LIII
Brittany and Mike look at each other. "Floor!" Mike shouts, and they both drop to the floor and start their push-ups.
For a few minutes they count in silence and only their breathing can be heard. Brittany feels energized — like she can run a marathon, then go straight into a triathlon, and finish by climbing a mountain. There's too much adrenaline in her body lately and she knows it's all because of Santana.
Mike collapses and gives up somewhere around push-up number 80, but Brittany keeps up her pace, shooting him a grin. He groans and turns on his back. "Ok, you passed a hundred. No need to shove it in my face."
She stops and gets up. "You owe me a beer," she tells him as she begins to stretch her legs. "Let's go for a run. It's a beautiful day outside."
Rachel leaves her room, iPod in hand and running clothes on. "Did someone say go for a run?"
Brittany smiles brightly and claps, and Mike gets up to start stretching.
They race down the stairs. Brittany wins.
LIV
Brittany enters the subway train right before midnight. She's had a long day and a long workout and she can't wait to get to her bed.
Santana's sitting at the far back, her face between her hands.
Brittany smiles. She goes to her and sits by her side. "Good evening," she says politely.
Santana looks at Brittany and the corners of her mouth lift. "Hey you," she says weakly. Her hand touches Brittany's knee and she runs her thumb over it.
She looks more tired than ever — her hair is up in a messy bun, the bags under her eyes are blatant and her entire body language is slumped, slow, contrived under the unflattering fluorescent light.
"Have you just left work?" Brittany asks, placing her hand over Santana's.
Santana nods.
Brittany presses. "At midnight?"
Santana nods again. The train stops — no one enters and no one leaves.
Brittany frowns. "Is this the first time you've done it this week?"
Santana shakes her head. "Not exactly."
They fall silent for a moment. The only guy in the train grabs his backpack and leaves at the next stop. Brittany watches him for a second before turning back to Santana and touching her jaw. "Is that why we haven't seen each other in five days?"
Santana leans into the touch. "It's been a rough week." She looks at the display. "I have to go."
"This isn't your usual stop."
"I know." She kisses Brittany quickly. "I'll call you."
She leaves.
LV
"Five, six, seven, eight!" The choreographer commands and the dancers follow. He's on the left side, looking over a few rows of dancers, and Brittany is on the other side of the room, observing the more experienced ones.
Brittany looks at Mike and points at his position. "Mike, you and Fernanda are supposed to wait until Georges reaches the middle of the stage before you come in, okay? Let's try this again."
The choreographer nods towards Brittany. "Five, six, seven, eight!" he says one more time, and everyone starts from scratch.
Brittany watches carefully, searching for mistakes and imperfections. The dancers have just started learning the steps — it's fascinating to watch them absorb the instructions and eventually master every move.
LVI
Brittany's phone rings — it's Santana's special ring tone, so Brittany rushes to take it.
"Hey," she says.
There's some background noise. She hears Santana sigh. "Hey. I have bad news." Brittany leans against her bedroom door, but says nothing. "It's taking longer than I thought. I don't think I'll be able to make it."
It's like a bucket of cold water being dumped on Brittany's head. "We don't need to catch a movie. We can do something later, or watch something here at my place," she tries to negotiate.
Santana sighs again. "I don't want to keep you waiting. I might take hours, and what's the use of showing up exhausted? It's unfair to you." She pauses. Brittany doesn't feel like saying anything, so she doesn't. "I'm sorry."
"Okay." Brittany answers, and turns off her phone.
LVII
She only gets to see Santana four days later, when they arrange a movie night — Quinn is out of town and Santana is just too tired to do anything outside, she says. "I'll make it up to you, okay?" She tells Brittany over the phone. Brittany feels like telling her she's got it all wrong — she doesn't want fancy dinners or art exhibitions or anything. She just wants to see Santana, and talk to her, and ask her about her day.
She arrives with popcorn and sodas. Santana opens the door and she's wearing no makeup and her purple dress looks comfortable; it's the most casual Brittany has ever seen her — and the most tired, if that's even possible.
Were they at a point where Brittany could scold her for not taking care of her health?
Santana greets her with a kiss. "The movie is already set up. Have a seat and I'll make popcorn."
Brittany does sit for a moment, but she decides she'd rather be standing in the kitchen and talking to Santana than being comfortable in silence in the empty living room.
When she walks into the kitchen, Santana is handling the popcorn and sipping an energy drink.
"Santana, are you—" She begins to ask. Santana's hand freezes in place and she tightens her grip, like she wasn't planning on drinking it in front of Brittany. "Is that an energy drink?"
"It is."
Brittany gets closer. "Santana, that's really bad for your health."
Santana lifts one eyebrow, serious. "I am an adult; you don't get to boss me around with what I should or shouldn't do," she says, sounding colder than Brittany has ever heard her.
