an; I know it took me too long - but I promise it's worth it.
an2; I now have an AO3 profile under the same username. Over the next few days, I'll update my fics there as well. Check it out!
an3; I work with the most amazing team I have ever encountered. A huge thank you to sipsofmymind and Air for everything.
On with the story.
XXXVI
Brittany hesitates for a moment in front of the coffee shop's large glass door. It's early evening and a light breeze envelops her every once in a while as she looks inside, where Santana and her best friend are sitting.
She doesn't know much: Quinn has known Santana since kindergarten and they live together; Quinn is elegant and smart, blond, and in Santana's words, "looking at her is like watching an old film." Apparently, she decided that Brittany and Santana have reached a significant enough point in their time line to require her approval.
Santana told her not to worry, that Quinn's all bark and no bite; but Brittany finds it hard to believe.
She takes a deep breath and opens the door. Santana's sitting to the far right, a glass of wine in her hand as she laughs at something. Their eyes lock within a few seconds and Santana stretches her hand out for Brittany to take. She's smiling and Brittany can do nothing but smile right back.
"Hi." She sits by Santana's side and they share a quick kiss.
"If Santana's not dating two tall blonds at once, you must be Brittany," Quinn says, a hint of a grin at the left corner of her mouth. "I'm Quinn Fabray."
She is exactly like Santana described. Quinn's posture is impeccable, straight shoulders and crossed feet under the table; her blond hair falls softly on her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the green dress she's wearing, and her makeup is barely noticeable; her perfume reminds Brittany of blossoming flowers and autumn leaves.
She decides she likes Quinn. "Nice to meet you, Quinn. I can't wait until you tell me embarrassing stories about Santana."
Quinn's grin turns malicious, and Santana's eyes widen. "Wouldn't that be nice? I do have a few to share." She pauses, as if to savor the moment. "You know, she used to have this infatuation with Kylie Minogue—"
"That we should not discuss right away," Santana interrupts, avoiding Brittany's eyes. "We could always talk about the weather, or the Olympics, because really—"
Quinn doesn't even blink as she continues, "It was the same phase when she wanted to be a rock star and she used to wear those—"
Santana coughs and Brittany laughs. "Excuse me?" She says as Brittany runs a hand through Santana's hair, reassuring. It feels different to see Santana with someone else, to see her vulnerable and unguarded. "Can't we leave that buried and forgotten? We all make mistakes and—"
Quinn, on the other hand, looks like she's having the time of her life. "Oh, there was also a moment in college when she had a thing for cowgirls. I don't even—"
"God." Santana hides her face in her hands as Brittany and Quinn laugh together. Brittany swears she can see Santana blushing – it's absolutely adorable.
"Okay, we'll stop," she says in Santana's ear, kissing her jaw and pulling her closer. "So, Quinn, what do you do for a living?"
"Oh, Santana warned me about this," Quinn grins before sipping her drink. "I know all about your guessing game. However, I have decided you do need to keep the investigation going." She pauses and examines Brittany's features, as if measuring her words. "Long story short, I work at a law firm, as a political liaison. You could say I'm behind a few politicians."
"She's a very good manipulator," Santana grins maliciously.
Quinn's smile is an exact copy. Brittany sees the silent understanding between them. "That I am."
XXXVII
"Quinn is nice," Brittany states, nudging Santana with her shoulder.
"Quinn is embarrassing," Santana shakes her head. Her pull on Brittany's hand is soft, but firm, as she takes Brittany through the entrance of her building.
"But that's the best part." Brittany looks around at modern and glass and mirror; the building is as impeccable as a palace. "I now have 21 stories to blackmail you with."
Santana shakes her head as they enter the elevator. Brittany watches the way her hair moves. "She likes you."
When Santana lets go of her hand, Brittany immediately misses it. She tries not to show it. "How do you know?"
Santana grins, watching the number go up on the display. "She told you about the Mexican tequila. She never tells anyone the tequila story."
Brittany smiles. A comfortable silence settles, Santana taking a quick look at herself in the mirror.
The door opens. "The apartment has belonged to Quinn's family for a few decades now," Santana explains as she searches for her keys. "We've lived here together since we came to New York."
Brittany just nods, trying to imagine the place. Would it be as refined as Quinn, as certain as Santana? Would it transpire wealth, like the building, and would it have Santana's sharpness or Quinn's perception?
