at Brittany to see her peer out from behind the camera for a second before she disappears behind it again, snapping away as Santana looks over at her in confusion.

Brittany's washer finishes a few seconds later and Santana feels so suddenly overwhelmed that she needs to leave.

"I'm going for a smoke," she whispers, only just noticing the disappointed look on Brittany's face before she heads for the door.

She stands outside in the cold and sees as Brittany switches her laundry for her. She smokes more than she should and watches how Brittany lifts her clothes into one of the laundry carts before taking it over to the dryers and reverently putting everything inside. It makes her turn away and once she does, it feels like the hardest thing to turn back.

She keeps smoking until she sees a flash. She glances up to the sky to see if it's lightening but all she sees is snow clouds. She sees another flash and she looks up and down the street before turning around.

She's not ready for how her stomach drops or how her chest starts to ache. It's such a strangely familiar feeling and she just watches as Brittany stands there, her camera lowered just slightly, looking at her. She feels like she's really being looked at, like she's as see-through as the glass in front of her, and it makes her stop and look back because she doesn't think she can do anything else.

Brittany smiles at her and Santana swallows and bundles herself up tighter. She watches Brittany and when she speaks, it's not hard to read the instruction that she gives.

The camera rises back to Brittany's face and Santana does as Brittany asks.

She smiles.

They fold their laundry in silence.

Brittany puts all her stuff inside her pack and Santana piles hers neatly into an old lady plastic Laundromat bag that she stole from Rachel. Brittany glances at her intermittently but Santana pretends not to notice. She keeps her eyes on her stuff and listens to whatever crappy pop song plays on the radio.

"Oh, hey, this is yours…"

When she looks up, she finds Brittany holding out one of the t-shirts that she goes to bed in sometimes. She takes it quietly and puts it in her bag just as quick. Brittany watches her shamelessly, folding the same pair of sweats over and over again.

"I don't know why we don't just wash all our laundry together," Brittany comments quietly. Santana stops what she's doing and looks up at her quickly. Brittany's cheeks are pink. "I mean, what's the point in doing four half loads when we could just do two big ones…" She trails off and finally looks away. "It just makes more sense…"

Santana studies her quietly and she's not sure how to explain that why to Brittany. She's not sure how to explain how mixing laundry is less like roommates and more like girlfriends. It breaks down boundaries that they need, blurs lines that Santana's starting to be unable to see. It makes things harder than they already are and Santana doesn't know how to cope with sharing the big things like living together, let alone sharing loads of laundry.

"There's less sorting," she comments idly, hoping that puts an end to it.

Brittany stops and her face changes. Her cheeks pale then pink.

"Sure," she says and that's it.

"Are you hungry?" Brittany asks her when they're standing outside the laundromat, tugging on their coats and making sure everything's securely in place.

Santana turns to her and peers at her through the thin gap between her hat and her scarf. Brittany watches her for a second before she shrugs.

"I heard that there's a diner that refuses to close whatever weather it is," Brittany tells her. "Apparently they're trying to like… beat a record or something. I don't know, but I know that I'm hungry and I really want a burger." She pauses. "Would you like to get dinner with me?"

It sounds so much like a date even though Santana knows that it isn't. It can't be. It's just dinner and she is pretty hungry.

She swallows and worries her lip before nodding. Brittany smiles brightly and then reaches forward to grab for her, pulling her back towards their apartment.

Brittany leaves her outside on the street while she runs their laundry bags back inside before bounding back outside a few seconds later. She's fighting a new film into the back of her camera and Santana grabs her to slow her down so that she doesn't drop anything.

They walk along the street, the snow just started to fall slowly again and all Santana can hear is the click of Brittany's camera and the scrunch of the snow beneath their feet. She has no idea what she's doing but she's not sure she cares when Brittany is practically skipping through neighborhoods clicking pictures of the most random things.

That's until she starts getting bored and begins pointing the camera in Santana's direction again.

She runs ahead of her, before stopping fifteen yards ahead of her and snapping pictures of her, and then stands behind her once Santana's walked past and follows her up the street. Santana looks over her shoulder to see if she's following but finds herself smiling when Brittany just snaps another picture of her.

It probably takes them twice as long to get to the diner, and Brittany's probably gone through about ten rolls of film, but it feels nice.

Without anyone on the streets, it feels like the city is just for them.

The diner is open but it's empty apart from the old couple behind the counter.

They jump the minute that they walk in and rush to seat them, looking almost happy to finally see another human face.

It doesn't stop them from yelling at the girls for being out in the snow. They lead them to the booth in the back far corner looking out onto the street and everything's still so perfect and white that you can't even tell.

They order more food than they should but it's eleven at night on Christmas Eve. They make small talk about how nice the place is and Brittany talks to the owners about her cameras. She manages to get a picture of the pair of them standing behind the counter once she finds out they've been here over fifty years.

The minute she sits down, she's taking another picture of Santana.

Santana just rolls her eyes and lets her, half-smiling into the camera as she rests her chin in her hand.

"Why'd you keep taking pictures of me if you're supposed to be taking pictures of the city?" Santana asks when Brittany's replacing another film.

Brittany glances up and her fingers work fast even though she isn't looking. "You're inthe city, aren't you?"

Santana smirks and rolls her eyes again. "But I'm not from the city."

Brittany finally clicks the back closed on her camera and sets it beside her before leaning forward on her forearms. "Exactly," she says softly. "In this weather, you're the perfect representation of this city. You're a small town girl standing in the middle of a magical and mysterious place waiting for her dreams to come true."

Santana cocks an eyebrow at her. Her smile grows. "Until the snow melts and I'm a small town girl with freezing cold dirty feet and a bruised ass from falling over."

Brittany laughs out loud and it's her turn to roll her eyes. Her smile is soft and Santana watches it with intrigue, trying to find the secret that lies on Brittany's lips.

"That was a beautiful metaphor before you ruined it," she chuckles. She sighs heavily before resting her own chin on her hand, mirroring Santana.

Santana stares at her, suddenly aware of how close she is. She doesn't move, just shrugs and smiles. "Just keeping it real," she comments.

Brittany smiles and shifts her head to the side. Santana almost feels like she's being studied.

"You always do," Brittany mutters and in three words, Santana isn't even sure if they're talking about the same thing anymore.

Her brow narrows but then the old clock behind the counter chimes midnight. It's an awakening. It feels like things should be changing because of it. She watches Brittany glance at the owners before she looks back and shrugs. Her hand shifts over the top of the table but Santana doesn't notice until the ends of Brittany's fingers graze her own.

"Merry Christmas, Santana," Brittany whispers almost silently.

Santana doesn't move, just stares at Brittany as their fingers touch. She has to ignore the leaping in her stomach, the hammering in her chest and the sudden feeling of familiarity that overcomes her before she can speak.

Her breath rattles as she does.

"Merry Christmas, Britt Britt," she says without thinking.

The nickname doesn't go unnoticed, not after over year without saying it, and Brittany keeps looking at her until Santana's sure that her blue eyes are brighter and more perfect than the glittering snow outside.

It's almost 2am by the time that they get back to the apartment.

They're both freezing, shaking from head to toe and Santana just sits on the couch and doesn't move, too scared that she'll die from hypothermia if she takes off her coat.

Brittany moves about the apartment around her, from the kitchen to her bedrooms, to the closet by the bathroom door. She turns up the heating and Santana almost bursts into tears when she hears the tea kettle on the stove. She's kind of confused when Brittany comes out from her bedroom with her blankets and pillows. She's dressed in her pajamas and wearing her NYU sweatshirt and she taps Santana on the shoulder as she passes by to turn on all the lights on their Christmas tree.

"Go put your jammies on and bring your covers out here," Brittany tells her and Santana just looks at her, confused.

"Why?"

Brittany just looks at her weirdly before shrugging. "It's time to open presents. It's Christmas morning."

Santana feels stupid and out of her comfort zone all at once. In her family, presents come after church and brunch. Or, rather, after church and when her parents come back from brunch at her abuela's, as it's been for the past two years.

With a wash of sadness, Santana's momentarily glad for the snow. At least it means she's here and not sitting alone in her parents' living room.

At least she's here, with Brittany, learning what Christmas morning means for her.

She gets up slowly and when she does, Brittany's there in front of her. She helps Santana out of her coat and urges her to her bedroom.

Santana goes and watches as Brittany busies herself around the living room, making new traditions.

The pile of presents under their tree is small but it's bigger than it was before Santana went into her bedroom. She clutches the presents in her arms to her chest a little tighter before she steps over to the tree and sets them down with the rest.

Brittany's in the kitchen. Santana can hear her fussing around with something and she clutches her blank comforter around her shoulders as she follows the sound of her.

"Britt?" she says quietly. Brittany turns quickly to look at her. "Do you need any help?"

Brittany shakes her head, an endearing look of determination worried across her features. "Just go sit down," she says. "I'm making hot chocolate."

Santana nods as thoughts she shouldn't have rush through her head. She swallows and wills them away, desperate to enjoy this, no matter how new and strange it is. She does as she's told and sits down in her normal seat. A Miracle on 34th Street plays on the TV and Santana becomes engrossed in it for a few minutes before Brittany comes in from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands.

"I was going to make tea," she comments. "But then I realized hot chocolate is better."

Santana smiles and takes the cup offered to her. She thanks her softly and waits for instruction, watching as Brittany sets herself up in her seat before she shakes her head and nods to the floor.

"We won't be able to reach our presents otherwise," she realizes.

Santana follows her and sits beside her in front of the tree. She's never done this before. She's never had anyone to do this with before. She's too used to the pile of presents waiting for her on the coffee table when she gets home from her abuela's. She was never allowed near the Christmas tree.

"I have to pass your presents to you and you have to pass your presents to me," Brittany explains and even though their only gifts are from Rachel, Kurt, Blaine and the other girls from work, Santana leans forward and finds the most unfamiliar present with Brittany's name on before passing it to her.

Brittany grins and clutches the present excitedly.

"Merry Christmas," she says again and Santana doesn't really care about the presents so much anymore.

Brittany's face is better.

She gets a new dress from Kurt and Brittany gets a watch. They get brand new hats, scarves and gloves from Blaine while Rachel gets them each a framed movie poster to decorate the apartment with. They get lots of bath stuff from the girls at work. Brittany gets a few DVDs. There's a check in a card for each of them from their boss and their eyes widen at them before they look to what presents are left.

Santana reaches to find one for Brittany but a hand reaches out to her and stops her, cheeks turning pink as she begins to explain.

"They're yours," she whispers. Santana's stomach drops because she didn't really want to assume anything but she's glad anyway. "There's—there's one from last year in there too."

She thinks she hears Brittany's throat catch. She looks away and pushes the pile beside her towards Brittany in response.

"Same," she whispers.

It's hard not to notice how Brittany's face changes, how she looks scared and excited at the same time. She swallows and moistens her lips before reaching over to the pile of gifts beneath the tree and grabbing one.

She pushes it towards Santana and Santana takes it carefully. It's covered in polar bear wrapping paper and she toys with the corner as she slowly starts to open it.

Brittany giggles. "Just rip it," she instructs and Santana smiles before ripping it as carefully as she can.

Whatever it is is hidden in a box and she glances up at Brittany before she looks inside. It's a frame and when she pulls it out and turns it over, it's filled with pictures of their friends, of Santana's parents, of her abuela, of them when they were together.

Her eyes feel glassy the minute she looks down upon it.

"When we used to Skype, I always noticed how you didn't have any pictures on your walls at school and I know…" Santana looks up when Brittany trails off, not prepared to see how her eyes are wet and glassy too. "I know that when I—when I miss people… the worst thing ever is not being able to look around me and remember their faces so I decided to make it for you."

Santana runs her hands over the glass, admiring the pictures. She hasn't seen a lot of them and she wonders if Brittany took them special, if the smile are especially for her. Her fingers stop at the familiar faces of her family and she wants to cry but she's determined not to.

"It's perfect, Britt," she whispers. Brittany smiles.

"I asked your mom for pictures forever ago," Brittany tells her softly. "They were some of the first pictures I got, apart from the ones I already had, obviously… but there were some people missing and I know that you're not at school anymore, and I know you pretend you don't care, but I know that you miss everyone still, so…"

Santana glances up at her and nods. "I love it, Britt."

Brittany breathes out and smiles. "I'm glad."

Santana holds onto it for a few more minutes before reaching for the large box at the bottom of the pile. She pushes it towards Brittany and swallows as she waits for her to open it.

Brittany just looks at it for a few seconds before she reaches for the newly rewrapped bow atop the box. She pulls on it gently before lifting up the lid and her eyes narrow when she sees everything.

Brittany takes out the new flannel pajamas and the underwear. She sets the teddy bear on her knee and then puts the new thick socks in her lap. Her hands run over patchwork quilt left behind in the box before she tugs it out and rests it over her lap. She traces over each square and Santana ignores how Brittany notices that every single square is different, how it somehow relates to Brittany. She doesn't mention how she got it made especially, how she spent weeks finding each square of fabric before finding someone to put it together.

"I don't…" Brittany whispers in confusion.

Santana laughs and shakes her head. She shrugs like it's nothing.

"You get cold at night in the winter," she whispers in explanation before shaking her head. "I don't like it when you're cold."

It's the most honest thing she's said in a while and it makes Brittany gasp. Her hands press against the squares and Santana wipes away the first tear that drips down her face while she isn't looking. It'll be the only tear that falls.

Brittany's breathing deep when she finally glances back up. "It's beautiful," she nods and there's a quiver in her voice. "Thank you."

Santana shrugs even though she feels a weight lift from her chest. Brittany's blue eyes are glassy with tears and her smile looks like it's struggling to stay on her face. She looks away quickly and runs her fingers back over the quilt in her lap. Santana watches her carefully and sees when Brittany reaches a finger up to her face to wipe something away. She breathes in deeply because of it but ignores it, worried for what it means.

She's glad when Brittany lets out a laugh and reaches under the tree.

"Here," she laughs. "Here's your present for this year."

Santana takes the box she's offered nervously and sets it in front of her. Brittany looks at her softly and cuddles the teddy bear on her knee to her chest. It calms Santana enough to reach forward and pull at the ribbon until it comes away before lifting the top of the box. She laughs when she sees what's sitting inside and finds Brittany grinning when she looks up.

"You got me NYU stuff?" Santana asks her around a chuckle, even though she knows that she's going to wear this t-shirt until there's holes at the seams and stains that will never come out. She knows that she'll be finding this cap at the back of her closet for years, until the sun has dyed it lighter and the stitching's started to come undone.

Brittany shrugs and smiles. "I know we're not cheerleaders anymore but, it's my school and I just… I don't know. I thought it was a good idea at the time."

