Chapter Twelve

Brittany was no stranger to first kisses. She had one at a school dance, a couple in the backseat of cars, more than she cared to remember in bars. Most of them were pretty forgettable. Brittany had also seen a million supposedly epic first kisses in movies. Honestly, she never thought that movie kisses did the public any good. In fact, they were dangerous and irresponsible. They were rehearsed and choreographed. Real first kisses were never like that. For example, when you really kissed someone for the first time, you never know which way the other person's going to go. It was probably a good thing that Santana was left-handed. Their heads totally went in the right direction.

Movie kisses almost always are just too people smushing their lips together like they're trying to fuse through saliva. Santana didn't kiss like that at all. Her lips parted just enough for Brittany's to connect like a puzzle. That's what it felt like, two pieces of the same puzzle. It wasn't too wet, but just wet enough that their lips slid against each other fluidly without having to hose off afterward.

Brittany didn't have any idea why her hands immediately went to Santana's hips. It wasn't like she planned it. She did however, make the conscious decision to trail them up Santana's sides and onto her face. That was nice. That way she could keep Santana's head steady as she brushed her tongue across her bottom lip. Santana seemed to enjoy it, too, because she sucked Brittany's tongue into her mouth and started to walk them backwards. Brittany wasn't going to argue. She'd go anywhere Santana wanted to take her.

It turned out that it wasn't that far. Santana's back hit pretty hard against a wall and Brittany couldn't do much more than hold on tighter. She didn't realize that she had also also slipped her leg between Santana's until the brunette moaned and tugged her sweatshirt even harder, pulling it up ever so slightly.

Santana's hands never did go flying everywhere. No. But she'll never forget the feel of Santana's nails scratching downward just under her belly button. How her fingers just barely dipped behind the button of her jeans before curling and grasping her belt buckle like it was the only thing keeping her from falling right off the face of the Earth. Or how Santana's other hand trailed across the hem of her sweatshirt, around her hip and down to her ass.

She'll always remember what it was like to feel those short, deep breaths that Santana couldn't hold back when she leisurely switched from sucking Brittany's lower lip to biting the top one. Her mind will never erase the feeling of Santana's heart pounding just under hers. Or the excitement of Santana's hips moving against her own, subtly. Rocking. Slowly.

She'll remember the sounds for the rest of her life. The staccato breathing. The low moans. The mumbled 'Britt.' The sound of mouths moving together in perfect rhythm. The pop of Santana's lips. The dull thud of their bodies bumping against the wall.

It was no fake movie kiss. It was the real thing. It was the perfect first kiss. It was the perfect moment. It was Brittany's moment. Every other experience was a kiddie carnival ferris wheel ride in comparison. Brittany and Santana's first kiss was a massive, upside down, three twists and an 80 foot drop rollercoaster adventure. She didn't even know if physics allowed that, but chemistry sure as hell did.

The problem was, watching too many movie first kisses makes everyone believe that they end in mind-blowing simultaneous orgasms or declarations of undying, never-ending love. That's what Brittany thought. So she was really confused when this one didn't end in either of those.

When Santana pulled back, Brittany went with her. She was absolutely content to keep kissing, possibly forever. So, at the very least, late December. Santana had let go of her belt, though, and the other hand went from her ass to her chest. The light push was just enough to halt Brittany's progress and she hung there for a second before opening her eyes.

All she saw were pouty lips that seemed to be making the words, "You must be Brittany."

"How'd you guess?"

Santana chuckled, "Hell of a hello, Britt."

"It was either that or pass out."

"You made the right choice."

"Yeah?" Brittany smiled at the approval, "I've wanted to do that for a really long time."

"Me, too."

The blonde leaned in just a little and whispered, "Then let's do it again."

Santana licked her lips and stared at Brittany's before she physically snapped out of it. She actually shook her head to clear the lusty cobwebs. "You want a tour?" she said louder than she intended. She stood to her full height again, no longer straddling Brittany's thigh.

"Uh," the blonde was taken by surprise. "Sure?"

Brittany watched the other woman fidget and couldn't help but think Santana looked really rattled. She was probably nervous. Brittany didn't know what nervous Santana looked like, though. Was it good nerves or bad nerves? She could read the tones of her voice so well, but it didn't help when Santana wasn't talking. She couldn't read Santana's body language yet at all. She was definitely on edge, though, so attacking her face may not have been the best introduction. Maybe she should have settled for a handshake or a high five.

Santana recovered a little bit and sort of awkwardly shuffled around her before she quickly pointed to the space they had just kissed through, "Kitchen."

The blonde turned to look and nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay."

"Over there is the living room." She hooked her thumb behind her, "Bathroom through that door." Then pointed to another open door, "My bedroom."

Brittany shifted on her feet to get a look in Santana's bedroom. "Nice. Bed looks comfy."

For some reason, that seemed to make Santana even more flustered because she rushed to point at a candle on the table, "New candle."

"Candles are cool," Brittany said.

"You think it's alright there?"

"The candle?" the blonde asked giving it another look. "Looks okay."