Santana looks into Brittany's eyes for a long time, searching. "Let's see what conclusions you draw from it." She takes Brittany's hand again; it feels calm, like a last minute assurance. Santana's smile as she opens the door is warm.
"Just one thing," Brittany closes the door and leans against it, pulling Santana close, "before you give me the tour."
She joins their lips, feeling Santana's smile against hers. Her hands rest on Santana's hips, holding her in place, and Santana's hands go to Brittany's hair, pulling as she bites Brittany's lip and kisses her slowly and surely, deepening the kiss.
Their tongues rub together and Santana unashamedly presses Brittany against the door. Santana's nails scratch Brittany's neck, down her shoulders; Brittany shivers.
They part for air and Santana clears her throat. "Well, and that is the door to the apartment."
Brittany laughs.
XXXIX
Brittany looks around – the apartment is, first and foremost, spacious. "You could throw a debutant ball in here," she says, and Santana grins. There are dark and hot colors, like she imagined Santana's place should be; but there are also soft, earthly tones, so very like Quinn.
Curtains are a cobalt green as heavy as aristocracy, and the rugs are a fluffy warm gray; there are bright red cushions on the white couch, and Brittany wonders how they made this combination work. She walks towards the gigantic windows and stops for a moment, admiring New York at night.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Santana stands next to her. She pauses for a little while. "The Fabrays are very, very old money."
Brittany can't avoid the question that slips out, "And you?"
Santana shrugs. "I'm just the friend who sticks around." She reaches for Brittany's hand once more before saying, "let me show you the place."
The study is like another century, contrasting with the modern living room. Bookshelves cover the walls — from old, hard cover and special editions to worn paperbacks and bright covers — and everything is dark wood. There's an armchair in a corner and the writing desk is so special and elegant and Paris in the 1920s that Brittany has to run her fingertips over it.
"Quinn's grandfather was classy," Santana says over Brittany's shoulder, a hand resting on the curve of Brittany's hip. "I think he secretly wanted to be a writer." Santana's breath on the back of Brittany's neck makes her tingle.
Brittany imagines generations of Fabrays inhabiting that space: Quinn's grandfather — was he also blond? — at the writing desk, penning letters; Quinn's father drinking wine and staring out the window; Quinn nestled on the armchair, reading a book.
They leave the study and enter Santana's room, another universe in itself. It's all Santana in black, white, and red. It smells like Santana, too. Brittany inhales a few times, taking it in.
"A family of four can sleep on your bed," she says, sitting on the bed.
Santana follows, her back to the headboard. "We don't pay any bills, so there's enough money to buy something nice every once in a while."
Brittany looks around one more time. A few seconds go by. "Thanks for inviting me here."
"Come here," Santana answers, patting the space beside her. She waits until Brittany is next to her, legs over Santana's. She looks into Brittany's eyes. "I want to tell you something."
Brittany holds her breath.
"I want you to know me." She touches Brittany's hand. "And I want to know you." Her thumb is soft against the back of Brittany's hand, caressing back and forth. "If this guessing game about what I do stops being fun, just say it. I'm not doing it to keep you in the dark."
Brittany breathes again.
"Thank you."
A small grin sneaks onto the left corner of Santana's mouth. "I just like the idea that I'm more than my job."
Brittany kisses Santana, wet and slow, until Santana parts her lips and their tongues meet. Santana runs a hand up Brittany's thigh and thankfully it's summer and Brittany is wearing shorts, because there is more than enough skin for Santana to touch.
Santana sighs and hums, and it's wonderful.
XL
Brittany gasps; Santana keeps grabbing her ass and pulling her down and generating all kinds of delicious friction. She should have known straddling Santana on a king size bed could lead to nothing but teasing.
She arches her back when Santana's hands sneak under her shirt and touch her skin, palming her muscles, up and down. Her breath mingles with Santana's as they join their lips one more time, open mouthed and demanding.
Santana coaxes Brittany's tongue into her mouth; she massages it with her own; she sucks on Brittany's tongue. Brittany moans and Santana bites her neck at the same time as she sinks her nails into Brittany's upper back.
"You're wearing too many clothes," she breathes out in Brittany's ear, her voice raspy. Brittany bites her lip. "Let's take care of that." She starts lifting Brittany's shirt.