Santana nods in semi-understanding and slips the cap onto her head anyway. "What's the nickname for someone at NYU anyway?"

Brittany almost puffs her chest out proudly. "We're Violets."

"So I'm a Violet now?"

Brittany narrows her eyes. "An honorary one."

Santana's eyes widen. "Wow."

She continues to look at the t-shirt in her lap, running her fingers over the lettering. She feels branded almost, labeled. The only tie she has to NYU is Brittany. For her, NYU means Brittany and with their letters emblazoned on this shirt she feels like she's being labeled as Brittany's. It's a ridiculous feeling because she's sure it's just supposed to be a joke. Brittany isn't labeling her. It's just a shirt and a cap.

When Brittany tugs the shirt away and tosses it aside, it's almost like Brittany can tell she's thinking too much. She rolls her eyes and pushes the box at Santana. "That isn't even really your present," she mutters. "Look in the box."

Santana does. It feels like there's nothing left in the box until they reach the edge and she notices that there's a gap where she can fit her fingers and lift out the bottom. Soon she sees that there's something square and thin wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom of the box. It's a familiar shape and her eyes narrow as she pushes the paper away and looks down at what's inside.

Her heart lurches in her chest.

"I was walking around during lunch while I was at school one day and I found this old record shop," Brittany tells her quietly. She pries the tissue paper out of Santana's hands until she can see what's in her hands better, flip it over and read the back. When she does, she feels like she knows it by heart. "I know it's the only one you don't have and it's signed by Stevie Nicks."

Santana nods because she can see that. She can see the scrawl of her name under her picture on the back. She can barely look at it because this album changed her life. It fixed her. She runs her finger over the track titles at the bottom and remembers sitting on a stool in a choir room, nearly three years ago, singing a song that perfectly encapsulated her feelings. She remembers the first time she ever heard it. Her life hasn't felt the same since.

Brittany's hand reaches out to touch her hand. Santana lets out a laugh.

"The first copy I ever listened to of this was my abuelo's," she tells Brittany softly. "It didn't even fit in with the rest of his record collection and I didn't get to listen to it until after he'd died. It was the only time I was allowed to touch his records but my abuela let me because she said it was better than the music kids listen to nowadays." She pauses and turns the record over and over in her hands. "I think I must have been bored or something… because I can't remember why I decided I wanted to listen to them then when he'd been dead for over a year. But I remember laying on the floor in my their living room while abuela was making dinner and my whole life being changed."

Brittany's thumb sweeps over the back of her hand and it's only then that Santana realizes that she's crying. She swipes her hands over her face and shakes her head.

"I have it on my computer but it sounds so much better on vinyl," Santana looks up at Brittany and smiles. She doesn't know how to tell Brittany how good it feels to finally have a physical copy of it in her hands after so long. "Thank you, Britt."

Brittany smiles. "You're welcome." Santana nods and keeps looking at it. She startles a little when Brittany chuckles and pokes her in the side. She looks up. "Can I have my present now?" she asks cheekily.

Santana rolls her eyes and pushes the rest of the pile towards her. She's still looking down at her new old copy of Fleetwood Mac's self-titled album as Brittany begins ripping through the paper. She doesn't look up until the movement stops and, when she does, she sees how disappointed Brittany looks. She's just staring at her gifts.

"It's photo paper," she comments around a forced smile. "And—and developing chemicals."

Santana doesn't say anything but she feels her mouth quirk into a smile. "Yeah? Do you like it?"

Brittany nods because she would never be ungrateful. "It's great. It'll be really useful once I'm back at school."

Santana watches her carefully before licking her lips and speaking. "I was thinking that maybe you could teach me how everything works this afternoon," she says.

Brittany looks at her for a minute before her face switches into something else and her face falls a little. She shifts on the spot. "That would be awesome but we don't have a darkroom."

Her bottom lip pouts out and Santana has to fight away her smile again. She clears her throat before pausing.

"Well, what if I could do something about that?" she asks. Brittany looks up at her and narrows her eyes. Santana looks back at her and tries to keep a straight face. It's hard but she manages to do it until she stands and holds out her hand. "Come on," she says as Brittany takes it. "I've got something to show you."

She leads her into her room and Brittany sees it quickly. She gasps and lets go of Santana's hand before practically running over to the pile of unwrapped gifts that sit on Santana's dresser.

"Are you serious?" Brittany asks as she plays with the buttons on what Santana's learned is called an enlarger. She looks through all the bottles of chemicals sitting in a box on the floor in front of it and shakes her head as she turns to Santana in disbelief. "How did you… I mean… How are we…" She shakes herself. "How?"

Santana shrugs. "I was at an interview in the Bronx and I walked past a thrift store and this old lady was trying to sell it to them and he was trying to convince her that he'd give her like… five bucks because no one wanted darkroom stuff anymore. And obviously this old lady has never met a Brooklyn hipster but I wasn't going to let her get robbed by this asshole, so I told her and offered her some cash and she took it." Brittany looks at her with wide eyes and she shrugs. "I may have had to pay a ridiculous amount for the cab fare back but it was worth it."

Brittany makes a noise that's almost a squeak of joy. She shakes her head and grins.

"I've had it hidden at Rachel and Kurt's loft for a month," Santana laughs. "They told me I was crazy but I said that having a windowless bathroom has to be good for something."

Brittany laughs and her eyes get big and happy. She bounces on the spot a little. "Can we set it up now?" she asks.

Santana almost wants to say yes but there's a tug in her eyes that demands sleep.

"How about when we wake up?" she says. "We can set it up after breakfast once we've showered and everything then we can play with it all day?"

Brittany nods frantically and before Santana knows what's happening, she's wrapped in a hug and being squeezed so tightly she can barely breathe.

"You always give the best presents," Brittany whispers and even past the overwhelming feeling of happiness, Santana feels a burn of regret.

Brittany's too excited to sleep and she somehow manages to get Santana to stay in the living room with her and watch Elf.

Santana gets caught watching Brittany speak along with the film for a while but, somewhere in the middle, she feels her eyes start to get heavy as Brittany becomes quieter.

She falls asleep before she can even realize it

When she wakes up, she's been covered in another blanket and the TV isn't on anymore.

The lights from the Christmas tree twinkle in her eyes and Brittany's already awake because the other couch is vacant apart from her scrunched up blankets.

Christmas songs play from the radio and Santana can smell pancakes. She curls herself into her covers more, just as Brittany wanders into the room carrying a plate and a cup of coffee. She sets it down in front of Santana without a word and it's nice to have Brittany making her breakfast. Brittany looks good in her apron with her hair tied back. It fits.

She joins Santana a few minutes later and Brittany won't stop talking about her new bathroom darkroom. She produces a scrap of paper from her pocket, scribbled with pencil and covered in drawings that she says she made while she was cooking breakfast. It's a plan of their bathroom and Santana nods as she explains what needs to be done.

Santana finds herself getting excited too.

She showers quickly and gets ready and dressed even quicker.

Brittany's already lugging everything into the bathroom when she exits her room and Santana smiles and helps her quickly, listening to the instructions she's given.

They have everything set up soon after and as Brittany covers the doorway with the long, thick curtains Santana bought but never used, Santana feels anticipation well inside of her.

They're lucky that their bathroom isn't like a matchbox because it means that they can both fit inside. Santana is still creeped out by the red light, though.

Once she's certain that everything's perfect, Brittany grins and begins to work. There's a pile of used films sitting on the counter and she grabs a few before grabbing a tank and these things that look like the wheels of wagons.

"You're gonna turn off the red light in a second, okay?" she says and Santana frowns as she grabs a bottle opener and some scissors. "Okay, now," she says and everything happens quickly. Everything goes black and Santana can hear things happen but can't tell what they are. She stands there silently until Brittany tells her to turn the light back on. Her eyes struggle to adjust but she soon sees that the used films have been opened and that the reels are gone. Brittany grins. "Time for chemicals."

It's kind of cool how everything works.

Santana watches with rapt curiosity as Brittany develops each of the films and hangs them to dry on a piece of string tied to their shower curtain rail. They make lunch while they wait for them to dry and then Santana follows her back into the bathroom to prepare the chemicals to make the prints. She cuts down the strips of film and then puts them in this thing and then plays with some dials. Santana has no idea what she's doing but she rips off strips of paper before turning on a light.

When she puts the strip in the chemicals, a picture appears and it looks like it has stripes. Brittany narrows her eyes at it before going back to the enlarger and playing with the dials some more.

By the time she's finished, Brittany has a perfectly printed picture of her sitting in the laundromat last night.

She puts it in more trays of chemicals until she drops it in the water in front of Santana and smiles.

Santana looks at it and can't help but be reminded of Brittany's genius.

It's a perfect print and, just like every other picture of her that Brittany takes, it's a perfect her.

Brittany teaches her how to develop camera film.

She stands pressed against her in the dark, holding her hands as she guides them to do the right thing, and doesn't let go until she's done. It's the closest and most tactile they've been since that night when they almost kissed but it doesn't feel weird. She feels comfortable and she giggles as her hands stumble and struggle to follow their instructions.

It doesn't even feel weird when Brittany stands close to her while they're making the prints, her hands guiding Santana's again. It doesn't even feel weird that they're crammed inside the bathroom with all the equipment.

And when they're done, and the bathroom is full of pictures of her face, Santana doesn't feel uncomfortable. She doesn't even feel awkward with the fact that Brittany's taken hundreds of pictures of her, she just smiles.

"It looks like a stalker's paradise in here," she chuckles.

Brittany washes her hands and gives her a look. "You wish," she quips and Santana feels her eyes widen and her brow raise before she laughs out loud.

She's glad that Brittany grins and throws a towel at her a second later. When Brittany begins taking down all the pictures, Santana narrows her eyes because she really wasn't complaining. She opens her mouth to say something but Brittany must notice her expression because she grins and rolls her eyes fondly.

"We have to dry them," she says softly, nudging her elbow so she helps. Santana does and feels her cheeks warm with embarrassment. Brittany glances at her before smiling. "Then I can wallpaper my walls with your face."

She's teasing and Santana purposely bumps their elbows together as she adds more to the pile in front of them.

A smirk tugs at her lips. "Like you wouldn't if you had the chance," she says quietly, glad when Brittany snorts.

Their eyes don't catch but Santana can see her smile out of the corner of her eye.

"Duh," she says and, even as it makes Santana blush harder, it puts her at ease.

They have the stuff to make a proper Christmas dinner, even though they start cooking after it's dark.

They stand hip to hip and prepare the food, talking about everything and nothing in soft voices Santana hasn't heard in a long time. Christmas songs play quietly in the background and Santana smiles as Brittany hums along.

It's late but it doesn't really matter. Santana tries to set their small kitchen table ready to eat but Brittany stops her and takes the table cloth into the living room before laying it over their coffee table. She sets it out properly before putting a cushion on the floor in front of each setting.

Brittany pulls out a bottle of champagne and explains that her parents got it for her graduation but she never drank it. She puts it in the fridge while they set the food out and pours it into the same type of glasses they have their water in. Santana giggles and wipes her hand on a dish towel as Brittany comes in with the last of the food.

She holds her hand out to help Santana sit down on the floor and Santana lets her. She sits down beside her and Santana feels their feet brush under the table.

Santana's cheeks feel rosy as they talk until way past the the time that all the food is gone. They eventually move onto the couches, full to the brim and aching with overindulgence.

Santana's not sure when she falls asleep but, when she wakes up at three am and Brittany's asleep on the other couch, she doesn't care that the table is covered in plates.

She just grabs two blankets and covers Brittany with one before wrapping herself in the other.

Her eyes study familiar features as she lays her head back down to rest and she falls asleep quickly, unsure of sure what's real and what's reality.

When she wakes up, she's sure that she's still asleep.

To say that it's like her dreams are coming true would be an accurate statement.

She's had this dream many times—many, manytimes—and they've all been at various degrees of innocence.

But if she were to rate this on a scale of innocent to not, she'd sat this was a five, straddling boundaries and blurring lines.

She wakes up to the sound of music, a low thump of a base that makes her body vibrate awake more than startle her with noise. Her eyes flutter and she's not sure if what she sees is real. She narrows them and shifts, burrowing her cold nose back under the covers before blinking. What she manages to focus on is worth questioning her consciousness because what she sees isn't exactly familiar. Not anymore.

The table has been cleared of all their plates and has been pushed to the other side of the room while the couch has been pushed towards the other. It leaves a square of space in the middle where Brittany stands, swaying and moving to the music with her eyes closed. And, sure, that's not exactly something to be scandalized by—more than once has she come home to find Brittany dancing around the apartment—it's just that she doesn't often do it in nothing but her underwear and a jean shirt.

Too big, thick wool socks hang around her ankles and stretch past her toes and her hair is bright and wild and everywhere. She's smiling and Santana shamelessly takes advantage of her eyes being closed to stare at her and take her in once she realizes she's not dreaming. She still pinches herself but that's mostly to stop from doing anything she shouldn't.

Brittany's hand reaches to push underneath the shirt to scratch at her stomach and it makes it ten times harder.

She clears her throat to stop any other noise coming out and, before she can pretend she's asleep, blue eyes are staring into hers and grinning with happiness.

"You're awake," Brittany says softly but excitedly. She spins across the room to stand before Santana and reaches for her hands. "Come dance with me."

Santana catches another glance of curved hips that stretch into toned thighs and swallows. She can't stop herself from thinking about how soft she knows they are. She guesses that old habits die hard.

She sits up quickly and gets pulled up even quicker. Brittany pulls her into the middle of the room and reaches over to her computer, connected up to her speakers and clicks a button. Another song comes on and she forces Santana into a spin until they're front to back.

An arm wraps around Santana's waist and she laughs because there's nothing else she wants to do at that moment. Her hand reaches to hold onto Brittany's bare arm and allows herself to be moved to the music. They move in circles and Tubbs runs around their feet in confusion, disturbed from his place beneath the Christmas tree. Brittany giggles at him and reaches to turn up the volume, moving more fluidly as she guides Santana in a twirl around the room.

The arm around her waist pushes her shirt up and she can feel the skin of Brittany's stomach against her back. She takes a deep breath and pushes against the feel, wanting more of it. Dancing with Brittany is as easy as it always is, freeing and full of all the best things. It's silly and Santana's smile hurts her face matching Brittany's.

She feels dizzy and high on the most natural feeling in the world. She relaxes into Brittany as their breath comes too fast, their bodies start to give in. Santana feels cradled by Brittany's body, warmed by her hands and her eyes flutter at whatever the new-old feeling is rushing through her blood. She doesn't want to move. She doesn't want to breathe. She just wants to stay like this forever, cradled and held in Brittany's body, her cheek pressed to Brittany's with soft hands pressed to her body. She wants Brittany to turn her head so that she's able to smell comfort and softness and relief.