"Good solid placement," Santana said definitively.

"Excellent place for a candle," Brittany smiled. She took another look around, "This is great, San."

"I like it."

"What's not to like?" Brittany asked doing another sweep of Santana's body.

Santana responded by pointing to the still wide open. Brittany's belongings were half hanging out in the hallway, so she walked over and grabbed the suitcase, and closed the door. She sauntered back to Brittany slowly and handed the bag over. "Your stuff, you're probably going to need it. Clothes. You should wear some."

Brittany looked down quickly knowing that she had a tendency to lose hers at the most inopportune times. Not that this was inopportune, because boom chicka wow wow, but there were indeed clothes on her body. Upon insuring that she was covered, she took her suitcase. She set the bag down next to the wall they'd just made out against. This wall already had a special place in her heart and she rewarded it a gentle pat in thanks for...being there.

"Sooo, you want something to drink?" Santana asked as she headed to the fridge. She leaned down to check out the contents. "I have water, some beer, V8, Dr. Pepper, apple juice boxes, Fresca, Gatorade, green tea," she peered over the refrigerator door, "I bought everything you've ever mentioned drinking."

"Beer," Brittany told her. "Definitely."

"K," Santana grabbed a couple beers out and twisted off the caps. She handed one to Brittany before taking a healthy swig of her own. "You wanna sit?"

"Yeah, sure."

Santana led them over to the couch she rarely had time to sit on. She plopped down first and watched Brittany slowly lower herself onto the furniture. "How was your flight?"

"Great!" The blonde grinned widely. Too widely. She knew it, because Santana looked suspicious at first.

"So...no turbulence?"

"A little," Brittany replied. "Wasn't bad, though."

"That is great."

"Yeah," Brittany answered, eyes darting around. She took another drink and picked at the label on the bottle.

"You okay?" Santana asked. "Hot? Cold? Hungry? Thirsty?"

Brittany held up the drink in her hand, "I'm good for now."

"Oh, yeah."

Santana awkwardly scratched the back of her neck. "TV?"

"If you want."

"Yeah," Santana said as she reached over to the table and pulled off the remote. "Preference?"

"Uh...no."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

Santana flicked on the television and stared at it. Brittany drained her beer.

"Another?" the brunette pointed toward the empty bottle.

Brittany handed it over, "Please."

"K," Santana walked back into the kitchen, grabbed another drink, then returned. "Here," she said with a smile. She resumed her position a safe distance from the other woman.

"Thanks."

"How did your meeting go?"

"Huh?" Brittany's racing mind was befuddled by Santana saying more than one word.

"Your meeting, how did it go?"

"Oh, it was fine," Brittany answered. "We're ready for tomorrow."

"You'll be great."

The blonde smiled with gratitude, "Thanks. I hope so."

"No doubt. You can run your pitch by me later if you want."

"I might," Brittany said. "I packed some cherry tomatoes just in case."

"Cool."

Brittany took a drink from the new beer and noticed Santana's attire. "Nice track pants."

The comment elicited a groan, "Yeah, I'm wearing fucking track pants. I forgot to change. Believe me when I say, I heard about it all day. I was dressed for comfort, dammit."

"Comfort looks good on you," Brittany said with a wink.

Santana's face scrunched like she wasn't quite sure how to respond. Instead, she shifted a few times, drank three consecutive drinks, and started humming what Brittany thought was Faithfully.

Okay, now Journey songs, Brittany could totally decipher. She turned on the couch to face her. "Good nerves."

"What?" Santana's head snapped in her direction.

"You're jumpy," the blonde pointed with her beer. "But it's good nerves."

"Oh," Santana smiled. "Yeah, of course, it is."

"That was too much right?" Brittany asked motioning back toward the door. "Going at you lips first?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

Santana mirrored Brittany's position on the sofa. "Don't be sorry."

"I don't even know why I did that," the blonde said sheepishly.

"Stop," Santana held up her hand. "It was..."

"Perfect," Brittany breathed.

"Yeah," the brunette agreed emphatically. "It was."

"I'm a pretty great kisser," Brittany gloated.

Santana chuckled, "And so humble about it."

"You are, too. We should team up again soon."

"Yeah, we should. I do...want to...do...that again, like you suggested," Santana said. "Which was a great suggestion, by the way. A capital idea. Sheer genius. But, I'm afraid...that's going to...lead to...other sexy things and..."

"And?" Brittany couldn't see how that was a bad thing.

"The rules."

"Rules?" Brittany looked in confusion until it hit her. "Oh, the date."

"The date," Santana confirmed.

Brittany scratched her eyebrow, "You're firm on that? Because I'm not one of those girls who needs you to buy me shrimp first."

"Yeah," Santana answered sounding way less than firm.

"I'm for doing the sexy things. Are we voting? I can probably whip up a campaign ad."

Santana swallowed hard, "No voting. Date. Sexy things. In that order."

"You're not budging on this?"

"Nope."

"Well," Brittany picked up her beer and polished off that one too, "that's just crazy."

