Hello. :)
Thanks for everyone who followed, read, reviewed, cried over, hated, or died from the last chapter. You all are great.
Brittana is endgame, just remember. I know these Bram waters suck for our ship, but the good news is we survived Bartie, which lasted longer and had far more moments and scenes than Bram has had so far. We WILL have Brittana again! And it will be glorious! Stay calm and ship on, dear readers.
In the meantime, here's some angst for you to (not really) cry over. Sorry in advance for there not being any smut. I know, I know- I'm upset, too.
My heart has started to separate
When I'm losing my control, the city spins around
You're the only one who knows; you slow it down
Brittany knows what her guilty pleasure is before she's asked;
Santana.
but she's not sure if that counts, because she doesn't feel guilty about Santana at all. In fact, maybe the guilty pleasure should be Sam, instead, because even though she's cheating on Sam (being in love with someone else is technically cheating, right? But even if it wasn't, she's physically cheated more times than she can count and she'd do it again in a heartbeat anyway) with Santana, she still feels like Sam, her boyfriend, is the one intruding on her relationship with Santana. She feels a little guilty for being with Sam when she knows with every fiber of her being that she belongs with- belongs to- Santana.
And okay, maybe Brittany likes Sam a little and even cares for him a little- but Santana is everything, and Brittany does feel a little bit guilty for not feeling guilty about that, and why does this whole situation have to be so confusing? Why can't things ever be easy for them? Brittany only wants Santana.
So when she's asked what's your guilty pleasure? she thinks,
Santana.
but she answers, Spice Girls. It's easy. (And maybe it still doesn't count, because she doesn't exactly feel guilty about liking the Spice Girls- after all, they're the Spice Girls. Who doesn't like them? It's not like she has a secret fetish for making macaroni art or something, that would just be weird.)
Brittany swallows the lump in her throat that forms at the memory of how many times she and Santana had jammed to the Spice Girls in her room while doing homework, or while fixing each other's hair after having an intense make-out session, or in the car driving anywhere. She misses Santana so, so much- it shadows all her minutes in all her days, but she takes a deep breath and tries to be enthused about performing a song with a team of girls she had imagined very differently (with maybe a bit more Quinn and Mercedes and Rachel, and a lot more Santana, Santana, Santana.)
When Sam admits his guilty pleasure, she tries to be happy for him. She's the first (or maybe the second) to congratulate him, because she is genuinely proud of him (though Taylor Swift makes her heart pound, makes her throat-lump return, and she bites her lip and tries not to flash back to the last time she'd been able to listen to Taylor Swift without crying.)
Her tears surface briefly,
I will always love you the most.
but she stuffs them down, smiles, hugs Sam, and before she realizes it, she calls him baby and then she's trying to hold back an expression of horror. She calls him the pet name just to test it out- just to see- but it feels wrong the second it's out of her mouth, it tastes sour on her tongue, and a wave of nausea hits her so suddenly that she has to turn away to gather control over her emotions.
Words echo,
I will always love you the most.
but Brittany takes a deep breath and forces another wide smile. Brittany had been called baby by many different people, had called many different people baby, but it only felt natural, only felt right when it was used by Santana, when it was used for Santana.
She misses Santana so, so much.
Brittany's phone vibrates later that Friday night while she's doing homework and she rolls her eyes- it's probably Sam telling her something stupid, as usual. His jokes mostly make her smile, but in the way that doesn't reach her eyes, in that forced way, that fake way when she's trying too hard to be happy- look how happy she is- but she's still overwhelmed with emotions (Spice Girls, Taylor Swift, baby- Santana, Santana, Santana) to think anything about Sam is funny. She's long since given up hope that it could be the one person she wants to hear from more than anything blowing up her phone (her heart still races- involuntarily really- for half a second, despite Brittany's head protesting, fool, forget her) but then she checks it and everything in her freezes.
Are you free tonight, B?
Brittany tries to swallow, tries to make her mind work, tries to think, but all her eyes can do is trace over the name of the sender (Santana!) and re-read the brief text message (Santana!) and re-read the brief text message (Santana!) and re-read the brief text message (Santana) and become consumed with emotion (Santana!).
With shaking fingers, Brittany types out a response, Yes.
(Always.)
And waits.
Santana's reply comes a moment later, Skype? and Brittany drops her notebook and scrambles off her chair to snatch up her laptop. She turns it on and nervously waits for it to load up. She has a brief moment of panic, rushes to her mirror, checks her reflection- and then takes a deep, calming breath. She shouldn't be this nervous, it's just Santana (it's Santana) but she hasn't seen Santana since the not-wedding, hasn't spoken to her since she left. She's read her random Facebook and Twitter updates (checks them daily), she (sort of) knows what's going on in Santana's life (and tries to ignore the sharp spike of pain from having to find out from Twitter and Facebook and not Santana's velvet voice) and almost called and texted more times than she could count, but she was unsure of the rules, unsure if Santana wanted to hear from her (Brittany will always look after Santana) so she kept quiet.
However, now Santana is the one contacting her, and Brittany's stomach twists with anxiety as she stalks back to her chair and settles her laptop on her thighs, chewing her lip nervously as she signs into Skype.