"This is not bossing around!" Brittany looks at Santana and touches her arm, pulling her closer. Santana hesitates, but their bodies finally meet. "It's called worrying," Brittany says, touching Santana's jaw.
Santana sighs. "It's just work. It's been tough. I have to be alert and on top of things. Then I have to have meetings." She looks right into Brittany's eyes. "I barely have time for anything, like sleeping — if I don't drink this, I'll just fall asleep in the middle of the movie, and you know what? I fell asleep during one of our dates before and I'm not planning on doing that again."
Sometimes Santana is so sweet and irrevocably stubborn that Brittany doesn't know what to do with her.
"I don't want to be an obligation. If you have to drink this, I don't want it." She takes the can from Santana's hand and throws the content in the sink. "I'll sleep with you. Let's go to bed. We can watch our movie some other day."
Santana pulls on Brittany's hand. The popcorn rattling inside the pan is the only sound in the kitchen for a moment or two. "I don't want to ruin our night."
"You're not ruining anything," Brittany answers, turning off the stovetop and leading Santana to the bedroom.
Brittany is the big spoon. Santana falls asleep the second her body hits the mattress.
LVIII
Brittany pulls Santana back by her waist. It's been too long – she hasn't seen Santana in days, she hasn't touched Santana in two weeks now – and she can't wait. She can't wait to reach the bedroom, so she pulls Santana back by the waist when they're still at the door.
The apartment is dark; the moonlight makes shapes and forms. Santana doesn't resist. Her body meets Brittany's and she lets Brittany set her hair aside and kiss her neck.
Brittany can't help it — she's gone too long without it, and Santana's figure is so lean and the way she moves is so enticing; she inhales and Santana is oriental and amber again. Her arm sneaks its way in front of Santana, making sure there's not an inch between them.
"It's been too long," she says, before she kisses Santana's neck again. Santana tilts her head to the side and sighs when Brittany sucks. Her fingers dive into Brittany's hair and grab it. Brittany's wet kisses go on, slow and firm, and Santana's warm against her lips and against her body — Brittany can feel her in spite of the fabric, burning.
Santana sighs and her hips begin to move. It creates friction and rhythm. Brittany tightens her hold and continues, as if unaware of the grinding. She flickers her tongue against Santana's skin, teases it with her teeth, trying not to leave any patch of skin untouched.
"I like it when you miss me," Santana whispers, scratching the back of Brittany's neck. Brittany takes a slow bite in reprimand; Santana hisses. "Baby's got a bite."
Brittany sucks on the same spot, her free hand palming Santana's collarbone and exploring her cleavage. Santana hangs on to her, licking her own lips, taking deep breaths when Brittany sucks on an already sensitive spot.
"I missed you too." Santana's nails sink into Brittany's thigh. Brittany's hand is already finding its way under fabric, reaching Santana's breasts over her bra. Santana arches into her and says, "I thought about you all day."
Santana scratches her way up, taking Brittany's dress with her. She lets her weight fall back on Brittany, and Brittany realizes she's just been trapped.
"I had a very important meeting," she says and she turns so she's facing Brittany. "With some very important people." Her lips are so close to Brittany's, so close — "You see, I should have paid close attention to what they were saying." She holds Brittany's wrists above her head with one hand, pressing hard against Brittany.
"And did you?" Brittany asks, a little breathless.
"Of course I didn't." Santana ghosts her lips over Brittany's neck, her leg settling between Brittany's. "All I could think about was having you." Brittany's hips start moving on their own accord, riding Santana's leg. "The face you make when you're turned on." Santana adds more pressure with her leg and lets go of Brittany's wrists at the same time Brittany moves forward; Brittany whimpers and holds on to Santana's shoulders.
She bites her lip to keep from begging so soon.
"There was this man talking, this big time reporter, with his thick glasses and gray beard," Santana whispers in her ear, lifting Brittany's dress up, fingertips burning Brittany's skin. "I didn't hear a word he said. I kept imagining you, back turned to me, against a wall." Brittany's dress reaches her hips and Santana grabs her ass, adding momentum and pressure to Brittany's riding.
She wants to kiss Santana, but Santana won't let her. Santana wants to whisper in her ear, low and sultry. Brittany can feel her blood rushing, demanding less clothing and more friction.
"Have I mentioned I love the way you moan?" Her hands on Brittany's behind dictate the rhythm, growing faster, stronger. Brittany pulls her hair and pulls her in for a kiss, desperate; Santana takes over her mouth, full of bite. Brittany moans into the kiss, hanging on to Santana. "The way you say my name?"