When Brittany does do that, her nose turning pressing against Santana's ear, Santana doesn't pull away; she pushes into the feeling of it and blinks slowly.

It's probably their biggest mistake. Noses bump together and it does feels more like a dream because it ends before they see the outcome. Brittany steps back from Santana and brings reality with her. She smiles carefully and it's not awkward, just tentative.

"I should go get dressed," she says as an excuse. Her voice sounds thicker. She swallows a few times before smiling tightly and leaving.

Santana remains standing in the middle of the room after she's gone, not even sure what just happened.

She spends as long as she can getting ready once Brittany's out of the bathroom.

She takes a bath, scrubbing every inch of her body and using every single product she was given for Christmas, just because. She puts a treatment in her hair and relaxes back in the bath for ages, wishing that she'd brought something with her to read.

She washes herself off and wraps herself in towels and doesn't see Brittany when she gets out of the shower. She must be in her bedroom and Santana closes her own bedroom door behind her quickly. She dries herself off slowly and puts on some music on her computer. She takes as long as she can to dry and style her hair before she dresses in some sweats.

She looks ridiculous but she doesn't care.

Except she kind of does care because, the minute she finally exits her room and finds Brittany in the kitchen, blue eyes are doing a double take as Brittany swallows thickly.

Santana ignores it and narrows her eyes at the mess that covers the counters. "What are you doing?" she asks, nodding at the plastic bags of stuff that weren't there before. "Did you go out?"

Brittany nods and reaches into the bags to begin pulling everything out. She's bought flour and butter and chocolate chips in mass amounts.

"Are you making pancakes?" she asks, moving closer.

Brittany shakes her head as she pulls out bags of candy and chocolate. "Cookies," she says with a grin. "Can you get me the measuring scales? And the big mixing bowl we stole from Kurt?"

Santana finds them and hands them to Brittany. She leans her hip against the counter and watches as Brittany finds her apron and pulls it over her head. Santana leans forward to tie it for her and Brittany smiles gratefully before reaching for all of her ingredients.

"It's weird to see you baking," Santana comments around a chuckle. "You used to hate it."

Brittany's smile softens and she works from a piece of paper in front of her, reading it carefully with a tracing finger. "I didn't see the point back then," she says. "But—you know my mom—she was always baking cinnamon rolls and cookies on weekends. I always thought she was crazy because I just couldn't get it. It was always something her and my sister did, but then I moved here and I realized that home isn't just four walls. It's pictures and sounds and smells." She shrugs. "And when Kurt and Rachel came for brunch and he made cinnamon rolls, I figured that maybe I could make the apartment a little bit more like home."

Santana smiles even as she feels disappointment in her chest. "Does this place not feel like home to you?" she asks, nervously.

Brittany stops creaming butter and sugar together and looks at her with a pointed smirk. "I said more like home, as in it was already home and I just want to make it better…" Brittany nods. "I want to take all the best parts of my old home and bring them here because this is my home now. Here, in this stuffy little apartment in Brooklyn, with you, is my home." Santana swallows as Brittany looks at her like she's the most ridiculous thing in the world. "And, sure, the smell of moth balls and garbage from the dumpsters downstairs is awesome, but I thought the smell of baking cookies at Christmas time was a little more festive."

Santana feels her mouth twitch with a smile. She can't stop the sudden overwhelming feeling of pride that washes over her and fills every inch of her chest. She's not sure where this Brittany came from, all she knows is that she likes her just as much. She's grown up and the only thing that makes Santana sad is that she never got to watch it happen.

Brittany chuckles and nudges her with an elbow. "You wanna help?" she asks. "We can make way too many cookies and then spend the afternoon eating them in front of the TV. First one to puke loses."

Santana laughs and nods quickly.

"Sure, Britt," she mutters and Brittany grins at her before handing her more sugar and butter.

She ends up with flour in her perfectly styled hair and cookie dough stuck to her fingers but she isn't worried. She doesn't care. Brittany glances sideways at her and it makes warmth spread from the base of her spine, all the way down to her toes and up to the tips of her fingers. Her cheeks feel warm and there's a weird feeling in her chest that doesn't hurt.

She grabs the heart-shaped cookie-cutter without thinking.

They bake three dozen cookies before realizing that they have to eat them and freeze the rest of the cookie dough.

They don't care so much, not when it's snowing softly again outside and not when there's nothing better than still warm cookies and hot chocolate when it's cold outside. They grab their blankets and take to the couches again. It's only about an hour later that they feel sick but Santana's not sure if it's from the cookies or from laughing too much.

When Brittany said that they should watch Mexican soap operas, Santana thought she'd be bored. Turns out, it's quite hilarious.

"No seas tan hipocrita, Alejandro!" Brittany calls out to the TV in almost perfectly accented Spanish. "You cheated on her first, with her sister!"

Santana shakes her head and buries herself deeper under her blankets. "I don't get it. Why do they always turn around and talk to the wall when the person is right in front of them? It's the dumbest thing I've ever seen!"

"See!" Brittany shouts, pointing her finger at the screen. "I knewhe was the baby's father. I knewit! And don't even get me started on you, hermana, just because they cheated on you doesn't make you any better. You're no better. Everyone will find out your secret soon enough. Estás echando mucha crema en tus tacos!"

Santana laughs except her laugh is more of a snigger beneath her blankets as she watches Brittany. She's getting way too into it but she knows that. She laughs with every word she says and shakes her head with every new scandalous thing that happens.

"I thought it was kind of crazy that you'd actually DVRed these," Santana comments, her cheeks hurting from laughing. "But they're hilarious."

Brittany nods and picks at another cookie. "They're ridiculous," she says and Santana can't help but agree. She nods slowly as Brittany chews. "But it's a good way for me to practice my Spanish. Because it's so ridiculous, I have to pay more attention. Especially when it decides whether that Juan is Santiago's hermano or his hermana. It really makes the rest of the show confusing."

Santana giggles and her breath becomes shallow for some reasons she isn't sure of. Maybe it's pride, maybe it's sadness. She doesn't know but her features soften and she watches Brittany instead of the screen.

"Eres un idiota," Brittany mumbles and Santana's smile falters as Brittany watches the television.

She can't help but agree.

It's not until the next morning that Santana remembers that there was actually a good reason for her to be going back to Lima, a really good reason.

It's really annoying that she doesn't remember that reason until she can't do anything about it. Not that she could do anything about it before, what with the snow and all transport closed until further notice, but at least she could have tried.

It would mean that she wasn't blindly scurrying her hands around her bedside table hoping to find a fresh pack of dailies instead of the plastic-framed glasses she picked when she was adamant she wouldn't be wearing them anymore.

Now she doesn't have a choice.

"Fuck," she whispers, reaching for her phone to call her mother.

Brittany doesn't look at her when she walks into the living room. She's too busy staring around at their living room with narrow eyes and a thoughtful expression.

"I think we should—why are you wearing your glasses?" Brittany says when she finally sees her. Her eyes narrow even further than they already were but a smirk starts to quirk at the corner of her lips.

Santana pushes the frames up her nose for about the ten millionth time that makes her remember why she hates them and shakes her head softly. "I was supposed to renew my prescription while we were in Lima and I completely forgot," she tells her. "I just called my parents and my dad's gonna speak to my eye doctor. They're gonna send it to me but it won't be here until the New Year, so I'm stuck with this for now."

Brittany's smile softens. "Well, you know I think you look adorable in your glasses."

Santana rolls her eyes even as she feels herself smile. "I look like a dork."

Brittany giggles and her expression is bright with fondness.

"You are a dork," she says, and with anyone else, Santana would scoff, but with Brittany, her smile just grows.

She shakes her head and feels her cheeks burn. She ignores Brittany's comment and climbs onto the couch, pulling her robe around her as she smooths out her unruly bedhead.

"Anyway, were you saying something before?"

Brittany looks at her and she's confused for a moment before something clicks in her eyes. She looks back around the living room and then points towards the hallway closet.

"I was trying to find a space to put all my darkroom things this morning and I remembered how much decorating stuff we have in there," she says. "I was thinking that, you know, we haven't got anything better to do. Why don't we paint the apartment?"

Santana's brow quirks but then she thinks about it. They've had that stuff for six months and if they don't decorate soon, they never will and that weird stain on the bathroom wall will haunt her forever.

"Sounds like a good idea," she says and Brittany looks shocked that she agreed. Santana bops her on the nose as she walks past to the kitchen. "Let me make breakfast then we can get ready."

When she looks back, Brittany's watching her.

She doesn't stop watching her the whole time that Santana makes eggs and Santana really doesn't mind.

"Question, where did you get all this paint and why are there so many different colors?"

Santana looks up at her and shrugs from where she's laying out old sheets on the floor. "I got it all on sale because they were all the last cans left. I barely spent anything on it. Same with those rolls of wallpaper over there."

Brittany shakes her head at her with a grin before falling to sit on her ass in front of the supplies. "So which color is going where? I'm guessing this dark dismal color is for your lair?"

Santana turns to her and meets the smirk that greets her. "When did you turn into such a smart ass?"

Brittany smirks and Santana blinks slowly at the sight of her smug expression, savoring it.

"I've always been a smart ass," Brittany tells her proudly. "You just forgot."

The words make Santana smile but they make her feel sad too because she gets that feeling again, the proud but disappointed feeling that makes her feel like she's missed everything. Brittany's more confident, more sure of herself and the head that rests on her shoulders, and Santana hates that she missed seeing that happen.

She wants to say something to her about it but she doesn't know what.

"I was thinking the yellow for the kitchen," she says instead of responding. "And the blues for the bathroom and then we can do in here however we want?"

Brittany looks at her and reaches to open up the cans with a butter knife.

"Sure," she nods, but it sounds like something else.

She feels incredibly masculine wearing her glasses and some overalls painting her living room but it's kind of therapeutic at the same time.

The record player plays in the background and Santana sings along as Brittany bounces to the rhythm. She wears sweatpants, an NYU t-shirt and a too big cardigan. She's barefoot, with a scarf tied around her head and she looks adorable but ridiculous and it makes Santana feel a little better.

They take a wall each and Santana kind of wants to laugh that none of the walls in their living room are going to be the same color. She's painting her wall purple while Brittany's is red. They have a spare can of darker blue paint for one wall and wallpaper for the other. She feels like it's going to be awesome though. It's going to be as mismatched as their furniture.

They take a break at lunch and lounge on the sheet-covered couches to eat grilled cheese and leftover cookies. Brittany's feet are covered in paint and she wiggles her toes as she giggles at the sight of them. Santana laughs too. She looks like she's been involved in the double murder of a grape and a smurf.

They hang the wallpaper once they start working again and it's a tough job but, considering they've never done it before, it looks kind of awesome. Brittany high-fives her when they step back to look at it.

Even though the apartment stinks of paint, they open the windows and decide to get the kitchen done too. They cover their living room in appliances before covering the counters with the sheets. They're lucky that there kitchen isn't that big and nobody wants to buy yellow paint because they're both smothered in it a little while later.

Brittany looks even more adorable with yellow paint smudges down her face. She kinda looks like one of the Lost Boys from Hook and as soon as she tells her, Brittany wants to watch it on DVD.

She calls the pizza place across the street to see if they're open while Brittany cleans their paint brushes. It's open and Santana orders them pizza that the owner runs across the street to them twenty minutes later. They over-tip him, just because of how wet he still manages to get in the short distance.

Santana doesn't realize how exhausted she is until she falls back on the couch and reaches for a slice of pizza. Her limbs start to ache and she groans with the sudden comfort of the cushions on her back.

She's not sure how quick it takes her but, one minute she's eating pizza, the next her arms are around Brittany's neck and she's being lifted to her bed. She snuggles in, half-asleep and sighs when arms tighten around her. They hold her close until they let her go, dropping her carefully into her bed. Santana groans again and lets her covers be pulled up around her shoulder. Fingers brush her hair away from her face and then fingers pull her glasses from her face. They click as they hit her bedside table.

"Goodnight, Santana," she feels whispered against her cheek.

Santana cuddles up to her pillow and sighs as her cheek presses into it. "Night, Britt Britt," she whispers and she's sure she feels a nose brush over her cheek before lips press gently against it.

She hates that she won't remember it and tries to stay half-awake as long as possible to try not to forget.

Brittany's already painting the bathroom by the time Santana wakes up.

She's kind of fuzzy-headed for some reason. She's still dressed in yesterday's clothes and she can't remember how. She feels like she's slept too long and she rubs at her eyes beneath her glasses as she wanders into the bathroom to pee but can't because Brittany's standing on the back of the toilet.

She's got her paintbrush in hand and she glances down at Santana before realizing how silly she must look.

"Hi," she laughs. "I was trying to get a head start… did you need to pee?"

Santana can only manage a nod and she blinks to wake up as Brittany climbs down. Santana continues to blink but stops when she feels Brittany squeeze at her waist. Her eyes widen and she's not prepared for how Brittany's hand runs over her stomach before she lets go.

"Morning, Sleepyhead," she giggles and Santana doesn't know what to do. "I'll go get your brush ready."

Santana can still feel the touch when Brittany comes back five minutes later.

"What color is this anyway?" Brittany asks when they're finished in the bathroom and getting the next batch of paint ready.

Santana smirks at the grimace on Brittany's face. "It's grey," she says. "And it won't look too bad once it's mixed with the purple wallpaper. Plus, I've got these purple sheets I've been waiting to use until I'd decorated, so…"

Brittany's grimace turns into a smile. "Wanna hear a secret?" Brittany says. Santana nods. "I'm kinda mad at you for decorating my room for me. Not that I'm not grateful, I'm just bored of blue bedroom walls…"

Santana feels something fall inside of her. "I just wanted you to feel at home," she says quickly and guiltily. "We can paint it again if you want? Any color you want."

Brittany smiles again and shakes her head. "Nah, it's okay," she says. "I like that you wanted to make me comfortable. I like that you wanted to make me feel at home with you."

The words make the moment feel heavy. Santana takes in a deep breath and stops cleaning the brush in her hands. She looks at Brittany and her eyes are bright. Her cheeks are pink. Santana's throat feels dry all of a sudden and she swallows to moisten it but it won't work. She kind of feels dizzy.

"We should—we should clear the stuff from your room," Brittany says and Santana nods dumbly before leading Brittany to her bedroom.

It shouldn't feel weird to have Brittany going through her things and packing them into boxes but it does. It's been such a long time since she last saw Brittany picking up her clothes from her bedroom floor and putting them in her laundry basket. They used to be without boundaries but now they have them and it's strange. Seeing Brittany piling her records feels like the weirdest thing in the world.