Santana is online.
Brittany wonders fleetingly if she should initiate the chat, wonders if that's what best friends do (they can never be just best friends) wonders what the rules are, wonders-
And then Santana's beautiful, beautiful face appears, and Brittany's letting out a slow breath to steady her breathing- which has suddenly become very difficult- and her heart is pounding, threatening to shatter her ribcage, and Santana's lips- oh, her lips- are moving and Brittany scrunches her eyebrows in confusion.
A chat window appears; is your volume on? and Brittany feels her cheeks heating up as she quickly moves to unmute her computer. (Lord Tubbington must've used it for something shady, there was no other reasonable explanation.)
Santana just smiles at her knowingly, beautifully, and Brittany's heart aches- breaks- at the sight. Brittany misses Santana so, so much. It shadows all her minutes in all her days, but now, with Santana grinning before her, Brittany feels a darkness lifted from her; her heart feels lighter than it has in weeks, and she can't help but grin like a fool in return.
They stare at each other in silence, but they never needed words to communicate- their eyes say everything they can't form into words. Santana's dark, tender eyes trace Brittany's face as if they are recalling how to really see for the first time, and Brittany's sure she just looks like an idiot, the way she soaks in Santana's brilliant smile and smooth perfection even through the graininess of her laptop.
Brittany swallows, feeling emotional, feeling-
Hey, Britt, Santana says warmly, and her eyes say I miss you and Brittany's heart beats, beats, beats.
Hey, San, she murmurs, feeling suddenly shy under Santana's intense, searching gaze. Brittany hopes her eyes say I miss you, too. She finally drags her eyes from Santana's- well, everything- to scan Santana's surroundings. It's the first time she's seen the loft where Santana's staying, and she can't help but feel her heart fill with a million conflicting emotions, but chiefly love, love love.
Her eyes fall on a pillow- at least, she thinks it's a pillow, but-
What's that? Brittany blurts before she can think better of it, and Santana follows her puzzled gaze to the weird lump at her side, and then Santana's eyes widen in panic, and she yelps Nothing! too quickly, shoving the thing under a blanket.
Brittany waits for an explanation in confused silence, and Santana rolls her eyes and her voice takes on that tone when she's trying to sound annoyed instead of embarrassed when she says Kurt got me and Rachel girlfriend and boyfriend pillows.
Brittany smiles coyly to herself as Santana continues to rant about how lame they are (Brittany didn't fail to notice the girlfriend pillow wearing a very familiar favorite t-shirt of Brittany's, and her heart speeds up at the thought of Santana not only keeping the garment with her, but dressing a pillow with it- reassuring her that maybe Santana really does miss her and wish she was there in New York with her, reassuring her that even in girlfriend pillow form, Brittany will always look after Santana) and Brittany listens attentively, swooning at the sound of Santana's voice. She misses it so, so much.
When Santana reaches the end of her rant, Brittany swallows, and their eyes meet again as silence falls over them.
I miss you, Santana says, out loud this time, and Brittany's throat feels tight.
I miss you, too, Brittany says. (So, so much.) She hesitates, unsure of how much to say, unsure of what best friends do (they can never be just best friends), unsure of the rules. She finally settles on, How are you?
Santana's eyes seem to melt, like chocolate fondue, and her lips curve into a loving smile, and Brittany aches to kiss them, aches to feel how soft they are pressed to her own, and she hopes she's not revealing too much, but- who is she kidding?- she's an open book to Santana.
They make small talk for a few minutes, and then Santana gets to the reason why she's calling-
My job is letting me have a solo performance, Santana says with a grin, and Brittany's jaw drops in astounded pride, and she stutters over her congratulations because she's just so happy and proud of Santana she could cry, because Brittany always believed in Santana and now Santana's doing it, she's living her dream (sort of) in the Big Apple- but Santana's not done speaking.
I want you to help me choreograph something.
Brittany quickly bites her lip to stifle the now overwhelming urge to cry. She's spent the last month (or has it been longer?) since the not-wedding missing, and hoping for Santana's happiness and well-being and success, and now that Santana has all of those things, the fact that she wants to share them with Brittany, that she wants Brittany to be a part of something so important for her is just too much. Brittany almost can't believe it. She shakes her head slowly.
No? Santana asks, obviously disappointed. I mean, I get that it's short notice, but-
No, San, Brittany says with an elated giggle, because- she's just so happy for the first time in a month (or has it been longer?) Of course I'll help you. Did you pick a song yet?
Santana nods, tells her the song, and Brittany swallows the slight twinges of dread and jealousy that creep into her stomach. It's a romantic song, an intimate song, and Brittany's mind races at a thousand miles an hour, wondering, wondering, wondering who the song is for, if the song is for-
(Is it Quinn? Is it someone new?)
Again, she shoves the feeling aside, because that's what best friends do (they can never be just best friends) and forces a smile, praising Santana's song choice.
Santana smiles, her expression unreadable, and then details what she has in mind.