"It's not," Santana argued. "Listen, Britt. I don't want this to turn into a three day bangfest, a crazy sex riot." Her eyes trailed over the other woman, "A naked Wonderland three day pass. I mean, I do, because dear god woman, you're amazingly hot."

"Scissor Mountain," Brittany said with a dreamy look in her eye.

"Huh?"

"Oh," the blonde's eyes widened. "I was imagining the naked Wonderland."

"That's good," Santana said in thought.

"Okay," Brittany moved toward her.

"No!" Santana shook her head. "No, I don't want to do that and then go our separate ways again without ever really talking. I want us to get to know each other...in person."

"We know each other," Brittany said with all the confidence in the world.

"This means something to me, you mean something to me. That doesn't happen, ever."

"Santana, I already know that. That's why I'm here."

"Okay," the brunette said. "So, date. Then, sexy things."

"If I don't get a vote, I guess so," Brittany pouted. "But, can we just make out a little?"

"Briiiitt," the brunette whined.

"I came a really long way."

Santana couldn't help but laugh at the adorable little pout Brittany had her face. Damn. That pout was not going to be her friend, she could already tell. It was lethal. "This," she gestured to her blonde's face, "isn't fair."

"How?" Brittany asked, the picture of innocence.

"With the pouting and 'I came all the way from Seattle' stuff," the brunette warned.

"But I did."

"Yeah, but-"

"Yeah, but what?" Brittany cut her off. "You can't argue with that."

"Oh, I can argue with anything."

"Can you?" Brittany said as she hooked her hands under Santana's thighs and pulled her closer. She kept pulling until she had the brunette straddling her thighs again. Santana didn't exactly put up much of a fight. The position made the other woman a little taller, so Brittany rested her head against the back of the couch to look up at her. "Hi."

"Oh yeah," Santana said. "It worked the first time, so you're trying it again. I'm onto you, Brittany Pierce."

"You're totally onto me," Brittany said with a nod. She reached up and brushed Santana's hair back, "You're so beautiful...even in track pants."

Santana rolled her eyes and laughed, "You ruined the moment."

"No, I didn't," Brittany said before she leaned in and kissed her right dimple. "It's still a pretty great moment."

"Hmm," Santana sighed contentedly. She toyed with the drawstrings of Brittany's hoodie. "I like this shirt, it's the first thing I ever saw you in."

"Is it?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh yeah," Brittany remembered. "I went through about a million pictures and then just said, 'Screw it,' and took one before I chickened out."

Santana grinned, "Really?"

"That and Lord Tubbington really wanted to be in the picture. He thinks he's some kind of feline Elvis or something."

"Maybe that's because you dress him in glittery jumpsuits."

"He picked that out."

"How?" Santana didn't believe that for a second.

"Don't ask me, it just showed up at my door," Brittany answered. "Tubbs must know Sam's credit card number."

Santana bit her lip to keep from closing the distance to the blonde's mouth. "Could you be any fucking cuter?"

"Will that get me laid?"

Santana groaned and shifted herself back off Brittany and onto the couch. "We have to do things that aren't sexy."

"That's going to be difficult," the blonde said. "Have you seen you? You're sex in track pants."

And so, the two went on their quest to find things that were decidedly unsexy. Santana's first thought was cookies, which Brittany quickly vetoed.

"Is it the creamy middle?" Santana asked.

"It's the jars," Brittany replied.

The next thing that was decidedly unsexy: Rachel Berry.

Santana explained why, "She does this thing every morning called Rachel Berry's Excellent Ego-Building Exercises. The woman is already like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. One more compliment on a shitty movie and there's going to be polyurethane shrapnel everywhere. Thousands will be injured. Many will die."

"Shit," Brittany said seriously. "I better tell Artie that. He's been fanboying ever since he got the dinner invitation."

"Gross," Santana rolled her eyes. "We don't have to go to that, you know."

"No, I want to," the blonde replied. "You spend a lot of time there, I want to see the master closet."

"Actually, that's not available on the public tour."

"Oh..."

"I'm totally fucking with you," Santana smiled. "I'll show you the master closet."

Brittany was adamant that watching television would be completely unsexy, too. She even showed Santana the right way to do it. Which, of course, was fast forward through the show and only watch the commercials.

"You can pretty much figure out what happened by the actors either smiling or crying, right? Yes. And at the end of it, you have 20 extra minutes to play Angry Birds," Brittany said like a regular fucking Yoda.

By the end of the night, the blonde was stretched out across Santana's couch with her legs over the other woman's lap. Santana said she didn't trust herself to be in bed with her. So, they stayed put. Brittany really didn't care. She was perfectly content as she watched Santana inspect her knee surgery scar, brushing her fingers over it and then back. As painful as it was then, she was infinitely grateful for it when Santana placed a quick kiss along the dark line of puckered skin.

"All better now," Brittany said with a sleepy smile.

"Go to sleep, Britt Britt."

She did. And somewhere between wakefulness and sleepy town, she thought one thing was certain. Closing the gap never felt so good.