"I'm done with the records," Brittany says as she comes back into her bedroom from the living room. "I'm gonna take the stuff out of your dresser because we've got, like, no room out there and we're gonna have to lift it over everything."

Santana, engrossed in finding matching pairs of shoes under her bed, just nods. She lays down on her stomach and crawls underneath, her legs poking out the side. She grunts as she tries to reach something farthest away from her and groans when she can't reach it. She lays her cheek onto her forearm and rests for a minute, only then noticing how quiet everything else is.

It makes her nervous. "You okay?" she calls out, not even knowing if Brittany's still in the room.

She's glad when the bed sinks and Brittany's bare feet appear at the end. Still, it's too quiet.

"Britt?" she asks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm—I'm fine," Brittany says but she doesn't sound fine. She sounds a million other things but not fine. Santana watches her feet shift awkwardly. "It's just—Santana… why do you have a pile of my clothes in your dresser?"

Santana's confused for a moment, but then she remembers and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to say. All she feels is embarrassed and pathetic, a little ridiculous.

She knows exactly what pile of clothes Brittany's talking about and, while the question makes her sound like a total creeper, it's not the case. She's had them since they were fifteen years old and sleepovers became routine rather than a privilege. They're not the same pile of clothes, just a rotation of what Brittany's brought and left behind. It made sense at the time, but now it doesn't. Brittany used to keep clothes in Santana's room "just in case". Just in case they had a sleepover. Just in case she needed to change after practice. Just in case she needed something more comfortable after a party. Just in case…

It doesn't make sense that Santana has a just in case pile in her dresser now that Brittany's own dresser is mere feet away in her own room.

Santana rolls onto her back and clears her throat. She's not sure if it's the dust or something else but her throat feels dry and her eyes sting.

"It's the same—it's the…" she starts but the words feel silly. She doesn't want to admit what she knows she has to. It's the only way. When she speaks, her words are a whisper. "It's the same pile of clothes that used to be in my closet in Lima."

The room fills with that strange silence. Santana turns her head to look at Brittany's feet. Only her toes touch the floor but they're stock still.

"Why are they here?" Brittany asks softly. Her confusion hurts Santana for reasons that Santana's not sure.

She laughs awkwardly and looks up at the pattern of her mattress. When her eyes start to burn, she shakes her head and takes deep, unsteady breaths.

"I don't know," she says except she does. "But, the day before I left for Louisville, you'd gone to sleep and I was still packing my clothes. I think I was sitting there and I was watching you sleep and it just felt weird to not have some of your clothes there. It felt weird to think that you couldn't stay over if you wanted." Her voice is croaky and timid. "And then, when I moved to New York, it still felt weird, so I brought them with me."

The words were supposed to make the silence go away but it just makes it feel worse. Brittany still doesn't talk but she starts to bounce on the edge of the bed, her toes moving as she does so. The bed creaks a little but Santana doesn't move, she just lays there and wonders what expression is on Brittany's face, except she's not sure she really wants to know.

When she speaks, it's not what Santana expected to hear.

"You never invited me to stay in Louisville," she whispers softly. "Why didn't you tell me that you wanted me to stay over?"

Santana lays still and swallows over and over again, trying to force away the lump in her throat. It tastes of regret and bile. It makes her feel sad and she closes her eyes as she takes one final swallow and speaks.

"I don't know," she lies because the truth hurts too much.

Because Brittany never needed to ask but she didn't anyway, so Santana assumed she didn't want to.

"I would have liked that," Brittany whispers and Santana doesn't have to imagine her expression. She can hear Brittany's smile and she starts smiling herself because of it.

Her body relaxes slowly. "Me too," she admits.

"It—it would have been fun," Brittany goes on and her smile is still there but it's less. There's more nerves in her voice. "It would have been nice to spend a weekend away from Lima. We could have sat around your dorm in sweatpants and eaten ramen or something." There's a longer pause that's almost wistful but something else too, something that makes Santana aware of how fast her pulse is. "I would have liked that," Brittany repeats. "Being locked in your room for a weekend."

Her voice changes and Santana can tell that the smile has changed too. It makes her wish that she wasn't laying underneath her bed any more so she shuffles out. When she gets up, Brittany's still sat at the foot of the bed except she's staring over one shoulder. Her face looks relaxed but determined. Her eyes are dark and glassy. Santana can feel her pulse thudding erratically as she Brittany's eyes flicker across her. Everything about it makes her panic and she turns away reaching for something to busy herself.

She grabs one of her pillows and regrets it instantly. She sees a flash of blue and puts it straight back down again before darting her eyes back over at Brittany, praying that she didn't see.

From the smug expression on her face and the smile tugging at her lips, Santana knows that she did.

She's sure of it when Brittany leans forward and reaches underneath the pillow. Her eyes dart up to Santana as she scrambles underneath it, her smile growing, before she pulls at the fabric and tugs it towards her. She holds it in her hands before lifting it to her nose. The action makes Santana shiver and she looks away as Brittany strokes the fabric. It's a lot softer but that's mostly because it hasn't been washed since Brittany doused it in her perfume the week before she left for Louisville.

If Brittany can tell, she doesn't mention it, just like the first and last time she found it stuffed under Santana's pillow. It hadn't been washed for a while that time either, not since Brittany left it wrapped under her bed the Christmas before. She didn't say anything, she just tossed it aside and kissed Santana's cheek. That night, Santana couldn't find the blanket but found it the afternoon after, fresh out of the laundry and covered in Brittany's perfume.

She's not sure if she wants Brittany to try and wash it this time.

She's not sure if she's glad or disappointed when Brittany just smiles and folds it carefully before handing it back.

She doesn't think about it. She's too busy thinking about the look on Brittany's face.

Things start to feel weird again, but in a completely different way.

They stand on opposite sides of Santana's bedroom, painting her walls and things don't feel like they're going to fall apart at any minute. They feel like something new entirely but strangely old and familiar at the same time.

It's magnetic almost. Santana can feel Brittany's presence more than she could before. She can feel her eyes and her heat pointed in her direction. It makes Santana feel charged in a way that she hasn't in too long a time. It's a desperate feeling that's scary because she knows that she'll never be able to control it. It's too big inside of her chest, buried deep within her and so inherent that she can't even find its root or cause. It's something that makes Santana who she is and whenever that feeling rises to the surface, it makes her body feel weak and desperate to give in.

That feeling just keeps getting bigger and bigger the more time that Santana spends in her room with Brittany. Sometimes she catches Brittany staring at her but Brittany doesn't look away; she just keeps staring and smiling when Santana looks at her. She doesn't even seem ashamed, just curious about something… anticipatory. Everything about her looks easy and patient. It makes Santana nervous.

It makes her really nervous and her pulse thuds as Brittany moves closer to her. She's covered in cute splashes of gray paint and, if anything, they make the sparkle in her eye seem brighter.

Santana finds herself getting caught but it doesn't bother Brittany. Brittany just smiles back and moves closer.

They stand almost hip to hip and it reminds Santana of being back in high school, sitting in a library and scrawling over yearbooks in marker pen. Their proximity means that her right hand and Brittany's left stroke together as they paint and Brittany feels so soft that Santana doesn't even realize when their pinkies link together.

She doesn't realize until the grip tightens and Brittany moves just that little more closer. Her breath catches and she's so struck by how much she's missed the feeling that she's sure she stops breathing.

She turns her face to watch Brittany but Brittany isn't looking.

She's just smiling softly to herself and that makes everything worse.

They make dinner together and the conversation and banter that they usually share as they make it is different. It's made of more.

Brittany moves around their kitchen, and there's more than enough space from the both of them, but she uses every opportunity to touch Santana. Her hands grip at her hips as she tries to move around her and her fingers graze over her lower back and down her arms. Santana's not actually sure if she actually helps to make dinner in any way at all.

Brittany sets the coffee table the same way they did on Christmas day and they sit opposite each other with their legs touching underneath the table. They eat slowly, talk too much, and Santana realizes that there's only one word to describe what Brittany's doing. She's flirting and it should feel innocent but it doesn't.

How can it when Brittany blinks so slowly, smiles with an expression that says more than her words do? They listen to records and don't even turn the TV on, talking and talking about everything and nothing until it's late and they don't even know how.

They carry everything back into Santana's room but the walls are still dry, so Santana decides to sleep on the couch. Brittany goes to her room to get ready for bed while Santana creates herself a makeshift bed on the couch. She puts on her comfiest pajamas and turns out the light in favor of a low-lit lamp. She snuggles down under the covers and is almost half-asleep when Brittany's bedroom door opens.

The minute Santana sees her, she forgets her sleepiness or any exhaustion that she feels. She's in nothing but a pair of underwear and a tight NYU t-shirt. Her hair is down and her eyes are glassy. Her smile is gentle as she steps forward, her footsteps dulled by the thick socks on her feet. She stands at the end of the couch and scratches at her stomach, revealing a line of hard muscle in the low-light.

"I just wanted to say goodnight," she says softly.

Her voice is thick but Santana can tell it isn't with sleepiness. She nods slowly as Brittany steps closer to move closer to her. She giggles softly as she gets down onto her knees and reaches a hand up to Santana's face. Santana's eyes cross as Brittany plucks her glasses from her face by the bridge. She closes the arms and reaches over Santana to put them behind her on the lamp table. One of her hands settles on Santana's shoulders when she pulls back and, to Santana, Brittany's all yellow light and soft edges. She leans forward and Santana's breath catches until a kiss is pressed to her forehead.

She can make out Brittany's soft, smug smile when she pulls back. "Goodnight, Santana…" she whispers.

Santana nods, unable to speak, and admires the sway of Brittany's hips as she gets up and walks back to her room.

When Brittany doesn't close her bedroom door behind her, Santana knows she isn't going to sleep.

She's laying there thinking that, if she keeps laying as still as she is, then she'll be able to sleep when she first hears it.

She freezes even more than she already is and holds her breath, listening carefully.

At first, all it is is the sound of sheets ruffling and the typical noises of someone moving in their sleep except… Santana's not really sure if she's ever heard Brittany move in her sleep unless she's having a nightmare or not really deeply asleep at all. Usually, she's out like a light and doesn't move for hours but, here she is and she's moving a lot.

She keeps moving and shuffling until Santana hears a relieved exhale of breath. It makes her pause and she swallows nervously before she hears it again.

Only it's sharper and sounds more desperate than relieved this time. It makes Santana's heart thud in her chest because it's familiar in a way that she doesn't want to be, familiar because Santana's sure that she still hears it in her dreams sometimes. She turns her head to the side and waits, wanting to hear it again.

Except, when the breaths sound more like gasps, she changes her mind. Her mouth falls open and her eyes flutter. If she's about to overhear what she thinks she is, she doesn't want to listen to it. She doesn't even want to think about it. She's not sure she has the capacity.

It's not until she hears the gasps come more regularly, accompanied by the sound of sheets moving from desperately searching limbs, that she realizes she'll have to find the capacity. Her hand almost subconsciously falls to rest on her own hip and she forces it away the minute she realizes, clenching her fist to control herself.

But she's not sure how long she can do that, not when she's felt that feeling pulling to the surface all day, not when Brittany's gasps are slowly losing control and getting louder at the same time they're getting becoming more shallow. She can almost remember the warmth of Brittany's skin when she's like this, can almost remember the taste of her sweat. It makes her lose her breath all together and she closes her eyes tighter, trying to take herself someplace else where she can be in control.

It doesn't help that Brittany starts whimpering out desperate words to accompany her gasps, like the cymbal crashing in a song that Santana knows by heart.

"C'mon," Brittany whimpers. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" she begs of herself until her movements are quick and frantic, overwhelming for Santana and still not enough for herself.

With a broken moan, Santana can't take anymore. Her hand finds her waistband and rests there for a moment. She wants to turn onto her back but she knows it'll make Brittany stop and she can't allow that to happen. She needs to remember what Brittany sounds like when she comes, when she reaches the peak that always makes her look her most beautiful. She wants to make sure that it still sounds as thick and full as it used to.

"Please…" Brittany's whimpers soon change to. "Please… c'mon, please… Oh god, please…"

She's more vocal than Santana would have thought, not when the door is open and not when Santana's lying on the couch. It occurs to Santana that maybe that's why this is happening, that this is what Brittany wants. It sounds fucked up at the same time it sends heat and moisture to Santana's core. Wondering makes her more curious, makes her want to turn onto her back twice as much. Her breath hitches when Brittany releases a broken moan before gasping for breath.

She turns over without even thinking about it, regrets it when the noises stop. She freezes and holds her breath, waiting for it to stop or go on. She waits what feels like forever until Brittany does the last thing she expects her to and pushes back the covers before laying with her head at the foot of the bed. The move makes her face clearly visible to Santana and her blue eyes are dark.

Santana doesn't feel stuck or caught as she stares into them. She just feels like she's in a bubble and all she cares about is how Brittany's lips part as her hand slips back down her body and between her legs. Santana can't see it, but she can imagine it, and that makes it worse.

She breathes out and it's so shaky it doesn't sound like a breath at all. Her eyelids flutter again but Brittany's are wide open and staring at her intently. It feels like their expressions should be reversed, especially when Brittany starts moving slower, when it's clear where her fingers are moving slowly in and out from, as she pants in time with them.

Her neck arches against the mattress and Santana's blankets fall to the floor without her even noticing. She's too busy stroking over her hips, across the tops of her thighs and then down. She likes the way that Brittany's eyes flicker with each movement, how her breathing changes. She keeps doing it until she can't anymore and puts her fingers where she desperately needs them.

She's wet, too wet, wetter than she thought. Now that it's on her fingers she can feel that it's everywhere, that she's soaking through her pajama bottoms. Her eyes roll and she hears Brittany pant, muttering words that she doesn't hear. A distant voice at the back of her head tells her that this shouldn't be happening but she ignores it when her fingers reach her clit. She moans out a gasp that makes Brittany whimper and she runs her fingers over her clit a few times before she realizes that she can't anymore before they slip down inside of herself.

She moves slowly, tentative and terrified that if she moves to fast everything will stop. It's hard, especially when she sees Brittany's knees lift until her thighs are at ninety degrees to her body and her hips are rocking impatiently. She can hear Brittany's fingers as they bury themselves inside of her mixed in with her pants and she tries to time it to her own, finding Brittany's rhythm as quickly as she can.

It's the rhythm that works best and Santana feels herself climbing higher and higher as her fingers press as hard and fast as she can get them too. Her eyes roll and she can see Brittany whimpering something that looks like the hiss of the first syllable of her name. She can't hear it to be sure because suddenly all she can hear is the rush of blood through her ears.