Brittany kisses Santana again, tongues sliding together, one leg wrapping around Santana. "Santana— Please—"
Santana takes a second to take Brittany's dress off and throw it far. "I don't like being distracted like that," she says, nipping Brittany's jaw. Brittany's already pulling on Santana's shirt, formerly tucked in, undoing her buttons. Santana stops her. "Let's take this somewhere else." She takes Brittany to her room by the hand.
Brittany can't wait; as soon as Santana closes the door she reaches for her and pulls her close. Santana lets her open her shirt, button by button, revealing a black bra that matches her high-waist black skirt.
"Not bad," Brittany says.
Santana kisses Brittany — within a few seconds, they're against a wall again. "I'm not done." She turns Brittany around and presses her front to Brittany's back. Brittany places both hands on the wall for support, bracing herself. "I have to be on top of everything if I want to succeed." Her hands roam over Brittany's body, firm, exploring. "I need to be alert and focused." She palms Brittany's stomach; Brittany catches her breath, hoping Santana goes lower.
Brittany arches her back, legs opening.
Santana kisses her back, going lower; her hands going to Brittany's waist and then to her thighs. "And still, I couldn't get you off my mind." She kisses Brittany's lower back and takes off her underwear. "While I was preparing for the meeting..." Brittany steps out of it, forehead on the wall, eyes closed, breath shallow. Santana's breath ghosts her skin. "…During the meeting. Crossing and uncrossing my legs, desperate for release." She places wet kisses on the back of Brittany's thighs. "Did you know that the Mayor of New York invited us to a cocktail party at his house and I declined?"
Brittany doesn't know how she's still standing. Santana stops her upwards trail of kisses, making Brittany whine. In the corner of her eyes, she sees Santana's skirt being thrown aside and her underwear sliding to the floor.
Santana presses her against the wall again — this time is even better, more glorious, they're both naked, skin on skin — before biting her shoulder and taking her time cupping her breasts. "Just like that. Because I had to see you." She says into Brittany's ear before finally touching her, slowly running a finger through her. "Touch you."
Brittany can only think of more. "Do it— please, Santana— anything—"
"Oh, I will." Santana withdraws her hand and Brittany misses the contact immediately, pushing her hips against Santana, eyes closed and mouth half open.
She hears Santana licking her finger and humming and the sound of it goes straight to her groin. She's about to snap, complain, turn around and take over control— Santana slides three fingers in at once, from behind, without warning, stretching, filling her.
Brittany moans in satisfaction and opens her legs wider, gasping as Santana picks up pace and intensity. This is so much better, Santana going deeper and faster and she's hitting all the right spots because Brittany's entire body is responding and clenching and tensing as Santana groans behind her, one hand grasping Brittany's hip so hard it's going to bruise.
Santana curves her fingers and curses when Brittany tightens around her, too close already — she can't stand the teasing, not like this, not when it's been too long and like Santana in black pumps is God's gift to her.
"I'm so close—" she tries to say, but the sentence falls short and she can't be coherent, not at the moment. Santana places a wet kiss on her neck and her free hand touches Brittany's clit in firm, short strokes, and she's still inside Brittany, in and out—
Brittany moans Santana's name as she orgasms in a strong, long wave that seems to go on and on, fed by Santana's slower but constant rhythm, until she can take no more; her knees go weak and Santana has to wrap an arm around her to keep her balance.
She turns to Santana and hides her face in Santana's neck, taking shallow breaths and closing her eyes. "That was— wow."
Santana holds her tight; Brittany can almost feel her smile. She kisses Brittany's cheek and takes them towards the bed. "I told you I had missed you," she says as they lie down.
Brittany immediately scoots closer, one arm over Santana, and Santana pulls the sheets over them. "You're so dirty," Brittany says, still tingling all over. She can't stop grinning.
Santana laughs and pulls her closer. "You like it."
Brittany hums in satisfaction. "Did you really think about me?"
Santana turns so she's on her side, facing Brittany. "I really did. You're very distracting," she says with a smile as she kisses Brittany. Brittany nips her lip and sucks on it; Santana sighs, running her hands down Brittany's back.
Brittany makes a path downwards with her hand, and when she touches Santana she's incredibly wet. Santana moans into the kiss, throwing her leg over Brittany's hip to allow better access.
"God, you're so wet," she tells Santana as her fingers work in circles over her sensitive spot.
Santana's breath is already shallow, her mouth opening. "All day." Brittany enters her — she's so hot, so tight — and Santana moans low and long. "For you."
Brittany stills her hand. "Say it again."
Santana's hips move, trying, but Brittany doesn't let her have her way. "Just for you," Santana finally says, and Brittany groans as she begins to thrust — and Santana's breathing in her ear, whimpering low, hanging on to her — inside out, slow and deep. "All yours," Santana pants, biting Brittany's lower lip.