Bram Wedding? Brampocalypse?

NOT FOR ME.

Here, have some angst. :')

Breaking each other's hearts
And we don't care cause we're so
In too deep, can't think about giving it up
But I never knew love would feel like a heart attack
It's killing me, swear I never cried so much

Brittany knows who it is before she even answers her phone, and, not for the first time, she asks herself why she still leaves her ringer on when she goes to bed, why she still wakes up to answer every time- why she still feels a twisting in her stomach as she looks at the clock beside her bed. It's late- early late, and she knows as she slides her finger across the answer button on her phone what state Santana must be in to be calling her so early-late.

Hey, Brittany breathes, her voice husky with sleep. She can hear Santana's breathing on the other end, and the familiar, faraway sound both calms her and makes her heart ache with longing. She misses those breaths.

Hey, B, Santana's slightly slurred voice responds, and Brittany frowns, a little sick at the discovery that her guess at Santana's state is one hundred percent correct.

It's late, Brittany points out unnecessarily.

Is it?

Brittany sighs.

I'm sorry if I woke you up, B. Did I wake you up?

No, Brittany lies, her voice soft, reassuring. She settles down into her pillow, cradling her phone to her ear and wishing she could cradle Santana to her instead. But Santana's in Louisville, and Brittany's in Lima, and even though Brittany is officially dating Sam, she's still unofficially dating Santana, and she's so, so confused about how the two work together and maybe she doesn't really want to know because she really doesn't want to have to deal with it.

It still feels like cheating, but she's not sure who she's cheating on anymore. Her heart, her soul, her body belong to Santana, have always belonged to Santana, will always belong to Santana- but a shade of herself is being loaned out to Sam, and he's been really kind, and she does care for him, but-

But, but, but-

I miss you, Santana murmurs into the phone, her voice low and smoky. Brittany wonders if Santana has been smoking, if Santana was at a party, if Santana-

I miss you, too, Brittany says easily. Then, Are you drunk?

No, Santana defends too quickly, lies too quickly, and of course Santana knows that Brittany knows she's lying, they've been drunk together too many times for Brittany not to know what Santana sounds like when she's drunk, but they play the game they've always played and Santana continues, I just- I just wanted to hear your voice, and-

You're drunk, San, Brittany accuses gently, a small ounce of amusement in her low voice. It's early-late, and she doesn't want to wake her family, even though it's Friday and they can sleep in tomorrow, or even today, since it's early-late so it's really Saturday, isn't it?

B, I just really miss you okay? Why do I have to be drunk to miss you? Santana teases, and Brittany recognizes her flirty tone, her desperate tone, her please just play along tone, and answers Santana silently in her own head- because I know you think too much, I know you'd restrain yourself from calling me like this otherwise- but Brittany drops it, Brittany plays along, because- well, it's Santana, and Brittany never stood a chance.

I wish I was lying next to you right now, Santana tells her, but it sounds like something else. Her voice has lowered into a seductive tone, and Brittany knew before she answered the phone what was going to happen, because it's been happening for weeks, for months, for years.

San, Brittany sighs. She recognizes Santana's bedroom voice, her sex voice, and she imagines Santana's dark eyes, remembers what it felt like to have them tracing her body predatorily, and she shivers despite herself. It still feels like cheating, but she's still not sure who she's even cheating on.

You don't want me?

Brittany wants Santana so, so much.

I do- I always want you, Brittany reassures Santana, breathless, helpless. Her grip on the phone tightens, and she closes her eyes. She wishes Santana was in bed beside her. She hates the distance, she hates Sam, she hates Santana for making her feel-

I want you too. I want you right now. God, I've been thinking about wanting you all day. Santana's words are like honey, sweet and smooth and almost too much. Brittany feels like she's melting, feels the heat pooling low in her stomach, feels her heart pounding, yet she's untouched. Her pulse is racing and her breath is speeding up, and oh, God, how does Santana do it? Brittany never stood a chance.

Santana- Brittany half-gasps, half-moans, shivers, aches. Silence stretches between them for a long moment. Santana waits, knowing- hoping- that Brittany is powerless, knowing- hoping- that Brittany will cave.

And Santana's not wrong. Brittany listens to Santana listening to Brittany's breaths growing increasingly ragged, and she can't help herself- What were you thinking about?- Brittany asks it in her own bedroom voice, and she feels relief, she feels her confusion lifting, she feels so good giving in to her desire.

Does she feel guilty? Maybe a little, but Santana is her home, her safe place, Santana is her everything- her past, her present, her future, Santana is what matters.

I was thinking about how much I miss the way you taste, Santana answers her with a moan.

Brittany's breath hitches- Yeah?- and arousal shoots through her, her center throbbing as she imagines Santana buried between her thighs, remembers Santana buried between her thighs, and Brittany's hand is diving down beneath her panties before she can stop herself.

Yeah, Santana pants into the phone, and the sound sends a shiver down Brittany's spine, fuck, I'm so turned on thinking about it, B.