In a way, she's glad for that because seeing Brittany is already too much, especially when a second hand joins the first. Brittany rubs furiously at her clit and Santana can remember what it feels like. She moves a second hand to her own and moves in time with her.

"Fuck… fuck…" she sees Brittany pant and that just makes everything ten times worse. Santana feels herself reaching the edge faster at the thought of Brittany swearing but it doesn't matter, not when Brittany's body snaps quickly, buckling in half almost as it continues to ebb. Her face relaxes into happiness and her blue eyes flutter open to keep watching Santana and that's enough. Santana falls over the edge so slowly that it almost aches but Brittany's there watching her and it's okay. It always feels okay.

Words tickle at Santana's lips but she bites them away. Brittany looks at her and her eyes flutter in exhaustion. Her legs lower and she rolls onto her side.

Santana breathes heavily as Brittany watches her and her eyes flutter and fight to keep looking at her. She wants to ask questions, she wants to apologize… she wants the moment to go on forever. She wants so many things and she feels confused and comforted. It's disorientating.

But Brittany doesn't look away and it's like an anchor. It keeps her steady and before she can stabilize herself enough, Santana falls asleep, the color of Brittany's blue eyes guiding her to the comfort of dreams.

Brittany's still asleep when Santana wakes up and, if she wasn't laying in the same place that Santana had watched her shatter and break the night before, she'd think it was a dream.

She watches her for a moment, studying her carefully, and notices how Brittany's face looks more relaxed. Her head is pillowed on her elbow but she still looks like she's sleeping well for the first time in ages. Her body seems to sink into the mattress and her eyelids flutter against her cheeks as she dreams.

Santana fights the urge to push messy blond hair from her face to see her better and lays there, watching her for as long as she can until the rush of thoughts through her brain make it impossible.

It's still early by the time she decides to get up. She tidies her blankets and sheets from the couch and walks them into her bedroom. It still smells like paint but it's dry and she starts putting her furniture back. She refolds everything back into her dresser and swallows hard as she slips the pile of Brittany's clothes back in there too. She finds her new sheets and puts them on her bed, folding up her blanket and slipping it under her pillow where she always keeps it.

She tries to stop herself from thinking about whatever awkward conversation her and Brittany are in for and completely rearranges her room, switching everything around, trying to find the way she wants everything to be.

She gets so lost in doing it that she doesn't hear Brittany wake up, or her feet pad across the living room.

"Do you need any help?" she says and it makes Santana jump about four feet in the air. She spins around to find Brittany standing in the doorway wearing the same t-shirt she wore last night except she's luckily wearing some sweatpants now too.

Santana stares at her and isn't sure what to say. She can't find any sort of discomfort on Brittany's face, just the same glassy glow in her eyes that had been there making Santana nervous the day before.

"Uh… no," Santana shakes her head before clearing her throat. "I'm all good. Almost done."

Brittany nods and Santana doesn't understand what's happening.

"Do you mind if I use the shower first then?" she asks, throwing a pointed thumb behind her. Santana studies her quickly again before shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. Brittany smiles, not noticing. "Cool. Thanks," she says. "I won't be long."

True to her word, Brittany doesn't take long at all but Santana's retrieving the last of her things when she comes out of the bathroom.

Brittany's wearing nothing but a towel and it's just like every other time she has a shower except the image of Brittany's face when she came is still fresh in Santana's memory and it makes it hard not to think about things she shouldn't. Drops of water continue to roll down from Brittany's neck down her chest. Her legs are slick with moisture and Santana closes her eyes because she can't stop thinking about them wrapped around her waist, soaking her.

She decides against putting away the last of her things and heads to the shower instead. She grabs her bathrobe and locks herself inside the bathroom. She almost wants to turn the water freezing cold but doesn't, knowing it'll probably kill her in this weather.

Instead, she makes it so hot that it almost hurts to be under the spray. She washes the night off of her skin and sighs because she doesn't feel like it's gone at all.

She doesn't think it ever will.

Santana's half-dressed and drying her hair when there's a knock on her half-open bedroom door.

When she turns off the hairdryer and looks up to find Brittany standing in the doorway, she nervously tugs on the bottom of her t-shirt so that it covers up her underwear. It makes her stomach drop when Brittany's eyes drop to her hands and watch her slowly.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Brittany asks and she swallows visibly before looking back up to Santana's face.

Santana doesn't know what to say and just sits there for a minute, watching Brittany as Brittany's eyes flick back down to her legs, visibly tracing up them from her ankles to where her shirt meets the top of her thighs.

"I was going to make corned beef and pastrami hash and eggs," she says, shameless in her staring and not even caring that Santana can see her. "Do you want some?"

For a second, Santana can't remember what Brittany's talking about yet her brain screams yes.

"S-Sure…" she nods, her voice higher than it should be.

Brittany gives her one last lingering look before smiling and leaving.

Santana stares after her and wonders how easy it would be to explain away drinking booze at breakfast.

All she knows is that she needs to.

Breakfast is hard.

Brittany has their kitchen table set by the time that she gets out of her bedroom and Santana's forced to sit opposite her. It's hard because she can feel the heat of Brittany's legs near her own, can feel their feet and legs brushing and it shouldn't be effecting her in this way. She shouldn't be thinking about things like this without some form of clarity between them. Last night shouldn't have happened either because, the more that Santana thinks about it, the more she realizes that she doesn't know anything. She's not sure of anything right now and it's making her uncomfortable.

She hopes the damn snow melts soon, that she can start going back to work and flirting shamelessly with women to relieve the tension she can feel in her pelvis, making her shift awkwardly in her chair.

She can't take much more of this, not when there's a boy back in Ohio they should be thinking about. Not when there's years of history to consider before they act irrationally.

Shit, Santana needs a drink.

She needs to be at work. She needs to be surrounded by mindless people and mindless actions but all she has is a pantry full of booze and no way to warrant drinking it recklessly. It's not New Years' Eve until the day after tomorrow.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks and Santana wants to scream because ofcourseshe's not okay. They watched each other come last night and it was better than she remembered. It's all she can think about. Everything reminds her of it. "Do you want a glass of water or something?"

It's an innocent question but Brittany accompanies it with a hand to Santana's wrist. The fingers of her right hand press against Santana's wrist, against her pulse, and it shoots a thudding straight between Santana's legs. Her heart feels like it's in her pelvis, thudding and squeezing the blood around her body.

Santana struggles to reel herself in.

"You wanna get drunk tonight?" she asks without thinking. Brittany's head tilts to the side as her eyes narrow. Santana swallows nervously. "We have all that booze I bought left. We could have a party."

Brittany looks at her fondly. Her hand remains on Santana's wrist. "Just the two of us?"

It's probably a bad idea but Santana's not sure she cares.

She nods and Brittany grins.

It must have been the right answer.

She goes for a walk to try and calm down under the guise of buying mixers.

She does but she buys a packet of cigarettes too and walks around the neighborhood chain-smoking until she feels comfortable enough to come back.

Brittany must smell it on her when she comes through the door because she narrows her eyes and smiles a little. It makes a little bit of Santana's comfort disappear.

"You could have smoked in here," Brittany says softly as she tidies the living room. "There was no need to stand out in the cold."

Santana just nods and tries to pretend like she doesn't want to run back out the door.

Brittany brings her a rum and coke to her bedroom half an hour later.

"Here," she says softly. "You look like you need it."

Santana takes it with the hand that isn't holding another lit cigarette and smiles gratefully. She isn't ready for Brittany to sit down on the edge of her bed opposite her. She isn't prepared for the onslaught of desperate thoughts that overcome her at the sight of Brittany on her bed.

She fights away the need to just put out her cigarette and pounce and turns away to sip at her drink.

"It's good," she whispers.

Brittany smiles and lifts her legs to rest her feet against the window frame beside Santana's. Her toes touch the ashtray and she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "Are you okay?" Brittany asks. For the first time all day, she looks nervous.

Santana shrugs and laughs nervously. "Getting a little cabin fever," she says softly. Brittany nods but she looks sad, disappointed, almost. She swallows and tries to smile. Santana shrugs. "It's weird spending all the time at home. It's weird not seeing other human beings. I feel like I haven't seen anyone but you, the pizza guy and the dude from the store on the corner all week."

Brittany smiles. "Are you bored of me?" she jokes but it sounds serious too.

Santana breathes in and laughs because she doesn't know how to say that she isn't without admitting the truth: that she can't get enough of her.

By her third rum and coke, she feels more relaxed.

It's still only five in the evening but the alcohol is starting to numb her thoughts around the edges and make them seem unimportant. She stands in the kitchen with Brittany, making a quick dinner of pasta and salad, laughing and smiling because everything is easier all of a sudden.

Santana begins to wonder if it wouldn't hurt being a little drunk at all times from now on.

Brittany stands close to her and Santana likes it. The proximity starts to feel comforting rather than stifling. She hopes that she can drink straight through the emotional portion of her drunkenness this evening and straight into the part where she can't remember anything and ends up blacking out for twelve hours.

By the way that Brittany's refilling her drinks, she thinks that maybe Brittany's thinking of that too.

"So, we're just going to keep drinking?" Brittany says once they're eating. "We're not doing anything else?" Santana shrugs and she laughs. "This is the worst party ever."

Santana just shrugs and smile at her. She swallows a mouthful of bread before speaking. "Well, we can drink until we think of something to do. Why? Got any ideas?"

Brittany shakes her head. She pushes food around her plate and avoids Santana's eyes. "We could watch a movie or listen to music or something. We could play Monopoly where you have to drink a shot of tequila every time you land on someone's property."

Santana snorts and grins. "I'm pretty sure that might end up with a trip to the ER to get one of our stomachs pumped."

Brittany's smirk is mischievous and teasing. "At least we'll have some good stories."

"And liver damage," Santana quips before she shrugs. "We can watch a movie and then see what happens."

She's sure that Brittany's eyes fall to her lips. She licks them subconsciously and Brittany mirrors the action.

"I'll pick," she says and Santana feels like she knows what's going to happen, she just can't remember.

Santana's not sure why they're both sitting on one couch when they have two, but somehow they are.

Santana's sure she's at the stage where she would normally be bawling her eyes out by now but, for some reason—a reason that she's sure has to do with the fact that they're lying on their sides, top and tailing on the couch and Brittany's hand is on her thigh—she isn't.

Instead, she feels a familiar warmth seeping through her body. It's comforting. It feels nice. It relaxes her and she mirrors the action on Brittany's thigh, keeping her hand still as Brittany's fingers start softly stroking her skin over her sweatpants.

"I like this movie," Brittany whispers. Santana doesn't even remember what they're watching.

"Me too," she says, when really she means I like this.

"Okay, okay, okay…" Brittany slurs before giggling uncontrollably. "Truth or dare."

Santana blinks slowly and smiles. "Dare," she says without thinking about it.

Brittany shuffles excitedly before chuckling and reaching for the hat on the coffee table. She reaches into it and pulls out one of the folded pieces of paper before reading it out. She smiles as she speaks. "I dare you to make an—an ob-obscene phone call to Rachel Berry."

Her giggles are contagious and Santana feels laughter swelling in her chest. Her fingers stroke up Brittany's ankle and down her foot and Santana's not sure when she started doing that, so she doesn't stop. She can't even remember how they came to sit like this, still top and tailed, laid on their backs with legs and bodies tangled. She thinks it just sort of happened once the movie finished. She can't really remember and she isn't complaining. It's comfortable.

"What's that?" she asks as Brittany keeps giggling.

Brittany struggles to control herself. "It means you have to call her up and say something obscene."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Ask her for sex, or something."

"What?! No!"

"Then face the consequences and my judgment," Brittany smirks before reaching behind her for the phone. "C'mon. Just call her up and tell her you want to desecrate her vagina and be done with it."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."

"Me too," Brittany comments. "Grossed myself out. Call her."

Santana groans before taking the phone. She's lucky Rachel's cell number is in the address book because finding it is hard enough. She presses dial before holding the phone to her ear. Brittany leans up on her elbows and watches. When Rachel answers the phone, all Santana hears is someone mumble something about how it's almost midnight. She ignores it and starts talking.

"You're so sexy," she mumbles and as her eyes flutter closed, Santana concentrates on the feel of Brittany's ankle beneath her hand. "I want you so bad," she whispers as Rachel splutters down the phone. If Santana wasn't drunk, she'd find it weird that Rachel was so speechless. "Let's have sex. I bet you're a total bobcat in the sack. I bet you're into some weird shit too, huh? That's cool. I'm open-minded as long as you're open-legged—"

Brittany laughs so loudly it makes Santana jump. She drops the phone and by the time she finds it, the line is dead. She laughs and tosses it back at Brittany so it lays on her stomach.

"Truth or dare, Pierce," she says as she reaches for the bottle or rum they've been gulping out of.

"Truth," Brittany says as she leans forward to take the bottle.

As she sits up, Santana's yet again struck by the memory of her face as she came. It makes warmth flood through her and her brain short-circuits for a second. Even when it does work, it's one-tracked.

"Have you ever faked an orgasm?"

Brittany's eyes are glassy and they look at her knowingly. She gulps out of the bottle and pauses before speaking. "Like, as a joke or in real life?" she asks.

"Real life," Santana says taking back the bottle. "No stalling."

Brittany giggles. "Then, yeah. More than once." Santana looks down her body to see Brittany's face and finds blue eyes staring back at her. "I'm not telling you with who but I will tell you that I never did it with you."

The words make Santana blush but she giggles anyway. "Duh," she says, even as she still feels smug. "Why would you need to?"

Brittany's eyebrow quirks and she smiles a little. Her toes wriggle against Santana's forearm and she smirks. "Exactly. Even at your worst you were still better than most."

Santana laughs but her cheeks burn red anyway. She grabs the bottle from Brittany's hand and brings it to her lips before taking a gulp. Brittany looks at her pointedly before laughing awkwardly and taking the bottle back.

"Truth or dare, Lopez?" she asks.

Santana runs her tongue over her teeth and around her mouth before speaking.

"Truth," she says finally and, though her glasses are completely pointless because she can't see much anyway, Santana's sure that she sees relief on her face.

She scratches at the label on the bottle and doesn't look at Santana. Santana isn't sure if she's stalling or trying to think of something. She still doesn't know when Brittany clenches closed one eye and looks up at her.

"How many people…" she starts slowly. "Have you had sex with?"

The question makes Santana stop and she wants to say to Brittany that she knows the answer to that question except, really, she doesn't. It makes her stomach drop and swallows down the dryness in her throat before shrugging her shoulders awkwardly.

