"Look at my fingers! They'll never unprune, will they?" Santana said with frustration.

Brittany was staring at her own fingers, a look of deep concentration on her face, "I don't like prunes, they make me feel funny. These look more like raisins. Raisins are good."

It was the summer before their freshman year of high school, and they'd just gotten back from swimming at a local pool for several hours. Well, most of the time had been spent sunbathing, and flirting with boys who admired their bikinis, but towards the end they'd gotten into the pool. They swam around aimlessly for awhile before getting roped into playing a game of Chicken with some other kids.

Santana wasn't very good at being aggressive, and she didn't think she'd do very well. Brittany hadn't fully understood the rules of the game, and an older girl had shoved her down pretty quickly. Brittany looked so confused and sad when she came up, that Santana had felt a sudden surge of protectiveness towards her best friend, and had told the guy whose shoulders she was on that they were going after that team next. Being aggressive was far easier than Santana had ever thought it could be, and after toppling the older girl who had defeated Brittany, Santana had turned out to be a fierce competitor for the rest of the game.

After the game ended, Santana decided that it was probably time for her and Brittany to go home, back to Brittany's house.

Now that they were back at Brittany's, alone in their bathing suits, Santana was doing her best to not seem awkward. In the time since they'd first ventured towards second base, shirts and bras had both come off, and both girls had let their dates sneak their hands under their shirts. The girls had both agreed that boys had no idea what they were doing. They hadn't progressed further than that, either with boys or with each other.

Brittany sat on the edge of her bed to further examine her fingers, but quickly jumped up again when Santana scolded her.

"Brittany! You're all wet, you can't sit on your bed like that in your wet suit." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to take it back. What exactly had you just told Brittany to do?

Brittany didn't seem to see that line of reasoning, though. She just said "Oh, you're right. My mom says I should take a shower whenever I come back from the pool, because if I don't wash all of the chlorine off of me, my hair might turn green." She scrunched her nose and added,
"I don't think I'd like having green hair."

Santana kept her feet planted, and waived her hand towards the bathroom, afraid of what she might do if she moved, "Well go take a shower then."

Brittany stayed where she was, too, "What about you?" She asked. "You're all wet, too. And we don't want your hair to turn green."

"Don't worry about my hair turning green. I can take a shower after you, though."

Brittany cocked her head to the side in curiosity "And what are you going to do while I'm in the shower? You just said no sitting on the bed. You're not just gonna stand in my room the whole time."

"What do you want me to do? Sit on the bathroom floor while you take a shower?"

Brittany blinked in confusion...only it wasn't confusion, not her normal confusion anyways. She understood what was going on perfectly, she understood everything but Santana. "After everything we've done, we can't take a shower together? Why draw the line there?"

Santana didn't have an answer for that one, and after a few moments of her mouth hanging half open, trying to decide whether she had an argument, Brittany grabbed her hand and dragger into the bathroom.

She closed the door behind them, and took off her bathing suit top, and then took off Santanta's. She turned around, took off the bathing suit bottoms and got in the shower, and Santana followed suit after a moment.

At first, Santana thought their shower was going to be fairly tame. Most touching was of the "can you reach this spot on my back since you're right there?" sort. But then Brittany threw Santana against the wall of the shower, pressing their bodies together, and kissed her. Hard.

Somehow, Santana found her hands on Brittany's ass. Her bare, soapy, surprisingly slippery ass. Her hands slid around, and she giggled. Santana Lopez actually giggled. It sounded strange coming out of her; she hadn't made the sound it so long, but it just bubbled up out of her so genuinely. Until, that is, Brittany's lips moved to Santana's neck, the giggled turned into a moan. She attempted to flip them around, so that she was in control, like she had so many times before on dry land, but she nearly slipped and fell, nearly brought Brittany down with her, and then the giggles were coming from both of them. This time, Santana was the one who stifled the laughter with a deep kiss.

By the time they finally got out of the shower, Brittany legitimately feared that her skin would never unprune again. Santana reassured her that they would, as they dried off and out on dry clothes. They had had sleepovers plenty of times before, but this was the first time they slept in the same bed. They didn't even really talk about it, Santana just sat on the edge of Brittany's bed while they were talking, and before long they were both under the covers.

A few minutes after they turned out the lights, Santana asked the question she'd been turning over in her mind for hours.

"Brittany?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you know you have a mark on your butt? I thought it was dirt or something at first, but it wouldn't come off."

"Oh, is that why you kept rubbing at it?"

"Umm...yeah..."

"It's just an ugly blobby birthmark. My parents told me it's been there my whole life."

"It's not ugly and blobby, it's shaped like Ms. Pacman."

"It is? The one with the bow?"

"Yep. Bow and all. I'll have to show you sometime."

Brittany woke up the next morning to Santana drawing on her ass with a pen. She was so proud that she'd outlined the mark and filled in the details to the point where Brittany could recognize the character.

Brittany laughed, took the marker away from her, and started searching Santana's body for marks she could make her own.

A/N: I am not capable of using the term "Bikini Bottom" without hearing it the Spongebob narrator's voice. I try to avoid this whenever possible.

Off to watch Purple Piano Project, now. Buh-bye!