Brittany doesn't really want to drink, but San's so excited about raiding her parents' liquor stash that she goes along with it, in return for the promise to break into the fresh carton of ice cream San's mom left for them in the freezer when she and Mr. Lopez left town.
To be honest, Britt doesn't know why San likes to drink. It gives her eyes a dark, sad look. Brittany just gets horny, and those are the last two things you should put together. Tonight, though, with just the two of them, Santana doesn't get sad at all. If anything, they have even more fun than usual—they laugh louder, and their touches last longer. As the alcohol worms into Brittany's belly and turns her whole body into a thudding drum, it drives her crazier and crazier to smell Santana's hair and her shirt and her skin and not be able to jump her. She tries to keep content with her thigh rubbing against San's and San's fingers on her neck.
Until they're in bed, with Santana spooned around her back.
Brittany can't even wait until she's sure Santana is asleep this time. Santana's thigh is flush between her own; a couple more inches and she'd be pushing right there. She turns to pull away, but on the way she finds San's mouth, and instead of moving away, Brittany can't help but cover her lips with sticky kisses. This time when she runs her tongue over Santana's lower lip, San doesn't draw back; she only shudders and lets her mouth drift open.
Santana tastes so good, salt and sweat and sleep and sticky ice cream, and her tongue is slick and snakelike. Brittany can't believe it's finally happening. From here, she knows what to do. Santana won't want to stop her; she's sure of it. Her hands move over Santana's skin from her waist up to her chest—her skin is softer and hotter than any boy's—until she slides over San's breasts and feels her nipples stiffen between her fingers. Santana whimpers into her mouth and surrenders, shivering, to Brittany's touch.
What happens next, Brittany can't quite believe. Santana's hands are moving. Under Brittany's shirt and over her chest. Then one hand slides down Brittany's ribs and belly. Under her pajama pants. And then, Santana's fingers sink beneath her panties and into the place between her legs.
She's touching her. Santana is touching her.
No one has ever touched her like this. Santana touches her like she's been waiting to touch her forever. Like she already knows Brittany's body as well as her own.
And doesn't she?
When Brittany eases Santana's legs apart and begins to touch her, Santana's so wet—Brittany can smell it: rich like fresh-dug soil—that suddenly Brittany understands why she never let this happen before. She wanted it too much. And Santana can't let herself want anything. San bites her lip and swallows.
Then they're inside each other—two, then three fingers—and pressed so tight Brittany doesn't know if they can ever come apart again. Brittany wonders when San's going to get mean and make her fight for it, the way she does with boys, but she never does, and it occurs to Brittany that she's the one in charge here. So she sets the pace, listening to Santana's breathing, until she hears it hitch—just the sound of that hitch after all of her waiting and imagining is enough to push her to the edge, and when Santana begins to shake all she can do is whisper Santana's name before she falls, hard, dizzy, only aware enough to feel when Santana tips over just after she does, forcing herself against Brittany as if trying to swallow more of her into her body. She smells so good Brittany wants to burrow into her flesh and seal herself inside that deep sweet animal smell forever and ever.
Brittany knew it would be good, if it ever happened, but she didn't realize it would be like this. It had never felt like this, like someone was drawing out of her that deep dark thing she can draw out of others.
But it's not until Santana pulls out her wet fingers and brings them, curious, to her closed lips, that Brittany thinks suddenly and without knowing why that everything has changed.
Brittany wakes up to San's eyes. Santana has been watching her sleep.
San flicks her eyes away, embarrassed, and asks how Brittany slept.
"Great. Especially after—you know."
Santana's brow twitches. She doesn't want to talk about this. But Brittany does. She knows everything has changed now. It must have changed.
"San? Are you okay? Did I do something?"
"No." She sounds angry. But she glances at Brittany and her face changes. "I mean, you didn't do anything wrong at all."
"It felt really good for me."
"Yeah, me too." She smiles, and Brittany starts to feel braver.
"Way better than with boys," she adds. "I mean, I think girls are better anyway."
"What girls?" Santana looks puzzled. Brittany wondered if she really hadn't heard about the Cheerios at those parties. She thought everyone knew about that by now.
"Did I not tell you? I made out with Jenna. Oh—and Bethany. Girls are way better kissers." She smiles: a quiet secret smile. "But no girls have ever touched me there, the way you did."
"It doesn't have to be a big deal," she protests. "I mean"—she avoids Brittany's eyes—"it doesn't mean anything."
Liar.
"No one has to know. I just"—Santana doesn't want to hear the truth, so Brittany changes her mind mid-sentence—"really liked the way you touched me."
Then Brittany swallows. Santana looks like she's about to cry. That's the last thing Brittany wants. She plays with the hem of her sleep shirt. San pointedly does not look at Brittany's bared stomach.
"Do you want toast or something?" asks San, rolling out of bed.
"Yeah. And orange juice." Nothing more is going to be said. She might as well let it go. Besides, her stomach is sour—maybe putting something on it will help.
"Done and done." She's out the door before Brittany can even throw off the sheets.
Sure enough—everything has changed.