"Why do you want to know?" she asks. Brittany shrugs her shoulders and Santana doesn't push her because Brittany doesn't have to have a reason, not in this game. There doesn't have to be a reason in this game. That's the point. She rolls her eyes and laughs awkwardly. Her chest feels close to aching. "Seven," she says and it comes out quieter than she wanted it to.

Brittany still hears it and her expression softens and darkens once she processes the information. She moistens her lips and stares at Santana without really staring at her. Her eyes are looking but she's thinking so hard she's probably blind to everything around her. And Santana hates that she can't tell what she's thinking, that she can't see the thoughts that rush through Brittany's brain when she finds out that Santana's only had sex with one person the entire time they've been apart.

The longer she looks she thinks that maybe she sees some relief, some intrigue but, mostly, she thinks she sees sadness.

"Truth or dare," Santana asks because she wants the expression to change.

Santana sees the moment that Brittany stops thinking about it. Her eyes completely change color. "Dare," she says and reaches over onto the table to pass Santana the hat.

"Chug a whole glass of something," Santana reads. "Darers choice." Santana looks around and doesn't know if she wants Brittany to get up from where she sits yet. Her hand is still wrapped around Brittany's ankle. She can still feel her warmth. She eyes the bottle of rum, just over a third full, and nods to it. "Chug the rest of the rum."

Brittany doesn't even pause before taking it and drinking it. Santana's mouth falls open a little because she's not even sure if it touches the sides. Brittany doesn't even wince. She just drops the bottle to the floor once she's done and reaches for the next alcoholic bottle on the table. It's whiskey.

"Truth or dare," Brittany asks as she twists the cap and takes a mouthful. Her voice is hoarse and it makes Santana swallow uncomfortably.

"Truth," she says and regrets it instantly.

"Who's the best sex you've ever had?" Brittany asks and it's still there, a far away distant wondering that scares and worries Santana at the same time. It's like Brittany's having two conversations at once—one with Santana and another with the voices in her head—and isn't sure who's best to listen to.

Santana shakes her head and sighs. She feels like she could slip back into being an emotional drunk at any second; her heart feels heavy and her head feels like it's about to fall off her shoulders. She closes her eyes and sighs.

"You shouldn't even have to ask that…" she mutters and she's sure she hears Brittany laugh quietly. The glass of the whiskey bottle touches the side of Santana's wrist and she grabs for it, taking it before gulping it heartily. She's starting to think that was a bad idea.

Brittany toys with the ankles of her sweatpants. "So, Quinn?" she asks. Santana gives her a look that removes the smile from her face. She doesn't look like she regrets asking though. She shakes her head and chuckles. "God, was it that bad?"

Her eyes feel like they're about to water and Santana closes them again, clenching her jaw to stop it from stinging with the need to cry. She grips at the bottle and drinks from it when she needs the preoccupation it brings.

"It was the weirdest experience of my life," she says finally. "I think if you asked me the worst sex I've ever had, it would be in contention, purely because of how awkward it was. It felt like an exchange rather than…" she trails off because she can't remember the word. Sex with Brittany was something else. "She wasn't terrible but she tried too hard. I touched her first—" Santana stops when she feels Brittany flinch. "—and the first time it was great. She was nervous and I went down on her. I don't think anyone had ever been down on her because she looked like she'd seen an entire new universe. It made her confident but the second time was awful. She tried hard but nothing worked. I couldn't come so I ended up fucking her again instead. It was nowhere near as perfect as having sex with you was and I realized that soon after and made my exit."

She takes a long drink from the bottle once she's done and it numbs her at the same time it sobers her up in a way. She grimaces at the taste in the back of her throat and groans.

"I shouldn't have told you that," she mutters but looks up when Brittany shakes her head.

"No, you should have," is all she says and their eyes meet for a minute before Brittany looks away and forces a smile.

Everything is silent for a moment but Santana asks Brittany the question to get away from the awkwardness. Brittany picks truth and Santana takes too long thinking of a question that, when she finally thinks of one, it's nothing more than her own messed up curiosity emerging from her throat like vomit.

"Last time you had sex," she asks and Brittany's face falls for a second before she laughs. Her head falls back and she licks at her lips before looking back up at Santana and shaking her head in disbelief. Santana laughs and she's not sure why.

"Oh my god," Brittany mumbles and they both laugh awkwardly. Brittany sighs before she cutely covers her face with her hands. Santana giggles as she shakes her head over and over again before pulling her hands away and shrugging. "I don't know," she says but Santana knows Brittany. She might not know her as well as she used to, but she knows when she's hiding something.

"Liar," she comments and Brittany's cheeks blush instantly.

She shakes her head quickly. Too quickly. Even for a drunk person. Santana's still able to see the discomfort of the truth in her features, deep in her eyes.

"Liar," Santana says again and she laughs to lighten the mood. "C'mon, you're the one that started this sexual overshare. Tell the truth."

For a moment, through the haze of rum and whiskey, Santana wonders why she cares so much. It barely takes her a second to realize that she just wants something that reminds Brittany that she moved on first; that she started dating Sam and falling for him way before Santana had drunk sex with Quinn Fabray. She just wants something that puts them back on a level playing field because Brittany still looks disappointed and Santana hates it.

As usual, it never works out in her favor.

"September 7," Brittany says quietly and Santana's confused until she continues. Brittany rubs uncomfortably at her forehead and shrugs around a mirthless laugh. "September 7, 2012."

Santana's mouth drops, her stomach drops, her heart absolutely plummets. She swallows hard because suddenly she can't really breathe and forces herself up onto her elbows to look curiously over at Brittany.

"But we were…" she whispers before the words fail her and she shakes her head. "We were still…"

Brittany nods. "I know."

Santana copies her nod and presses a hand to her throat like it might help the words. "So, the last time you had—you had…"

"It was with you," Brittany says without preamble and Santana glances up at her, brown eyes getting stuck in blue like a fly in honey. Brittany smiles except her shoulders are tense and her expression is scared. She plays with her fingers and averts her gaze before she speaks. "Don't you remember? It was the second weekend you'd come home from Louisville. Your parents were still at work."

Santana nods, mostly because she doesn't want Brittany to continue. She doesn't need be Brittany to tell her what their last time was like. She can remember it without even having to try and it's hard enough in her own head without hearing Brittany remind her. Her parents were going to be home late so Brittany had come over after school. She was wearing a red tank top and grey sweatpants and her hair was down. They didn't even speak beyond muttering a quick hello. Brittany had bit her lip and taken Santana's hand to lead her upstairs. Santana's sheets were white because they were her mother's spares and it was strange. Brittany had looked beautiful and clean. It had been hard to see her so naked against the stark background. It was hard to not kiss her softly and whisper how much she missed her. It was even harder not to go slow and take her time.

Looking back, that's her biggest regret: not going slow, not knowing it was the last time, not relishing and remembering every single thing.

"I don't understand," Santana whispers, her head shaking in confusion. "I mean, how could—why? I don't understand—"

"We wanted to wait…" Brittany tells her. "I wanted to wait."

Santana's breathing turns heavy. She doesn't know whether she's going to cry or have a heart attack. She clenches a hand to her chest as her eyes narrow. The wave of unexpected emotion is too much and she doesn't know what to do. It's hard to reconcile the truth with what she's spent months convincing herself of. She feels like she doesn't know anything anymore.

She feels like every excuse, every reason, every base of every answer she's had over the past fifteen months is crumbling away.

Everything is crumbling and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

She drinks to stem the guilt.

In the back of her mind, she vaguely thinks that maybe they should stop laughing so loudly until she remembers that half the people in their building left the city for the holidays last week. She doesn't care, exactly, but she knows that if Mrs. Sharpe on the first floor wasn't visiting her nephew in Florida, she'd be knocking on their door at 9am tomorrow asking them to keep the noise down next time.

And it's not like they can exactly control themselves. Santana's past the point where she can control her actions anymore and can only slightly think them through. She's sure that Brittany's just the same.

She's not sure if they're past the point where they remember everything yet, but she knows she's past the point of caring about anything.

"Truth or dare," Brittany slurs with a giggle before tipping the bottle to her lips.

Santana reaches for the bottle and Brittany gives it to her before she answers. "Hmmm… dare," not liking truth questions anymore. They're more trouble than they're worth.

Brittany rolls over and reaches for the hat of dares. It's going to be empty soon and that makes her worried because they're both still wearing their clothes. Their dares have been kind of innocent up till now and she knows that'll have to change eventually.

Brittany doesn't look as she grabs one of the last few strips of paper and struggles to focus on it before giggling uncontrollably.

"What?" Santana says, tugging on Brittany's ankle. She ends up with her hand stuck up the leg of her sweats but doesn't mind because she's preoccupied finding Brittany's warm skin against the tips of her fingers. "What is it?" she whines.

Brittany turns the strip of paper around and shows it to her. Santana has to blink to focus on it too. "'Perform a striptease for the room. See if you can go a whole song without getting naked'," Brittany reads before Santana snatches it from her. "Now who's a stripper drunk."

Santana stares at the paper even though she still can't really focus on it. It could say that she's won a million dollars for all she knows. She doesn't actually really care. At all.

If anything tells her that she should maybe be drinking some water, it's that.

"Where am I going to perform a fucking striptease?" she says and scoffs, her face screwing up.

Brittany pushes herself up and stands, swaying for a moment before steadying herself. She stumbles over to where Santana's iPod dock is before finding a song. Santana doesn't really recognize the song but Brittany dances over to her before taking her hand.

She pulls her up and their bodies bump against each other until Brittany guides Santana to step up onto their coffee table. Santana looks down at her and watches as Brittany settles her back down on the couch in front of before grabbing the bottle. Brittany takes a gulp before grinning up at her. She already looks like she's enjoying this too much and, if Santana's honest, that's what makes her hips start to sway.

By the first pop and bend of her hips, Brittany's tongue is poking through her teeth. Santana moves to the music and watches Brittany as she looks at her. Her eyes are everywhere and Santana smirks when she whoops.

"I thought this was a striptease…" Brittany slurs before swallowing and biting her bottom lip and whooping again.

It's all the encouragement that Santana needs. She puts more effort into her moves, concentrating hard on not looking sloppy, even though she probably does. Her fingers push down at the waistband of her sweatpants and put the see-through fabric of her underwear on display. Brittany's eyes sparkle when they see it and Santana carries on teasing the sweatpants down until they're at mid-thigh where she pushes them off the whole way. She kicks them at Brittany who catches them and gives another whoop of appreciation.

"Get it, shawty," she mutters and Santana laughs as she reaches for her t-shirt, lifting it until it's just below her boobs and running her fingers over her stomach. Blue eyes follow her hands and it makes it easier to watch Brittany's reactions. The room feels like it's vibrating and Santana grins as Brittany shifts just a little forward. Santana uses her new angle as an advantage and teases her t-shirt up a little higher. It works how she wants it to. The fabric of her shirt strokes over her nipples and Brittany realizes she isn't wearing a bra. Santana has to bite her own lip and she dips down again, thrusting her back in Brittany's direction. She stands back up and pushes her shirt up higher, flashing her chest to where Brittany can't see. She's sure she hears Brittany mutter something but the music is too loud. Santana drops her hips again at the same time she lets go of her t-shirt. Her hands go up to her hair and when she turns around, Brittany's sitting back against the couch shaking her head and biting down on her lip.

The song ends before Santana can go any further and switches to something slower that breaks through the mood. Santana giggles and steps back down, flopping down onto the couch beside Brittany. She has no idea where her sweatpants are but she doesn't care. She grins at Brittany and crosses her ankles as she rests her feet on the coffee table.

"Truth or dare, Pierce?" she pants and Brittany just shakes her head with pink cheeks.

Her eyes trace down Santana's body, from her neck to her chest to the long length of her legs.

"Dare," she says in her quietest, thickest voice.

Santana smirks before reaching for the hat. The smirk only slightly falters when she takes out her dare and struggles to read it.

"Play two rounds topless," Santana reads, humming her amusement in her words.

Brittany rolls her eyes and doesn't even pause before reaching for the bottom of her shirt. She pulls it over her head in one swift motion and Santana inhales quickly when she catches her first sight of Brittany's chest. Her eyes dart down to perky pink nipples before she realizes what she's doing and looks back up.

Brittany's expression is smug and drunk. She smirks before she speaks. "Truth or dare, Shawty."

Her eyes drop down to Brittany's chest and she clears her throat at what she sees, speaks without thinking. "Truth."

Brittany moves closer and Santana's eyes follow her chest as it gets closer. A hand lands on Santana's bare thigh and she wishes momentarily that it would be just as innocent if she were to lay a hand on Brittany's chest.

"If you could do one thing differently," Brittany says softly and it's so soft and clear that, in any other instance and if she hadn't seen how much Brittany's drunk, she'd question how drunk she was. "What one thing would you do differently?"

Santana's too busy tracing her eyes over Brittany's chest, her waist, her hips. She follows a line with her eyes, all the way up to Brittany's neck and has to swallow and bite her lip to stop herself from doing something she shouldn't. She feels like she can see everything and hates it because she finds new freckles she's never seen before too quickly. There's one settled just below her left collarbone that is already driving Santana crazy.

"I'd notice more," she whispers suddenly and it's not until the words leave her lips that she realizes how true they are.

If she could do one thing differently, she'd notice more. She'd notice the freckle on Brittany's collarbone. She'd notice that Brittany was dating Sam before Tina Cohen-Chang called her and told her. She'd notice that she'd really lost Brittany before it was too late. She'd notice how tense

things were with her girlfriend before they broke up. She'd notice that Brittany felt left behind and invite her to Louisville. She'd notice all the things that she missed, right back to when Brittany failed the first time. She'd go back and she'd notice all the things that got her here instead of where she wanted to be.

Brittany nods like she understands what Santana means. "Yeah?" she says and Santana nods softly.

"Yeah," she says before she forces herself to snap out of it. She looks up into Brittany's eyes and loves how they flutter when they meet. "Truth or dare," she whispers.

Brittany's mouth quirks as she keeps studying Santana. "Dare," she nods.

Santana reaches into the hat without looking away. She brings the paper up to her eyes and studies it before reading aloud. "Give another player a lapdance," she reads and, without warning, Brittany pushes her back and straddles her. Her head snaps back against the couch and she breathes out unsteadily. "Woah…"

"Don't move," Brittany says playfully and stands up to cross the room. Her sweatpants are low on her hips and Santana can see the top of her ass. Her bare back is too much and as Brittany changes the song, Santana's sure that she'll never ever be drunk enough to cope with this. Especially, when Brittany steps back over and straddles her again. Her hips move rhythmically to the music and Santana's hands twitch to touch her hips. She tries until Brittany shakes her head and pushes up onto her knees until Santana's level with her chest.