They work on the choreography for over an hour. It's only one song, and Santana had already had a lot of it blocked out, she'd just needed Brittany to help with some rough spots and to give an overall opinion on the flow and offer up suggestions for improvement. Though the doubt is still in the back of her mind, Brittany loves the time spent with Santana, has found joy in getting up to demonstrate some suggestions, found her inspiration for dancing again. They laugh, they tease, they smile at each other, and for the moment, it feels like it used to when Santana first went away to college- the longing, the missing, but the love, the love, the love.
For the moment, Brittany feels like them again.
Santana finishes laughing at something silly Brittany's said, and Brittany holds on to the way Santana's eyes twinkle at her, holds on to the sound of Santana's honey-velvet laughter, not wanting this moment to end, not wanting Santana to be really gone again. Brittany's heart aches- breaks- at the thought.
Okay, Santana says breathlessly, I'm going to run the whole thing.
Do it, Brittany says excitedly, settling back on the carpet and swiping her bangs out of her face from where they'd come loose from her high pony during a dance demonstration.
Santana takes a deep breath, moves to queue up the song, stands in the center of the room. Her eyes are intense and focused right on Brittany's, and Brittany feels bare and exposed under the penetrating gaze- Santana hadn't made eye contact during the rehearsal.
The music starts and Santana moves gracefully, sensually, and Brittany feels love, love, love emanating from every movement, emanating from Santana, and combined with the eye contact and the intimate lyrics it's too much, it's all too much, and Brittany feels tears surfacing, feels her throat closing-
But then as the song leads into the second verse, Santana's movement changes into something a lot more sultry, a lot more seductive with the words of the song, and Brittany's mouth is dry for an entirely different reason as she watches Santana's hips roll upwards from her position on the floor. Heat rushes to her face, floods between her legs, and she's throbbing at the sight of Santana shifting into suggestive positions on the carpet, showing off her firm ass (Brittany remembers how it feels, squeezed in her hands while Santana's riding her) her strong, toned thighs (Brittany remembers how they feel wrapped around her) her perfect, perky breasts (Brittany remembers how they taste) and then Santana jerks her head, tossing her hair sexily, and Brittany whimpers.
Santana hasn't stopped looking at her.
Brittany bites her lip hard, hoping the pain will curb her arousal- but it's pounding into every pore of her body, it's taken over her mind, and she wants, she aches with need. She squeezes her hands into fists, fighting the urge to slide her hand down between her legs. She can feel wetness pooling there and when Santana runs a hand down her body seductively, Brittany gasps and shivers.
Santana hasn't stopped looking at her.
Brittany throbs, throbs, throbs as Santana dances into the final verse, her moves not quite so carnal, but Brittany's drawn so taut and her mind is so hazy with arousal that Santana yawning would seem sexy, would set her off.
Santana finishes the dance flawlessly, ending with her eyes boring into Brittany's, and Brittany has that naked feeling again. When the song ends, Santana doesn't break eye contact. She murmurs Thank you, Brittany in a voice husky with emotion and something else, and her chocolate fondue eyes say I love you, Brittany, and Brittany returns both sentiments respectively.
That was- Brittany chokes on her words (Is it Quinn? Is it someone new?) that was really beautiful, San. She pauses, takes a deep breath, gathers her courage- that's what best friends do, right? (They can never be just best friends)- and asks, When is the performance?
Tomorrow night, Santana says quickly.
You're going to be great, San.
I know, B- thanks again for making time to help me.
Brittany smiles shyly. You're welcome.
(Always.)
Brittany spends the next day typing out a million different text messages to Santana, deleting all of them before they're sent. In the end, she doesn't want to seem too desperate, or like she has nothing better to do (she's desperate, and nothing is better than supporting Santana) and so she waits until the time when Santana said she'd be at work, but before the performance, and texts Kurt.
hi i forgot to tell san good luck, tell her 4 me?
After a few moments, Kurt texts back. Tell her good luck for what?
Brittany stares at the text for a minute, confused. Maybe Kurt didn't know?It seemed likely, Santana was so stubborn about things and she really didn't understand how friendships worked sometimes- She has a performance at her job tonight.
Her phone lights up again moments later. No. Her performance was Thursday. She's sitting right next to me watching Facts of Life.
Brittany looks up from her phone, perplexed. She debates- should she text Santana? Did Santana get the day wrong and miss her own performance? Brittany's done that before- she's not good with calendars, after all- but Santana's usually so smart about that kind of-
Brittany's phone vibrates again, startling her out of her thoughts, and she looks at her incoming text. Her heart beats, beats, beats- it's from Santana.
I lied. The performance was for you.
Awwww. :') I don't know why I ended that shit so happily. I've been too angsty lately, so, you know. Thought I'd drop a tiny bit o' fluff in the mix. Hope it wasn't too disappointing to all you Angsters out there.
Next chapter is a teensy bit fluffy, too… spoiler alert, Brittany gets to see Santana in person again, AND THE SMUT RETURNS! lolololol.
Okay, well, review if you aren't dead!
But if you are, well, then I guess I can't expect much out of you. ._.
See you next week! BRITTANA FOREVER! :D