Brittany stops her, covering Santana's hands with her own. "Wait, I—" She takes a few breaths; her head is spinning. Santana frowns. "Don't worry, I just—" she lowers her mouth to Santana's ear, "have an idea."
Santana's smile to that is downright malicious. "Do tell."
"I have a new investigation technique," Brittany says, her mouth hovering over Santana's. "A girl's got to use what she's got." She kisses Santana, pressing their bodies together, biting Santana's lower lip. "So, I want a secret for every piece of clothing I take off."
Santana examines Brittany for a moment, raising her eyebrows in defiance. "That's blackmail."
Brittany smiles. "We never laid out the rules, did we?" She can feel Santana's muscles tensing every time she touches her; she can see her breasts rising and falling from her erratic breaths; she can see how dilated her pupils are.
"You're good." Santana flips them both so she's on top, hips against Brittany's.
Brittany wraps her legs around Santana. "You've seen nothing."
XLI
Santana looks down into Brittany's eyes very seriously. "Don't laugh." Brittany nods. Santana continues, "I cried for three days when my beagle died back home. I was 22."
Brittany bites her lip to keep from laughing, but the corners of her mouth lift anyway. She runs her feet down the back of Santana's legs. "That's the first secret that comes to your mind?"
"No judging," Santana warns, raising her eyebrows.
"Fair enough." Brittany shifts positions, blond hair cascading as she settles comfortably on top of Santana. "I like this better." She takes off her headband and throws it on the ground. "There you go."
Santana just stares at her. "Is the headband even considered a piece of clothing?"
Brittany lowers her lips to Santana's ear and slowly says, "Are you arguing with me, Santana?"
Santana swallows dryly and shakes her head. "Not at all." Brittany smiles at the compliance and runs a hand over her hair so that it falls completely to the left. She brushes her lips over Santana's collarbone, waiting. It doesn't take more than a moment for Santana to sigh and close her eyes. "I still have all of Ann Rice's books."
Brittany lifts her shoulders a bit, supporting her weight on her hands. "I never took you for the supernatural kind of girl."
"Everyone was once a thirteen year-old who craved something special." Santana takes no time to palm Brittany's back under her shirt, nudging the fabric up. Brittany lets her, waiting until it reaches her shoulders to take it off herself and throw it aside. Brittany feels more alert than usual; she can hear everything and feel everything. A light breeze sneaks in through a crack on the window; Santana's long, drawn out breaths; the bed frame's low cracks and whines.
Santana never stops looking into Brittany eyes as her hands run over Brittany's back. Brittany wets her lips and flexes her back in response, unaware of their game for a moment.
Santana takes advantage of it to change positions so she is straddling Brittany once more and immediately attaches her lips to Brittany's cleavage. She draws a path of wet kisses on Brittany's breasts, playing with the limits of her bra. Brittany grabs a fistful of Santana's hair and bites her own lip. "In spite of what I might say, during high school I wanted to be a singer."
Brittany falls back, her back meeting the bed, Santana sitting between her legs. "Take it off," she says, lifting her hips just enough.
Santana looks at her like she can't believe it; the surprise goes away and she obeys, undoing the buttons and sliding the shorts off Brittany's legs. She runs her hands from Brittany's calves to the back of her inner thighs. Brittany closes her eyes, unable to hold the anticipation in. She can feel herself warm from head to toe and her blood flooding south.
When she opens her eyes, Santana is shirtless and her beautiful, black lace bra is on full display. "Come here," she says to Santana.
When their bodies meet with no intermediaries, it's warm and glorious and so intimate – she notices the shaky breath Santana takes. They kiss; she lets Santana take control and part her legs and enter her mouth. Santana's tongue licks Brittany's inner lower lip, meets Brittany's tongue and massages it with her own. Santana's body moves like a wave, in constant flux, back and forth, and Brittany can't breathe.
"I was really nervous about you meeting Quinn," Santana says when they break apart, and Brittany's front clasp opens in her hands. Brittany can't wait and mirrors the gesture, palming Santana's breasts. "She has never liked anyone before."
It catches Brittany's breath. She cups Santana's face with both hands, looking at her. Her heart beats out of control. She wonders if Santana can hear it. She kisses Santana, and it's not slow anymore – it's needy, full of bite, and she pulls Santana more tightly against her.