"No touching," she says and when she spins around, it's harder. Blond hair flows down her back and all Santana wants to do is lean forward and push it away to find the back of Brittany's neck. She wants to find it and kiss and wrap her arms around her. It kills her that she can't.

Hips press back into her, swaying from side to side, and all Santana can do is throw her head back and try to breathe. It's harder than she wants it to be. She closes her eyes but opens them when she feels her glasses being lifted from her face. Brittany slips them onto her face and it's hotter than it should be, especially when Brittany hovers her face over Santana's. She stretches her arms above her head and pushes her body against Santana's.

Santana has no idea how she gets to the end of the song but she does. She's seconds away from shaking but she makes it and Brittany grins at her as she climbs off her lap. She grabs the bottle of whiskey and sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of Santana. She takes a drink before smirking at Santana and speaking. "Truth or dare?"

Santana leans forward and reaches to pluck her glasses back from Brittany's face. She puts them back on with one hand before handing Brittany the hat for an answer. Brittany grins.

"Keep an ice cube on someone's stomach until it melts with your nose," Brittany reads before giggling. "Good thing I'm not wearing a shirt," she comments before standing up. "I'll go get some ice."

It's the longest five minutes of her life. Brittany lays on the coffee table in front of her and she keeps her eyes on the ice cube instead of Brittany's skin. It's already hard enough to concentrate being this close. She can smell the salt in her sweat and feel the warmth of her body as the ice melts and drips over her stomach.

Her tongue aches to poke out and just soak up the moisture, even though it's not the moisture that her tongue wants, and she closes her eyes to stave off the need.

"It's really cold," Brittany squeaks. Her hands rest just under her chest, seconds away from cupping her breasts and it obscures Santana's view enough that she can concentrate better. One hand moves to rest on the back of Santana's head and, for a minute, all Santana wants to do is turn her face and nuzzle into Brittany's skin. All she wants to do is settle down and sleep right here but when her nose finally bumps against Brittany's skin and the dare is over, she realizes she can't. "Thank God that's over," Brittany giggles, reaching for her shirt to wipe away the cold water. "How's your nose?"

Santana rubs her hand over her nose but it's not as cold as she thought it would be. Her face is hot enough that she barely even noticed its temperature.

"It's fine," she smiles before sighing. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Brittany says without even thinking about it. Her hair is wild and messy and Santana's sure she can put her shirt on now but she hasn't. She tosses it aside and hands Santana the hat.

Santana swallows hard when she reads the last piece of paper that sits in the bottom of the hat.

"Double Body Shot Dare," she reads carefully. "Do two body shots off another player. Pick a spot each."

Brittany reaches for the bottle and brings it closer to them. It probably only has enough for two more shots in it. She reaches for Brittany's hand and tugs her to stand up before swapping their seats. Santana sits on the edge of the coffee table and waits for Brittany's lead, watching her as she goes to the kitchen and grabs salt and some cut off lemon from earlier. It's not even the right stuff but neither of them care.

"You pick first," Brittany smiles but Santana sees the nerves. She has to fight the urge to grab the bottle and down the last of it because she can feel some senses returning slightly. She can feel her thoughts coming back to her through her base actions. She can feel her mind trying to regain control. It shocks Santana when she fights against the inhibitions and lets her body act in instinct. She lays back against the table and pushes up her shirt to reveal her stomach.

As she looks down she sees Brittany drop to the floor on her knees. Hands hit Santana's thighs and part her legs so that Brittany can get in between them. It's such a familiar action usually born in different circumstances and Santana swallows, thinking about the mouth that's about to be on her. She stops when Brittany's fingers pull at the waistband of her underwear and tug it down a little. Brittany reaches for the salt and Santana holds her breath as she pours a line down her navel. It dips into her bellybutton and she feels all the muscles from her chest downwards begin to clench in anticipation.

"Ready?" Brittany asks and Santana feels the word more than she hears it. She nods quickly, almost eagerly, and hands reach up and grab her by the curve of her waist. They hold her still and keep her back flat against the coffee table. Santana's fingers flatten against the wood and her eyes close. At the first feel of Brittany's tongue against her skin, she shivers and struggles to breathe. Her body jolts despite how much she was anticipating it. She gasps in a breath and it's harsh and high-pitched. It already almost sounds like a moan and Brittany flattens her tongue against Santana's skin because of it. She takes long, broad strokes tracing the line of salt from top to bottom and over again. They remind Santana of long, broad strokes that used Brittany used to make someplace else and her stomach muscles clench to go unnoticed in their shaking.

It doesn't work and Brittany's hands move to press against them. Santana tries her hardest not to let them flutter under Brittany's palms but she fails miserably, especially when Brittany pauses and nudges her nose against her skin. She pants against her and it's warm and wet. It's delicious and her hands move to hold Brittany where she is so she can relish it a while longer.

"I think I poured too much," Brittany giggles breathlessly. Her tongue laps roughly. Santana doesn't know how she's doing it or why because it must taste disgusting but she licks her lips like she can't get enough. Santana peers down her body at her and pushes Brittany's hair out of the way. It's been so long since she saw Brittany's mouth near her skin, since she felt the warmth of her tongue.

The thoughts that rush through her head are too quick, too fast for her to fully process. She thinks she prefers that because she's terrified of what she'd do if she could.

"Where's the lemon?" Brittany pants and Santana shakes her head because she doesn't even know where her toes are. Brittany's face turns away from her and Santana feels the cool juice of the lemon hit her skin. It almost hurts after the feeling of Brittany's warm tongue. She winces and pants, waiting for whatever happens next.

Santana's hands fall from Brittany's head when she sits up to retrieve the whiskey bottle. Her cheeks are warm and pink when Santana catches sight of them. Her eyes are dark as she tips the bottle to her lips and Santana just watches, not able to do much else, as she slowly takes half of the liquid.

"W-Where next?" she asks because she's not sure if she can do this again. Her hands rest on her diaphragm and feel how deeply in pulls and pushes. It should be soothing but the air is so thick around them that it can't be. Brittany's eyes flutter over her body, over her thighs and across her chest. Santana knows that nowhere Brittany picks will be easy to handle, not unless she picks Santana's hand and the likelihood of that happening with Brittany's eyes looking at her like that is slim.

She doesn't even answer her with words.

She parts Santana's thighs further before shuffling in as close as she can. Her hands fall to Santana's hips and curl around them until they feel secure before they tug her forward like she weighs nothing. Her hips rise off the wood and the feeling of her body sliding forward along the wood takes her breath away. She gasps when Brittany wraps Santana's legs around her waist. Her center presses up against the muscles in Brittany's stomach and slips until it nestles against Brittany's pelvis.

Brittany takes her hand and pulls her up until their faces are level. All Santana can think about is that the last time their faces were this close things got weird. Except, Brittany looks determined. Her skin feels warm and her eyes are dark. She puts Santana's hands on her shoulders and sweeps Santana's dark hair away from her neck. She's not sure what it is about the expression on her face but Santana feels safe. She doesn't feel scared or worried. Brittany tugs on the collar of her t-shirt before she leans forward and licks a stripe up Santana's neck. Santana gasps but doesn't get to relish the feel for long before Brittany's pulling away quickly to pour salt over the damp spot. Santana feels how it sticks to her skin and doesn't argue when a wedge of lemon and the bottle are being pushed into her hands. She holds them and her eyes catch blue ones as Brittany studies her face from up close. Santana knows what she's doing because she's doing the same thing.

"Ready?" she whispers and Santana nods, licking her lips at the taste of Brittany's breath on them. One hand supports Brittany against the table while the other wraps around Santana's body and cradles the back of her head. Fingers tangle in her hair and Santana gasps when Brittany quickly dips down and licks her neck without warning.

Her whole body rocks into Brittany's and Santana's not sure why it feels so much better there than on her stomach. She turns her head towards Brittany and loves how her chin feels against Brittany's skin. It's like Brittany was made for that space and it's without a thought that Santana wraps her arms around Brittany's neck to keep her close. Her arms cross and she sighs, rocking her body against Brittany's as Brittany's other hand move to press against the base of her back. It guides the movements of Santana's body and Santana gasps harshly, not ready for the feel of Brittany's hand against her bare skin.

"Fuck," she breathes and she can feel Brittany's eyelashes flutter against her skin. Her body quivers with need and she tries to bring Brittany closer, hoping that it'll make it go away, that it'll snap her back into reality and remind her of how she should behave.

But all of that becomes too difficult when Brittany lets out a low groan of frustration and closes her lips over Santana's skin. She sucks softly but greedily and it would be naïve to call it anything other than a kiss. Her hands begin to wander and she pushes at hair while pulling at the collar of her shirt. He reveals more skin and kisses every single little piece that she finds. The numbness that Santana felt before feels nonexistent as every single nerve-ending lights on fire. She pants and pushes into Brittany, not sure if she's trying to move her away or get closer. She knows it's the latter because she tightens her legs around Brittany's waist and almost hoists herself up into her.

It's not until one of the hands on her collar slips down between her breasts that she pulls away.

"You forgot the lemon," she pants but all she cares about is how swollen Brittany's lips are, how narrow her gaze is. Santana wants to bury her tongue between her parted lips but she can't so she reaches between them and guides the lemon to her mouth.

Brittany looks exhausted as she sucks at it. It drips down her chin and that just makes Santana want to kiss her more. For a moment, Santana can't remember why she isn't allowed to. She can't remember those boundaries that she was so desperate to keep. She can't remember anything but how good it feels to be this close. Her spare hand strokes Brittany's hair from her face as the other guides the bottle to her mouth. Brittany drinks it lazily before Santana tosses it aside. Her hand cups Brittany's cheek and she runs her thumb over the remnants on Brittany's bottom lip without thinking. Brittany's tongue flicks out at it before she dips her head back down to Santana's neck.

It feels better than the last time.

It feels like more.

Brittany's hand finds her chin, cups her cheek and brings her closer. She pants against her skin and it feels too much like Santana's losing control. Brittany's tongue licks up her neck, kisses litter against her jaw, and Santana can't handle it anymore. She pushes at Brittany's shoulders to ease her away.

When their eyes meet, the expression in Brittany's is so familiar, so deep, so inevitable, that it makes Santana stop. She breathes unsteadily, continues to rock her body like an ebbing wave against Brittany's, and everything feels as clear as it always does. Her fingers push blond hair from blue eyes and, even through the heat and the alcohol and the desperation, Santana feels her heart jump into her throat. Her expression must change because Brittany's flickers with concern before she holds Santana closer.

"Truth or dare?" Santana whispers desperately and Brittany looks at her for a moment before gulping and clearing her throat.

Her voice is thick with want and need. "It's my turn to ask that," she says.

Santana shakes her head and surges closer to rest their foreheads together. "Just answer the question," she demands.

Brittany notices the tone and her hand clutches at Santana's hip. "Truth."

"What's the most—the most turned on you've ever been?" Her breath hitches and she isn't ready when Brittany hoists her up higher around her waist. She holds her breath and she doesn't know what's going on when Brittany pushes up to put one foot on the floor until she's flat on her back on the coffee table.

Brittany presses her hips into Santana's center until she moans.

"Right now," she breathes.

When Santana surges up to kiss Brittany at the same time she pushes down, it feels inevitable. Brittany sighs and Santana lets out a solitary sob.

Their lips meet and it feels like coming home.

Brittany's tongue dips into her mouth and it's better than she remembers. She tastes a bitter mix of salty and sweet, spicy from the whiskey and something else entirely Brittany. One of her hands cradles Santana's head away from the wood of the table and it makes her feel special in a way that only Brittany's ever made her feel. Hands touch her like she's made of glass and Santana clutches at the bare skin of Brittany's back to bring her closer. It feels better than she remembers and when Brittany starts kissing and sucking down her jaw, her nails scratch down the skin without thinking as she clambers for something to keep her steady.

"Fuck…" she pants and it makes Brittany's mouth more confident. Teeth graze Santana's neck and she moans helplessly, her legs wrapping tighter around Santana's waist. She feels like she shouldn't be enjoying this as much as she is because Brittany seems subdued by it all, calm almost. It makes her nervous. She feels like she needs to apologize for the whimpers that come from her mouth. "S—sorry," she groans and bites her bottom lip to try and garner some control back. "I'm—I'm really drunk… I'm really drunk and we shouldn't—we should be…"

Her words trail off into a loud moan when Brittany bites down hard on her neck and she pulls on Brittany's hair to tug her away. Brittany nips at her bottom lip before soothing it with a lick of her tongue. Hands find the bottom of Santana's shirt and tug at it desperately

"Shut the fuck up, Santana," Brittany gasps breathlessly, pushing and forcing the fabric higher. Her hands reach for Santana's chest, groping her shamelessly as Santana takes the shirt from her and lifts it over her head. Lips descend back to her neck, biting and sucking recklessly, not caring about the consequences. Santana feels bruises bloom into her skin but she doesn't care; she pulls Brittany closer and urges her lower until there's a hand cupping each of her breasts and a mouth sucking at her cleavage. She kisses back up to Santana's face before she nips at her chin and all the way to her ear. She nips at it quickly. "I don't care…" she breathes. "I don't care right now…"

Thumbs sweep over Santana's nipples and she doesn't care so much either. Her mouth drops open and she rocks into Brittany's abs. She feels how wet she is and hears as Brittany moans when she notices. Everything feels hot and sticky, stifling, and Santana likes it best that way. She loves feeling like Brittany is everywhere. It makes her feel safe enough to lose all inhibitions.

"Please…" she whimpers desperately. "Please…"

A hand cups around her breast as Brittany's kisses go lower and Santana's breath hitches when a mouth encloses around her nipple. Lips suck at the skin and a tongue swirls around it. It makes Santana's control unravel out of existence and her hips rock more desperately as her fingers wrap in Brittany's hair and pull at it until they're kissing again. It's rough and desperate. Brittany sucks and bites at her top lip as her hand strokes over Santana's chest and her stomach before curling around her waist and pushing down the back of her underwear. A hand grabs Santana's ass and Santana already feels like she's too far gone, ready.

She whimpers into Brittany's mouth and Brittany kisses over her cheeks, just to keep contact. It's only then that Santana realizes that Brittany's shaking from head to toe, quaking with anticipation. Her nose pushes into Santana's cheek and she breathes out unsteadily before speaking.

"I want to make you come," she whispers and Santana's eyes flutter. She nuzzles in closer and Santana wraps her arms around her middle just to keep her there. "Can I make you come?"

It makes Santana whimper again and she nods before she speaks. "Yeah," she says and it's almost a whine. "Please…"

Her hands reach to thread through Brittany's hair, clutching her close as Brittany removes her underwear. Blue eyes study her in the lamp light and usually Santana hates being looked at like this but, when it's Brittany, it's all she wants. She wants to be seen, she wants to be discovered, she wants to be as transparent as a new piece of glass.