Brittany bites her lip. Touch yourself-

I am. Santana lets loose an animalistic, filthy groan and Brittany feels herself aching, imagining what Santana's fingers are doing to herself, wishing she could watch them, but wishing she was touching Santana instead. I'm so wet for you, B, Santana tells her, and automatically, Brittany's entering herself with two fingers, feeling her own wetness, imagining Santana's fingers inside her, remembering Santana's fingers inside her.

Yeah? For me? She asks, and she knows already that she's not going to last long. Sometimes when they do this, they tease each other for hours, build each other up by describing everything they are doing, or would be doing if they were together, right down to the removal of socks and hair ties. But sometimes, it's fast and hard and they come before they can even tell each other what they want (even though it doesn't matter because they always, always know each other's wants before they say.)

Brittany knows that tonight, Santana is drunk, and horny, and it will be a fast and hard night. She wonders if Santana was at a party, if she'd been smoking, if she-

Always for you, Santana professes, her breathing rough, her voice strained. Brittany can tell by the pitch that Santana's fucking herself, but her words-

Brittany winces at Santana's words, halts the movement of her own hand. Not always. Brittany knows Santana isn't alone in Louisville, just like Brittany's not alone in Lima-

And as if knowing Brittany's thoughts, Santana reassures her, No one gets me as wet as you do, B. No one. You're the only one who can make me like this- fuck, I want you so, so much.

Brittany wants Santana so, so much. She's shaking with the amount of desire she feels, and her heart is pounding, threatening to break. Her hand resumes its movement with renewed vigor, and she's both surprised and even more aroused at how completely soaked she is.

Their conversation devolves into a chorus of low grunts and moans as they both rush to get themselves off together, and Santana's breathy announcement of I'm close, B has Brittany cursing, Fuck, Santana before sending herself hurtling over the edge, her back arching off the bed as her fingers continue to thrust through her orgasm, just like Santana's fingers would.

Santana's crying out Brittany in her release into the phone seconds later, and their breaths are heavy and ragged as they lie in separate cities, in separate states, maybe even separate worlds, and ride out the aftershocks of their separate orgasms. Brittany has never felt closer to Santana. Brittany has never felt farther from Santana. She listens to Santana's breathing slow into deep, steady breaths.

She misses those breaths.

Brittany's heart is still racing, still pounding in her chest, and she feels tears springing to her eyes as the line goes silent except for their breathing. But Brittany feels like she can't breathe. Brittany feels like her heart is breaking, like her heart breaks a little more each time they do this.

It's not supposed to feel like this.

Brittany wants Santana so, so much.

I love you, Brittany, Santana says, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Her voice sounds a lot more sober, a lot more sad, a lot more watery and unsteady and Brittany's chest hurts even more.

I love you, Santana, Brittany returns, chewing her lip and willing herself not to cry. She knows Santana is doing the same on the other end, she can hear it in the way her breaths grow shaky, in the way her voice wavers.

I just- I just really- Santana's voice cracks.

I know, San. Brittany knows. She does. But-

We're almost there, though, you know? You're almost done-

Yeah, almost, Brittany says, though almost doesn't quite feel like soon enough. Nothing will ever be soon enough.

It's silent.

I love you, Brittany says first this time, because she can never not say it, because she does, and because she wants Santana to know, wants Santana to hold on, wants Santana to wait for her, because unofficially doesn't mean officially, and she needs to hold on to hope because it's the only thing driving her.

I love you, Santana says back, firmer this time, and Brittany swallows.

Will you text me tomorrow? Brittany asks, though she knows the answer already, she just hopes it will be different, hopes, hopes, hopes-

You know I will.

Brittany does know- knows Santana won't because Santana will feel guilty, Santana will feel pain, and Santana will want to bury it all and she can only do that if she's not reminded of Brittany's fragile existence. Brittany's mouth tastes bitter suddenly and she wonders again why she still keeps her ringer on, why she still wakes up in the middle of the night to feel so elated, so disappointed, yet so, so loved. Brittany doesn't call Santana out on her lie- Santana means well, and they both know she's lying, and they both know that Brittany knows she's lying, and they both know that Santana knows that Brittany know's she's lying. Instead, she just says, Okay. Good night, San.

Santana exhales, Good night, B.

Brittany listens to the lingering pause, to Santana's breaths- she misses those breaths- and then Santana hangs up first, and Brittany's left cradling the phone against her ear, wishing she could cradle Santana to her instead.

It still feels like cheating, but now that Santana's breaths are gone, she's not sure who she's cheating on anymore.

Brittany wants Santana so, so much.

Brittany wishes she could cradle Santana to her, but instead she cradles her phone close and cries herself to sleep.

THANK GOD FOR GLEE HIATUS.

This story will also probably be on hiatus until Glee returns; then only like one or two more chapters because once episode 13 rolls around BRITTANA WILL BE BACK and I won't have to occupy my time writing angsty one-shots. 8)~

One can only hope. :')