She hates how slow Brittany's going, how tentative her hands are being. It makes her worried that something's wrong and she doesn't want it to be wrong. She doesn't even want to think. She just wants Brittany against her and inside her. She wants to feel Brittany and fall apart beneath her. She doesn't want this soft exploration that makes her wonder. Not now. Not in these circumstances.

She wants the soft hands that are tracing every curve and contour of her body put to work between her legs. It's been too long…

"Touch me," she begs and she doesn't care. She feels shameless and it won't matter soon. "Please, please, touch me…"

Brittany kisses her first. She captures Santana's bottom lip and sucks it until Santana's sure it's swollen and then she nips at it just to make sure Santana will remember in the morning. Her hand slips around to press between Santana's hips, lowering steadily. At the first touch of Brittany's soft fingers, Santana whimpers in relief. Fingers stroke through her for too quick an amount of time, find her indescribably wet and enter her easily. She moans at the feeling, arches her back and offers Brittany her throat as it tips back against the hard wood of the table. Brittany mumbles unintelligible things against her skin and sucks kisses into her skin. A tongue sweeps out to catch the beads of sweat that Santana feels dripping into her cleavage as fingers pump too deliciously inside of her.

"More," Santana whimpers. "Oh fuck, more… make me… make me come…"

Brittany shivers at the words and takes Santana's nipple into her mouth around a gasp. She sucks at it and grazes her teeth over it until Santana's hands are tugging at her shoulders and pulling her into a kiss. Santana feels the table creaking as Brittany's thrusts increase and whimpers in time with the grunts that Brittany releases with each one.

Their kisses become sloppy, their movements too erratic and rough to keep up with them. Brittany sucks at her jaw before tucking her face into Santana's neck. She sucks bruises into the skin between desperate gasps for breath and Santana wraps one arm around her back while the other tangles in her hair. It keeps her as close as possible and she can feel Brittany's naked torso against her own, their skin sticking together with sweat, and it reminds her of a thousand moments she's desperate not to remember.

Brittany's fingers move inside of her, slowing as they begin to tire. Santana can't help but think about how long it's been since Brittany did this, since she was with someone. It's another thing that makes her feel special and she leans forward to kiss the crown of Brittany's head, moaning when it starts slipping slower down her body.

Rough kisses litter the skin of her chest, moving down between her breasts to her stomach with licks and sucks. Brittany bites into the hard muscles of her stomach and it's a weird mix of hurt and bursting pleasure. Brittany scratches down her thighs as she pants for breath, running her teeth over the protrusions of Santana's hipbones. She bites and sucks and laves her skin against the marks she makes.

Santana gasps for breath and begs "please" over and over again. She wants it so much she's almost crying, except she's not sure what itis? The feeling overcomes her so intensely that it confuses her. She struggles against the table, shifts her legs when Brittany's shoulders try to fit between her thighs. Brittany's tongue swirls patterns over her pelvis and lower and Santana parts her thighs, spreads them lewdly, placing one on her shoulder and the other off the side of the table. Brittany's fingers move from inside and stroke over her, spreading the moisture she finds there. One hand pushes beneath Santana's backside and guides her ass upwards to Brittany's mouth. Brittany groans before she places one, broad lick over her, from her ass to her clit and Santana's thighs start shaking immediately, so unused to it that it's too much.

And it's like Brittany can tell that it's too much because she withdraws her tongue and waits. Her nose presses against Santana's clit, her breath hitting in all the right places and it's still too much, just having her there. Santana feels herself starting to clench, desperate and searching for release, and when Brittany tentatively extends her tongue to taste her, she pushes at her shoulders because the feeling is too big, too full of feelings. It'll be over too quick and she wants this to last just a little longer. Brittany presses one last kiss to her, pulling her clit into her mouth before releasing it, and climbs back atop her.

She kisses Santana deeply and her fingers slip back inside of her. Santana locks her ankles around Brittany's ass and rocks her hips into her fingers. Her entire body feels like warm, liquid honey and Brittany pushes her hair from her face as Santana moans. She can feel the first flickering bursts of energy ready to release from her and bites down on Brittany's bottom lip.

"I'm gonna—I'm gonna…" she tries but the feeling is so big it's lodged in her throat. She gasps for breath and moans, clutching Brittany's face close to hers. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna come…" she hisses and Brittany kisses her long and hard and deep.

Her fingers speed up and a thumb sweeps up to press against her clit. "I know…" Brittany whispers and kisses her again.

It's the last thing Santana needs before she feels like a billion atoms exploding. Her body tightens and arches. Her vision goes blurry behind her glasses and all she can see is the tiny smile on Brittany's lips as Santana's body remains suspended in pleasure for long moments. She leans down to kiss Santana's chest and doesn't stop until Santana's comfortably laid back on the table and panting for breath.

"Oh my god," Santana finally manages to breathe. Her limbs feel heavy and hot. She wants to lean up and kiss Brittany but she doesn't have the energy. "That was… that was…"

Brittany laughs and then her tongue is back in Santana's mouth. Hands are on Santana's hips, tugging her forward until legs are wrapped more tightly around Brittany's waist. Brittany puts Santana's arms around her neck before hands push at Santana's back and force her upwards.

Brittany lifts her like she weighs nothing and laughs in her ear when Santana gasps and tightens her hold.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Brittany whispers.

Santana has no idea what she's talking about but she can't wait to find out.

Brittany gets preoccupied standing right where they are and kissing her cleavage and palming at her ass. Santana clutches herself closer and hisses when she feels teeth on her skin, tugging Brittany back until she can bend down and kiss her awkwardly. It's hot, too hot. Brittany's legs buckle and she parades them aimlessly around the living room until Santana's back hits something cold and hard.

Luckily it's the wall nearest to her bedroom and not the window because Brittany wastes no time in pressing as hard as she can against her. She grinds their hips together and Santana's still sensitive enough that it makes her feel overwhelmed quickly.

"I love watching you come," Brittany whispers against her lips. Santana shivers and reaches her hands down Brittany's back. She finds fabric when she tries to palm Brittany's ass and hates it. She groans in frustration and Brittany grins, helping her as she tries to push them down. Once they're low around her thighs, they fall, and Brittany pushes hard into Santana to keep her up as she kicks them and her underwear away.

Santana finds Brittany's bare ass shortly after and it feels weird to say that she's missed it but she has. Her nails curl into the soft flesh and Brittany sighs breathlessly into her cheek when she smooths her fingers over the skin. She kisses Santana's cheek gently, nudges their noses together to get her attention and chuckles when Santana finally turns and captures her mouth.

They kiss softly and Santana pulls Brittany's hips into her, rocking them together.

"Are you wet?" Santana breathes when Brittany kisses up to her ear and sucks it into her mouth. She smiles when Brittany nods quickly. "Good," she whispers. "Because I want to be inside of you…"

Brittany shakes her head and when she pulls back, Santana smirks because she's biting her lip. The pressure against Santana's body increases again and Brittany buries her face into her neck. One hand slides around from Santana's hip forcing her to lock her ankles more securely around Brittany, before it slips between their bodies.

Fingers push inside of Santana without warning and her breath hitches as her body pushes up the wall at the force. Her toes curl and she's sure Brittany laughs against her. A mouth appears at her ear and a tongue buries wetly inside of it. Santana groans in frustration and turns her face into Brittany as she speaks.

"I'm not done yet," she whispers hotly. "And it's rude to interrupt…"

Santana can't speak because Brittany's somehow repeatedly hitting that spot inside of her that makes everything else disappear. Her breath leaves her heavily and she can feel Brittany watching her carefully. She wants to open her eyes and would if she wasn't so sure that they'd burst from her skull. Instead she pushes her hand into the hair at the back of Brittany's head and tugs her forward to kiss her roughly. Brittany grins against her lips and Santana can't help but bask in the familiarity of this Brittany. This Brittany is the Brittany who makes her feel like anything's possible.

She's not ready for when Brittany hoists her higher around her waist and pulls them back off the wall. It makes the fingers inside of her shift from where she wants them and she clutches at Brittany to make sure she doesn't forget what she needs as Brittany guides them backwards into Santana's bedroom. She lays her down on the bed and pushes her fingers back inside, even as she takes a step to look at her. She bends to press a kiss to Santana's stomach and then pokes her tongue out to lick a path all the way back up to her mouth.

Santana opens her mouth to capture it when it gets there and moans as Brittany pumps and pumps inside of her, relentless and fierce.

"Don't—Don't stop," Santana begs and it makes Brittany kiss her hard without warning.

Their foreheads press together and Brittany pushes their noses and chins together until Santana isn't sure if she's breathing in or breathing out.

"Never," Brittany chokes and her spare hand reaches up to halo around Santana's head before she cups her ear. Her nose nuzzles into the other ear and as Santana feels herself coming again, all she can hear is Brittany whispering an unending chant of "never" in her ear.

It overwhelms her more than she wants it to. Reality starts to seep into this dreamworld that they've somehow created and Santana reaches for Brittany's hips and tugs until they bracket her own. Her hands stroke over Brittany's shoulders, down her arms and around her waist. She touches her shamelessly, just her fingers stroking all the curves and spaces that she's spent too long missing. Sobriety strikes her hard but she tries to fight it, knowing that she'll probably not get this again. She already knows that the repercussions of this will be huge, that it'll be history repeating itself again. She has a feeling that life won't work in her favor this time.

"What are you doing?" Brittany whispers and Santana watches her eyelids flutter only to reach her hand up and stroke her thumbs over them once they're closed.

Brittany leans into her and it makes Santana feel better about such an over-affectionate action.

"Interrupting," Santana whispers in explanation. Brittany breathes in and out uneasily before falling forwards to clutch her fist into the sheets beside Santana's head. Santana takes that as permission and strokes her fingers over Brittany's cheek, loving how Brittany leans into the touch and kisses her palm.

She continues the touch down her neck and over her collarbones. She circles around the freckle she saw earlier and leans up to kiss it quickly. Brittany's arms shake either side of her head but she doesn't stop. She lifts the other hand to join the first and cups Brittany's breasts, strokes her nipples with gentle thumbs before darting up to suck one into her mouth quickly. Brittany whimpers and it makes Santana feel happy and sad at the same time. She feels like she's doing all the things she should have done that last time, just in case.

Her fingers find the ridges of Brittany's ribs, counting them without even realizing. A hand strokes up her back and urges Brittany down when it presses between her shoulder blades. Brittany kisses her urgently, stuttering in her actions when Santana's hands toy with her nipples and stroke over her ass. She gasps between whimpers and curls her arm beneath Santana's neck to keep them as close as possible. Blue eyes watch her carefully and Santana stares up at them as her fingers stroke the soft skin at the back of Brittany's right knee.

"Hi," Santana whispers softly, looking for something she doesn't recognize in Brittany's expression. She wants to see proof that something—anything—has changed, but she can't and it makes her bottom jaw tingle with the threat of tears. Her eyes suddenly no longer feel dry and she swallows because she doesn't understand. Maybe she's too drunk to remember.

Brittany worries her own bottom lip beneath her top one and her smile looks struggled when she squashes their noses together. "Hey," she breathes timidly and it should be too much when Brittany quickly kisses her nose but it isn't.

It's not enough.

Santana's glad when Brittany reaches down and takes her hand from behind her knee. She takes it in her own and guides it to the inside of her own thigh. She presses Santana's hand flat against her skin and lets go. She knows that Santana knows what she wants and who is Santana to deny her, not when it's been four hundred and seventy-eight days since someone—since she—gave Brittany this.

She strokes through her like a blind person reading braille. She remembers every little difference and nuance. As soon as she's touching her, Santana doesn't need to remember.

She gasps and Brittany moans. Brittany's arm beneath Santana's neck reaches to clutch at her shoulder while her other hand cups Santana's cheek. Her mouth is parted, shocked and Santana doesn't have to move far to kiss her perfectly bowed top lip. She sucks on it softly, gently admiring how wet Brittany is until her hips start to shift looking for more.

Soft little whimpers leave Brittany's mouth and Santana makes her own soft little noises to console her. She presses her hand to Brittany's backside to steady her and doesn't have to move that much to find herself buried in Brittany. They both moan at the feeling. Brittany winces at the intrusion after so long but eases into it quickly, her muscles clenching and pulling at Santana's fingers for more. The feeling makes Santana feel seconds away from losing control.

She moves her fingers and Brittany's face contorts in pleasure at the feeling. Her brow furrows and her lips part. Blue eyes darken and her hips start to wriggle against the touch, rocking into it slowly. Santana's arm wraps around Brittany's waist and when her neck arches back, she kisses her chin lazily, always watching.

"Right there…" Brittany whimpers and Santana nods because she knows. Her fingertips rub the same spot inside Brittany until she clenches too tightly and Santana pulls back. She pulls back and circles Brittany's entrance, pressing the heel of her hand against her clit. Brittany's forehead falls against hers and Santana repeats the actions, stroking inside of Brittany until her body threatens to cave in and retreating. It makes Brittany moan a moan that's deep, carnal and beautiful. Her thighs shake and Santana struggles to keep kissing her. She's so breathless that she can barely hold herself up. Her whimpers are almost sobs and Santana scratches her nails up her back until she can tangle her fingers in Brittany's hair. She pulls her into a kiss and keeps it going, even when Brittany isn't kissing back.

Brittany's whole body is pushing down onto her fingers and Santana groans wishing she could go deeper. Their thrusts slow until Brittany stops and rocks her hips, finding purchase. Santana rubs furiously and Brittany kisses her because it's what she needs as her thighs shake uncontrollably. Santana pushes the heel of her hand against Brittany's clit and, with a cry, Brittany spasms and clenches around her, her teeth biting into Santana's bottom lip as she does.

It's so beautiful that it hurts and Santana can't do anything but lie there and let the exhaustion start to kick in. Brittany kisses her desperately, like it might never happen again, and Santana doesn't know what to do other than reach over and pull the blanket from under her pillow. She lays it over them and Brittany's whimpers almost sound like sobs. Their heads turn on to rest their cheeks on the pillow and when Brittany pulls back, Santana's exhausted.

She wishes she could stay up and never let tomorrow come. She wishes she could never reach sobriety. Her eyes flutter and her heart lodges in her throat as she realizes that she only has a few more seconds before sleep kicks in and it's over. Her expression falls and she watches Brittany as she kisses her forehead, then her cheek, her nose, then her mouth.

This is it, she thinks as her eyes close just a little slower and she hates herself.

She blinks one last time and prays the image before her develops into her memory like a photograph.

She knows it won't be hard.

Photographs are made from negatives.